batb part two: electric boogaloo

[fearlessly]

[ alisaie is not afraid of the woods.

truthfully, alisaie is not afraid of much at all - not the things that most are afraid of, at least. she does not fear the dark, or wolves, or bandits. she does not fear loud storms or knives in the dark of faerie tale monsters stalking haunted forests. what she fears is being along. grieving. losing those she loves.

and that is why she is here. alisaie has ridden tirelessly through the night, driving baptiste hard over the hard, wintry earth, her breath frozen in her lungs, the frigid wind stinging her cheeks and ears and eyes. alphinaud is her entire world. he is all that she has, all of her family that remains, and the thought of living her life without him, moving forward alone..

she would rather not move forward at all.

and so she will find him, regardless of he consequence, heedless of the potential danger, for without him, she has no life at all.

baptiste remembers the way, and though she can feel the tension and fear in the body of the horse beneath her, still they press on, hooves slamming hard into the earth, empty branches pulling at her hair, whipping over their heads. the forest seems to go on and on, deeper and deeper into darkness and mist, until at long, long last the space opens up, and a dark castle looms ahead, its twisted spires climbing into the gray sky, its gloomy edifice frowning down as she approaches the wrought iron gates choked with decayed vines.

alisaie is not afraid of much, yet still the sight of it sends a chill down her spine.

what is this place? she's heard of no such estate as this - a castle, so close to the village? how have there been no stories? no history? she has ridden less than a day to find her brother, not far from home at all, and yet.. there is nothing in their books about this great castle, no tall tales, nothing at all. it is a phantom. still, somehow it feels familiar to her.. like a memory of a dream's dream.

exhaling a shudder, alisaie slides from baptiste's back, leading him to an icy, overgrown brook for a drink, looping the reins over a strong, bare branch before at last she approaches the castle. it's silent, sinister, but she.. she has no choice. if this is where alphinaud is, then she must press forward. the rusted gates groan, splitting the silence, and alisaie approaches the great doors, the old rotten oak swinging beneath her weight as she slips carefully into the great, dark foyer. ]

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[punshots]

[ Were his mouth one that could smile, his lips might just twitch at that, because they...certainly would have very different ideas about where compromise should happen, he would imagine. He is her captor, after all. The thing between her and her freedom, the one who binds her here, who made her promise to stay forever.

She might compromise on not speaking of this place ever again if it meant he would set her free, but that is just a compromise he cannot make. He cannot take that risk. ]

I see. I...I don't often...

[ He doesn't compromise, because no one questions him. No one before she arrived, anyway. None of the servants challenged him. He was left in charge, even if he never wanted to be, and he's as ill-suited for leadership as he always suspected. But he's always done what he thought was best, and...

Well, he's just done what he can, to keep this castle safe, as he swore he would. ]

Hm. The oak and the reed...

[ It soon becomes clear that what he's adding to his picture is a sketch of her, standing at the edge of the river, watching the oak pulled away in the current. ]

Wonder where he'll end up.

[fearlessly]

[ .. he does not often compromise. that much is painfully clear. life here has been comfortable enough that they might be able to forget, sometimes, that she is a prisoner and he is her warden, but that does not erase the circumstances. the only compromise he has ever really made was to allow her to take the place of her brother.

but for alisaie, it remains a bitter compromise indeed..

her temper does not flare at the thought, however, because this was her choice. her decision. she knew what she was agreeing to when she volunteered herself, and so she must lift her chin and bear this punishment without complaint. picking a fight with him will only ruin both of their nights. ]

Mm.. well the fable's writers would have you believe that he floats off to die on a muddy riverbank somewhere, I'd wager, as a consequence of his stubborn nature. But I would prefer another ending.

[ closing the book, alisaie folds her arms over its cover and rests her chin upon them, peering down at his work. is that..? ]

[punshots]

...As would I.

[ He murmurs quietly, and maybe he's not just talking about the story of the oak and the reed. But he doesn't elaborate, doesn't admit to more than that, and he shouldn't even have said that much. Keeping himself shrouded in mystery is the only defense he has, because if he tells her about himself, about what happened to him and everyone in the castle, it will expose parts of himself long since dormant. Parts he has done his best to smother and burn out, to numb. And even if he told her, would he receive her compassion in return? Her companionship? Or would she spurn him, and name him the fool that he is?

It isn't worth it.

He follows her gaze then, down to the sketch before him, and the figure he has added to the picture. Oh, that...well. It looks an awful lot like her, doesn't it?

It's fortunate for him he doesn't have the capability to blush, but that doesn't mean he can't stammer. ]

U-um...anyway. It's getting late. I should...retire.

[fearlessly]

[ well, given the long ears and distinctive braid, she cannot imagine that that silhouette he's sketched could be anyone but her - elezen are quite uncommon here, and it's not as if he gets out often enough to draw inspiration. who else could it be but her?

he might not be able to blush, but she certainly can, and her cheeks and ears dust a faint pink; she's not used to anyone paying her such mind. honestly, it's hardly the first time she's seen herself spelled out in charcoal or ink, her brother is a gifted portrait artist, and he often draws from life, but their relationship is loving, trusting. this is.. something else entirely.

the knight is drawing away again, which is.. not so unusual for him, she's grown used to him scurrying away like a mouse, and while he's been far more comfortable around her than he once was, he nevertheless maintains a distance between them. she does not exactly try to persuade him otherwise, either..

lifting her head, alisaie looks to his face, her brow knitting. ]

.. all right.

[punshots]

[ He doesn't linger, instead rising to his feet and rolling up the sheets of paper to quickly gather them into his arms. It isn't unusual for him to get caught up in his art, but he hadn't even consciously added Alisaie into the picture. He'd done it thoughtlessly, and while it wouldn't be untrue to say she is often in his thoughts —

No, no, he shouldn't head any further down the path of that thought. It's dangerous. Things were so much easier when he was a monster that haunted this castle, and nothing more. ]

Well...good night, Alisaie.

[ He says in a rush, and then he turns to go without another word, making his hasty retreat. ]