Good Role Model

Some weeks later, Renard arrives back in Sebilles.

He enters the castle to deliver Verdan’s letter of introduction, his anger dulled into a simmer. A servant accepts the letter, then departs down the chambers to forward it to the Queen.

Renard is so left to drift the halls and consider what he should do now that he’s back. The atmosphere of the castle and the city are peacefully normal. Perhaps he could sign on to aid in the buffalo hunts? It’s not the most thrilling idea, but at least it puts him out in the field…

He plants his chin on his palm as he stares out a castle window over the city, more and more impressed by the sight to his utter lack of inspiration of what to do with himself here. Indeed, the calm surety he felt in his journey away is breaking, slowly consumed by the dark, churning listlessness that Renard had forgotten drove him to leave the city in the first place.

If he was being honest, he’d already say he regrets coming back.

A different servant catches Renard as he contemplates this, and hands him a letter from Pleione she prepared for his return. Renard is surprised — inside the envelope is a handful of herbs to burn for incense, but no great sentimental queries into how he is or what happened. She apparently expected he would come back fine, and is not mad after their last conversation. Renard is not sure what to make of it, but at least it seems Pleione was thinking of him.

Maybe she has advice on where he should go now. But same as it was before leaving Sebilles, Renard frustratedly shakes his head at this thought. There are plenty of courses he can pursue of his own initiative… dating, or perhaps pursuing Pleione… maybe all he needs is to get out of the city.

His thoughts wander. Guilt lashes through him upon realising he left he city so quickly, he didn’t follow up with Lord Asphodelis. In fact Renard forgot about him completely. Though on one hand checking on him is probably the right thing to do, on the other it feels shamefully brazen to approach someone with a concern so shallow that Renard forgot them, as if he actually cared.

Harrumphing, and growing sick of this mopey stillness, he shoves Pleione’s envelope in his pocket and marches down the castle’s halls towards the exit. He’ll dump Pleione’s gift at his house then go on a walk outside the city. He’s not sure to where — he just needs something to do with himself.

He is barely a hall from where he started when that first servant, who he had given Verdan’s letter, jogs over to catch him. The Queen would like to speak with him privately about this letter and about his journey this past month. Renard’s shoulders unwind with immense, inexplicable relief — indeed, only upon feeling it, does Renard realise how much he wished to hear these words.

He bitches that if the Queen wants him so much, she could stand to be more punctual about it.

The servant goggles at him, aghast.

Renard laughs off his own comment as a joke and affirms that of course he’ll see her, he will just have to stretch his legs afterwards! With that, he dismisses the servant and goes to Queen’s quarters to speak with her.

She welcomes Renard with obvious concern. She had been extremely worried when he disappeared after the party, and had thought to arrange search teams for him — but was assured by Pleione that such impulsiveness was normal for Renard and that he probably had gone to Nix. Of course, that was still worrying information, but again Pleione assured they should only really worry if seasons passed with no word. The Queen trusted her judgement, and it seems she read the situation correctly, since Renard is back remarkably safe for how random and perilous his outing was.

Though Renard crosses his arms at the implication he would have needed so much pampering, that the Queen was thinking about him does reassure him. Of course, he says abruptly. Under the Iron King, I conquered much greater perils.

The Queen quietly digests that, seeming to realise that she has been treating Renard too softly. Another wave of gratitude and relief washes over him as he intuits this.

The Queen continues, this time concerned to know about Renard’s experience with Verdanheim. She wants to judge whether the place was trustworthy enough to approach as an ally. Renard’s thoughts sober despite himself. Being so far away, there is no real benefit of Lacren allying with Verdanheim — and so being obliged to involvement with its diplomatic scuffles — unless the Queen had some intention to herself do something with the nation, or more specifically, with Nix. Renard cannot discern much more than that, and the spark that drove him to personally try conquering Nix has been heavily dimmed by his failure, but encouraging the Queen to move in that direction of her own accord feels good.

So being, Renard swallows his resentment towards Verdan and gives as charitable a recount of his experience there as he can. Of course, he does not imply that Verdan is harmless, or a saint, but his desires likely have been sated enough that the offer of allegiance is genuine. There is an oddness to the air and soil there, but it did not seem to be damaging, though Renard must caution that he could have been protected from ambient effects by Kingslayer. As he says this, he realises that, whatever Verdan did to get himself so horribly hexed, he most likely did it alone — a fact that seems significant, though Renard cannot say how. He files the information away nonetheless.

The Queen quietly considers all this. His curiosity stoked by his own report, Renard asks if she has intentions to move against Nix.

She pauses, and absently shakes her head. The aspirations Renard has voiced around purifying, dismantling, or slaying soul rot, if they can be achieved, are the most important causes in the world. She can understand his desire to see them realised, as she too deeply desires their realisation herself. However, it is not the kind of thing she can rally the whole nation toward overnight with conscriptions; the enemy is too abstract for most people to visualise. Further, the rot is insidious. Counterattacking it requires powers that, right now, Lacren doesn’t have.

That is to say, rather than march an army to Nix, she’d prefer to assemble specialists like Pleione and use them to survey the rot. But if Verdanheim is already doing this, and is already surveying Nix, then she sees no reason to act in parallel to that — she’d rather just give Verdan the resources to do what she would have done. Then Lacren may have proper footing, and proper knowledge of the enemy, to enact a meaningful resistance later.

She informs that finding Verdan, and establishing this friendly link to him, was honestly the best thing Renard could have done. That he achieved it is more like a miracle, given that he couldn’t have known about Verdan or about what he wanted when he departed Sebilles.

She smiles, and with that commendation, seems content the dialogue is over; all that needs to be said, has been.

Renard’s brows rise in alarm and confusion. Does she not have any duties or orders for him?

Now the Queen is confused. Because, no. Renard is a military asset and she isn’t worried about Lacren being dragged into war anytime soon. As far as work she has that suits his skillset, it’s all civil defence: guarding Sebilles, guarding border towns, road patrol, guarding the buffalo hunters… all below his level. Though, he could go work with Verdan?

Renard asks if Pleione will be sent to Verdanheim. The Queen informs that Pleione is based in Lacren because the nation has given her a laboratory and lodgings to study her theurgy in peace; she isn’t actually under the Queen’s authority. She could go or she could not, but knowing that Easterners are superstitious around ‘corrupt’ places, she would assume it safer to keep Pleione here while in correspondence with Verdan.

Hearing that, Renard admits that he would not like to return to Verdanheim. He knows doing so would help his personal goals, but the discomfort he feels when he thinks of Verdan — and of being under his jurisdiction — is so great, he cannot even hypothetically stand it.

The Queen accepts this, not wanting to send him there anyway. Rather, if he needs something to do, then a topic she has wanted to float with him was one of knight training.

Renard perks up, eyes brightening. If he can receive proper education as a knight, then perhaps he’ll feel like less of an out-of-place sham in the company of Lacren’s court, and like more of a representative of its ideals both at home and abroad. He asks if there is a slot for him on the training roster.

The Queen pauses. No. No, she quickly explains, she didn’t mean as a student — she was thinking of instating him as a trainer.

Renard falls dumbstruck. He snipes, how can the lackey of a hexant king be expected to train youths to chivalry?

The Queen, extremely confused, notes that he killed the Iron King, saved Lacren from being conquered, returned the crown to her, and sparked clearheaded initiatives towards the righteous cause of ending soul rot. These achievements speak to a dedication to chivalry stronger than what can be found in half her employed knights. If Lacren could have more warriors with the ethic of Renard, that would be an excellent thing.

Ethic! There is not a bone of such thing inside me! Renard laughs.

But you—, The Queen starts.

—’Less you prefer a generation of butchers. Ridiculous. Ethic is found in men as that Orpheus Penn. No wonder you would waste my time with half-hearted nonsense; you haven’t the mind to conceive even a quarter of what I have done. That man, is he still in the city?

You killed the Iron King, the Queen sharply asserts. If you had not committed to change your ways, you would not have done that.

Renard falls uncomfortably silent, arms crossed, unable to rebut her observation. He mumbles, deaf, daft woman… is Orpheus in the city?

The Queen’s mouth flattens. She is not going to help Renard start a fight with—

Vacuous wench, Renard barks. Renard isn’t going to fight Orpheus, obviously, he is going to petition him. Yes, if he’s going to ‘change’ his ‘ways’ and be a ‘knight’ for Lacren, he would best do that under the instruction of someone who has half a clue what that means.

Stunned by his audacity, the Queen begins: Orpheus isn’t going to—, but she cuts herself off and exasperatedly wipes her forehead. Enough of this. Here are her orders for Renard. Since he did such an excellent job establishing relations with Verdan, his new duty under the throne is to reach out to Lacren’s neighbours, and secure more of those ‘specialist’ assets Lacren seeks towards the purpose of combating the soul rot, a purpose which, of course, is also Renard’s.

Renard clenches his teeth and squeezes his bicep in his crossed arms, unable to meet her gaze. He would like to explode and deny he ever cared about soul rot, but such a claim would be dangerous and horrifying even to his own ears.

Further, she’s right that he succeeded with Verdan — and by extension with her, with the court, and with Pleione. He truly might be able to do this, or at least has shown an aptitude for it that demands he at least try. It’s also something meaningful he can do without killing anybody, which he’ll admit, feels very merciful.

Seeing Renard’s silence and subtly softened atmosphere, the Queen nods. You understand?

Renard uncrosses his arms, sets his hand on Kingslayer’s pommel, and jerks his chin in a vague assent where he still does not need to meet the Queen’s gaze. It’s an option, he mumbles to himself.

Though still blatant insubordination, the Queen lets it slide, as she is coming to understand is mandatory for dealing with Renard. Her firm posture crumples minutely as she slips a genuine plea that Renard not meddle with Orpheus, since he will do whatever he can to undermine and isolate him further.

Renard waves his hand to dismiss these words as if he did not hear them, then announces that he will have to assemble his supplies and make his arrangements to depart the city.

Relieved, the Queen nods: dismissed.

On the way back to his lodgings, Renard stops a loitering noble near the entrance of the castle and asks the whereabouts of Orpheus Penn. The man divulges that Orpheus is in the city, occupied in his family manor near the edge of town.

Renard thanks the nobleman brightly and marches to the streets. Though, it’s not as if he’s ignoring the Queen’s orders entirely. As he passes shopfronts, he equips himself with necessities for a journey out west, and stops by his lodgings to ready his travelling supplies. Plans of how he should approach this diplomatic work, and strategies of which neighbours would gift powerful and zealous researchers or warriors toward Nix do churn through the back of his mind. All the same, in the end, his feet carry him without error to Orpheus’ manor.

The front gates are locked, which Renard imagined they would be. Actually, the distance they represent is comforting in this moment. Renard approaches a gate-guard and confers a letter to deliver to Orpheus, requesting training in knighthood, worded in a manner Renard would say was very respectful and humble.

At least, that was the sentiment in his chest when he wrote the thing, alongside tense hope, admiration, and excitement. If his eager goodwill to obey Orpheus’ teachings communicates, then surely…

The guard disappears into the manor, but Orpheus is currently busy and will get to his mail later. Aware that his message isn’t now-or-die urgent, and convicted he will get a positive response, Renard accepts this and returns to his lodgings.

He exhales.

Alone, and with the space to think about his actions, doubt seeps into his mind. Though his purposeful shield of stupidity prevents him from acknowledging how contrary his deeds are — how profoundly studying under Orpheus means defying the Queen, as his mental image of that study means years of living here, ignoring that the Queen ordered him to do something else — his heart knows that, honestly, he has just done something very awry.

He’s at a crossroads. That’s how it feels.

The purpose and duty the Queen has presented before him is, fine. It’s fine. There is no rational reason to reject it and even Renard can resign that following that path would likely be good. But a deep discomfort hangs over that course. To so nobly petition skilled people into joining a righteous cause, and hold himself with sombre dignity reflective of the Queen’s good nature, and of Lacren as a whole, feels wrong. The flourishes and speeches he envisions himself performing before lords and nobles do not feel like him.

It is of course an extension of the ‘principled knight’ the Queen perceives him as, and has been trying to let him reconstruct himself as, with his past left behind him. It is a profoundly fake reading of Renard’s character, achieved only because he leaned on nobler others as role models, and only once cornered by his own scumminess into a darkness so wrong he had to mimic those others to defy it. His heart does not naturally enjoy knighthood at all. After seeing how he responded to Verdan, he can say that certainly.

The good pretence is passionless, empty. Even as he assembles travelling supplies, and tells himself he might as well make a positive of it, if he has no other reasonable choice, he can feel his heart sink with quiet reluctance. To even say it would help him achieve the Iron King’s aims, or contribute to the excellent cause of destroying soul rot, feels empty — having seen and crumpled before Nix, Renard knows he has already bungled and failed this cause, as far as it matters to him personally. It would be the Queen’s cause now, by her principles, and not the ones that would glorify the Iron King by saying, ultimately this incredible thing, came about due to love and unwavering dedication to him.

The victory over soul rot is hollow, if it does not exonerate that man.

That is maybe a selfish way to see things, but it is what his heart truly thinks.

Renard seats himself on the bed and takes Pleione’s envelope from his pocket. She would probably help him, no matter where he winds up. She would also probably understand why the Queen’s approach is so vacuous and painful. But she is also strong enough that she does not really need him. She reaches out because she is caring and knows Renard is mentally weak. But if she knew how troubled he really was, she would probably tell him to go back home to his village, so he might clear his mind of the obligations his service to the Iron King has foisted on him, and let himself just be Renard. Her advocacy of such a course would dull the edge of Kingslayer’s presence — as someone more versed in these matters, and who Renard does look up to, if she says he’s done enough, then he’s done enough.

Renard cranes his head back.

But, for all the comfort of that thought, Renard does want to be strong. If he has the capacity to do incredible things, then he wants to do them. And if he could achieve things so great, it would repay the kindness people like Pleione have shown him, then he wants to do them. As he has discovered over his life, that capacity does feel to be there. He just does not know how to aim or define it.

Which is something he might find through Orpheus. Renard’s chest lightens with incredible hope as he considers this, and considers himself refined into a proper knight, so devoted to the principles of honour and chivalry that it would impress even a man who detests him, and properly earn his forgiveness, in a complete and proper atonement for the sins he has committed, and for the betrayal his past choices have inflicted upon his own potential for goodness.

Then he could prostrate himself before the Queen without effort, never hold a tinge of resentment, and be selfless in all his motives. With this tutelage, he could maybe, really, echo what Isen would have been.

His devotion and dedication to these lessons would be his apology for all of it.

Renard goes to his kitchen simply to move cookware around. If he keeps himself moving, even in this pointless fashion, then time too is moving, and Orpheus’ response will arrive quicker. Anxiety simmers with the seconds beneath Renard’s mind, but never breaks into consciousness. Soon, the reply will come. Soon, soon.

Orange evening light is streaming through the window when the knock finally comes. Renard bounces to the door, and hugs the man behind it, when he passes Renard the envelope. Renard skips to his bedroom and admires the calligraphed letters undoubtedly penned by Orpheus’ hand, then tears the thing open like a Christmas present.

Hands trembling, he unfolds the paper.

It is blank but for one word, large and unambiguous:

“No."