Gambol with a New Friend

Posted on 28 Mar 2021 @ 12:30am by Rogue Cainan Sauvage & Rogue Jaslyn

5,279 words; about a 26 minute read

Mission: Lore's Labour's Lost
Location: Jader Hightown
Timeline: Cloudreach 16th - evening

OOC: After Unfavorable Wind
Characters: Cainan and Jaslyn
IC:

Jaslyn followed Monsieur Sauvage, wrapped in stunned silence and still absorbing the information revealed by Richelieu. Her declaration that she needed a drink had been met with an affirmative gesture from Sauvage, but instead of taking her to a bar or inn, he'd led her to a part of Jader she'd rarely visited, the stately homes of the wealthy and influential. They came to a stop at a fancy door, and Jaslyn couldn't help but wonder how often an elf had walked through the front entrance. "Is this where you live?"

Cainan was shaken from his reverie, as they walked into what, in his mind, was the modest part of the wealthier district in Jader, though the tone of her voice let him know that she might perceive it differently.

“Yes, I like to keep a small place for entertaining guests, but I’m often out gallivanting instead of staying here,” he replied, honestly. He realised that she might be feeling uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure how to address it without sounding like a pompous ass. In the past he had liked impressing women with his abode, but a lot had changed in the last few days. “Would you like to come up for a drink? I could always just get some money and we could find a tavern somewhere,” he offered, hoping the choice might make her feel more comfortable. In truth, he wasn’t desperately fond of the idea of going to the tavern in his current mood, but it usually had a way of eventually shaking things out, one way or another; if he was low, it often lifted him up. If he was angry, he’d get into a fight, then either commiserate his losses with the bartender or celebrate his victory with whoever was up for it. In this case, he was somewhere in between, and just a nice, stiff drink was what he wanted to dampen the roiling sea of emotions his conversation with Richelieu had caused.

"Taverns can be so noisy." Jaslyn guessed she was not her companion's usual kind of female guest, and not just because she was an elf. It was evident that Richelieu's revelations had an intense impact on him, affecting not just Cainan's opinion of his friend, but also of himself. Jaslyn gave him a wry smile. Cainan was a good man and she wanted to know him better. "I'd love to come in for a drink."

He held the door open for her in a gentlemanly manner, before closing the door gently. The lights had not been lit; Cainan enjoyed the services of a housekeeper, but not a servant. The place was always spotless, but he had to make his own fires and light his own lamps. He wasn’t sure if it was the last vestige of wanting to feel like a common man or just a disinterest in having a paid servant waiting for him to come home like a pet. He had tried to have a dog once, but it had not gone well; Cainan lacked the responsibility to keep it entertained and eventually, he had been adopted by one of the boys down the lane; Cainan was sure the dog was happier for it.

The apartment was all on one level, with an elevated veranda overlooking the harbour at the back. The hallway connected to a fair sized kitchen that Cainan barely knew the way around, and a reception room that he knew far better. The walls had been crafted in decorative plaster, and was far too ostentatious for Jader; it was the fashion in stately homes in Val Royeux, though he had owed the man who made it a good deal of favours and despite the ridiculousness of having it in an apartment in Jader, he had commissioned the man as a way of repayment. Eryk now made a good living plying his new trade to the business associates of Cainan’s father, mainly due to the three months Cainan happily allowed the man to renovate (which translated to practice) he small apartment. Cainan reminded himself of how he had been quietly proud of Eryk, and of himself, for that act. It was charity, but Eryk had worked hard to make something of the opportunity. He hung onto that feeling, fleeting as it was.

Inside, Jaslyn came to a stop in the middle of the carpeted room, and did a slow turn taking in the posh furnishings. His apartment even boasted that decorative plasterwork she had loathed dusting as a maid in Val Royeaux. A task, she reassured herself, she would never have to do again. "Do you have servants?"

Cainan blinked for a moment, shaken out of his reverie. “Oh, no - I wasn’t exaggerating about the gallivanting. I’m often off on some new venture or dicing in taverns or such. I have a housekeeper who keeps things from getting too dusty that comes twice a week, and a couple of the local grocers make sure the pantry doesn’t dry up, but no one living in or anything,” he said, wincing a little at his own words. He had brought women her before, and women of both rich and common backgrounds. He had never been ashamed or embarrassed of his situation before, so why was he feeling it now? Was it because she herself had been a maid?

She didn’t look it now, that was for sure. She was still a beauty, it was true; but the look was a fierce beauty, the way an ornate sword might be - beautiful, elegant… deadly. She looked nothing like the elves he had grown up around, and there had been more than a few; many Orlesian nobles enjoyed hiring pretty elven maids and servants - his own father was famous for it, and for taking an interest in their comings and goings, and using a gentle voice and a generous hand. Fairly often one would disappear from view nine or ten months after starting work, with the implications being exceedingly obvious, but never spoken on especially in the vicinity of his mother. Cainan imagined there was a little village somewhere made up entirely of little half-siblings with elven mothers, living off a generous pension from a doting, generous, unfaithful patron.

Maybe that was why he didn’t like having servants.

Cainan retrieved a couple of bottles of the good wine from his wine rack, a deep cabernet sauvignon from the north of Orlais and a very nice Malbec from Antiva. In his other hands he carried two glasses, and led Jaslyn out to the veranda. The ships often had lights twinkling from their decks in the harbour below, and the reflections of the moonlight on the water made for why he had chosen this place in the first place.

After lighting a small fire in the firepit to keep them warm in the evening chill, he poured the now breathed wine for them both, offering her the glass.

Her companion had gone quiet, and Jaslyn watched him preparing the wine and lighting the fire… a handsome nobleman waiting on her, an elf. What an odd twist fate had taken. She thought of the Monsieur Sauvage she had waited on at the Marchal manor at Antoine's gaming table as she took a seat on the veranda. Sauvage was always focused on the card game, but unlike some of Antoine Marchal's other guests, he'd treated the servants well.

She accepted the glass and took a careful sip. It was delicious, smooth and heady. Jaslyn took a deeper swallow. "Excellent wine, thank you."

Cainan smiled as he poured his own glass, then set the bottle down on the table between them. “You’re most welcome,” he said, honestly. “Monsieur Sharal owns a wine importing business; a small one, but he does have excellent taste.” He sipped his own wine for a moment, looking at the lights from the docks mingling with the reflected lights of the heavens above, as the stars began to shine amongst the brilliance of the moon.

How much he had changed from the journey to the Cassabianca to now, he mused. How much had he had to reflect on, and not had the time to do so. It was as if he had lived his life wearing a blindfold, and only now could see; like he had a sense he had never used, and it was bringing his life into stark relief. He needed to focus on something else, lest he become morose - he would unpick these feelings later.

He turned his attention to Jaslyn; the way the firelight reflected off her hair, the tone of her form. He stopped short of staring, having committed the image to memory; though he looked back out to the docks, his mind studied that image further, looking for signs of the person who had come before the woman she was now. Cainan had known a few women of war before now - he had always assumed that they were just born to it, born with that inescapable talent for fighting, such as the woodworker who understood the wood, or the herbalist who felt at home in the wilds. But Jaslyn challenged those preconceptions; she sat there, the picture of a woman of action, a woman of war - and yet only a few years before she had been a servant, and not one that had stood out as someone not suited to it. At least, not to him; though it was fair to say he had always been busy observing the other players and had not spent an inordinate amount of time studying her for that.

At least, he hadn’t back then.

“Please forgive the silence, I was lost in thought for a moment,” he said, allowing the image of her to slip from his mind and be replaced by the real thing as he looked back to her.

“So, you pretty much know what happened to me since Antoine… May I ask how you went from there to… here?” he asked, looking at her with what he hoped was a look that would not offend. She had changed so very much that he was sure he would not have recognised her had he even been a particularly observant guest during his weekly card games with Antoine and Javert back in the days.

Jaslyn raised an eyebrow, momentarily surprised, then unaccountably pleased by his genuine interest. She leaned back in her chair and looked out at the harbor. She'd told different versions of this story. The short version she occasionally told to impress someone she intended to seduce. The story she'd given Hahren Liriel. The version she shared with her fellow Grey Wardens. For reasons she didn't quite understand, she decided to tell this Sauvage the truth.

When she spoke, her tone was light and thoughtful. "The night Antoine Marchal died… was like many other gaming nights. He began drinking heavily after his friends left. He didn't always get violent. Helana and I thought he'd passed out, but she was afraid so I stayed with her in their room. I awoke in the wee hours when Antoine burst in. Usually he used his fists, but that night he was yelling about being forced to sell a family heirloom and waving a jeweled dagger." Jaslyn paused, looking out at a red-hued sunset. "I truly don't remember if it was me or Helana who put that dagger through his heart. I only remember blood everywhere, and my relief that Helana and I were still alive."

Cainan watched her speak, the curve of her lips, but not out of lust or romance - for reasons he couldn’t put into words, it was very important to him that he take in the exactness of her words, that he remember every detail of this. That his own actions had been in large part a trigger for what had happened to her filled him with unease, and for her to have come so far, changed so much on his account, because of his actions… it gnawed at him. Was he looking for absolution in her words? A reason to let himself off the hook? Some detail that this all worked out for the better? He resolved not to give himself that; even were it to be so. He didn’t interrupt her.

"I do recall Antoine's mother standing in the door screaming for the guard. They arrested me, the elf, of course. Helana could have made a case for self-defense, but the scandal would have ruined both families. The Dimonts, Helana's family, sent a healer to me in prison so I would survive for my hanging, and paid me with a promise to continue retaining my parents as servants." Her tone held no hint of bitterness, only resignation. Jaslyn tipped back the rest of her wine and poured herself another glass.

Cainan shouldn’t have been stunned, but he found himself unable to move to pour the drink for her. He was not so naive to have never come across the downright corruption of the upper classes, and the lack of justice for those that held power, wealth or status in Orlais was plain to all, but it was different hearing it from her perspective. He had always been on the other side of that arrangement, benefitted from it. He had always wielded that privilege with reckless abandon, and here, now, was the consequence of that behaviour.

He kept his scrutiny of her; it was as if there was nothing else in the world but her as he studied her face, her body language, the movement of the glass in her hand as it went from resting on the arm of the chair and up to her lips.

"A Grey Warden named Riordan came to the prison looking for recruits. He spoke with me and others, and listened to our stories with the deepest compassion and without judgement. Something about him inspired incredible honesty. I overheard tales both horrifying and heartrending." Jaslyn closed her eyes, remembering. "Riordan chose ten of us. Offered the opportunity to escape our punishment and become Grey Wardens like him. Heroes. I jumped at the chance. Only three of us survived the joining."

Cainan wanted to ask what that was, to understand what she had been through; he had heard of Grey Wardens, of course, and had known of a ritual to join them, but not what that entailed. He wanted to touch her hand, to give some comfort in that; though if for the situation or for the departed, he was not sure.

Jaslyn sipped her wine, more circumspect near the end of her story. "Riordan brought us to Jader, to complete our training and join the ranks of Grey Wardens ready to cross into Ferelden to battle darkspawn. He slipped into Ferelden alone, to convince those idiot Fereldans to accept Warden help against the blight. I heard the Hero of Ferelden freed him from prison and he died fighting the archdemon." Her breath caught, thinking of her mentor's death, the first person who had truly believed in her.

“I’m sorry,” Cainan said at last, seeing the pain in her eyes as she mentioned the death of this man. There were many details he longed to know, but she had to be able to tell the story at her own pace, or it meant nothing. He waited for her to continue.

"The Wardens were like nothing I'd experienced before. Brothers and sisters, all accepted as equals regardless of race or circumstances of birth. And now the ranks of the Orlesian Grey Warden are swollen with new members whose expectations of becoming heroes were thwarted by two Fereldan Grey Wardens… though I choose to make the most of whatever time I have left." Which was why Jaslyn had not returned to Val Royeaux with most of the other Wardens.

She swallowed the last of her second glass of wine and put down the glass. Though pleasantly intoxicated, Jaslyn had no intention of getting too drunk to enjoy the company of the handsome and charming man who'd listened to her whole story. "Thank you for your attentive ear, Monsieur Sauvage. Do you mind if I call you by your first name?"

Cainan was almost ashamed to not have insisted on it before now. “Please, call me Cainan - you should not have had to call me anything else all day,” he said, apologetically. The question served to shake him from his study of her, and he drank a large portion of the glass of wine in his hand; he had fallen behind, and the warm feeling of the wine as it hit his belly was comforting and familiar. He held onto it for a moment, before he allowed himself to step into the uncomfortable, uncharted waters. "I hope you do not mind that I call you Jaslyn?" he asked, annoyed at himself.

Jaslyn nearly blurted the obvious – she had no other name. Though of course he could call her Warden, or Warden Jaslyn. Truth was, what she wanted was to hear him gasp her name in the throes of… something other than an apology. "Please Cainan, call me Jaslyn."

It was a few moments before he allowed the thoughts crashing around his head like waves in a storm to bubble forth, finally releasing a burden he hadn't realised he had been carrying.

“Javert… Richelieu was always terrible at cards,” he began, by way of explanation, though it was a terrible start if the look on her face was anything to go by. “Always easy to read, too many tells - to the point you could name his cards by what he did with his hands,” he said, remembering the little finger movements the man unconsciously made when he was excited about a hand, or the little wrist flick when he was about to fold. He should have seen his friend’s fortunes for what they were long before his confession, he decided. He pressed on; one could only seek absolution one sin at a time, he supposed. “I was never there to play him. I was always there to play Antione. To beat Antoine. And I did - over, and over… and over. I enjoyed seeing the rage in his eyes as I laid my cards and took his money.” He let that hang for a moment, unsure of where his words were taking him. “For me, the rage was momentary; restrained, never acted upon. I never suspected where that rage went after I left, and for the part I played in all that happened…” He swallowed the lump in his throat; he wanted absolution. He wanted to ask for forgiveness, to be forgiven. It was so unyieldingly selfish to ask, let alone expect it; but he had almost asked anyway. He felt ashamed of that.

Jaslyn put her lustful thoughts aside for the moment and listened to Cainan with solemn compassion. She had heard confessions of the sort from other Grey Wardens. Men and women who had done wrong and had sworn to atone for their sins.

“I always thought of myself as a decent man; not particularly good, per se; I always understood I lacked responsibility for my actions, and lived with far less cares than any man has right to, but I always told myself that no one was getting hurt that didn’t have it coming to them; that my lifestyle and actions only had consequences for myself. Until today, anyway,” he added, looking into her eyes. “For what little it is worth, I am sorry, for all I did that befell you rather than me.” Cainan had never felt more vulnerable than he did in that moment, as he laid bare in simple words his most earnest feelings. If only Antoine had taken a swing at him, instead; if only he had been the target of Antoine’s rage, perhaps he would have understood the man better, and perhaps known what sort of reaction he was causing.

Jaslyn shifted her chair so that she faced Cainan, and took one of his hands in both of hers, a personal gesture, though they were still wearing gloves. "What happened to me was not your fault, Cainan. You did not make Antoine the way he was, that was all on him. I don't blame you in the least. But if you blame yourself, know that I fully and completely forgive you." She gazed into his green eyes for a long moment, to emphasize the weight and sincerity of her words. "Today you experienced a personal revelation that has shifted the way you see yourself. And now, going forward, you have gained the wisdom to see that you can choose to be a different person. It won't be easy. I know you can do it."

He looked at her hands, and then into her eyes. They were far deeper than they had any right to be, and he was at risk of falling into them; and he hadn't even had that much wine, he mused. He felt a burst of gratitude at her words, and something far less innocent at her eyes. He smiled, though, and nodded in thanks. Their hands parted, and he drained his glass before pouring more, as he changed the subject. "Then enough of this morose talk, let's drink to happier things and aim for a better evening," he said, with a winning smile. "I confess I've never gone drinking with Grey Wardens before, are there any good drinking games for two?" he asked, his thoughts suddenly filled with suggestions.

Jaslyn leaned back in her chair. "How about a game of wicked grace, with me? I challenge you."

Cainan had to smile at that, and patted his pockets for effect. "A wonderful idea, but you've caught me on an off night, financially. Although, I do have some next door-" he began, but she cut him off with a twinkle in her eye.

"Oh, no. Not for coin. Let's wager something else." Jaslyn gave him a seductive smile whilst - one finger at a time - she loosened the glove on her right hand, then pulled it off and tossed it on the table. "Each of us keeps our winnings until morning. Are you up for a game?"

How could a glove be so sexy, he wondered, as he looked at it and felt his heart quicken a little. "Well... those are stakes I can definitely play with," he answered, slipping his own glove finger by finger until the garment was tossed above her own on the table between them. Cainan produced a deck of cards and, as was customary when supplying the cards, passed them to Jaslyn to deal. He looked her up and down briefly, wondering how many hands of the game it would take before the chill of the evening might move them to a more... comfortable setting.

Jaslyn shuffled the deck with care, the imbalanced slide of cards between one bare hand and one gloved offered a distraction from the anticipation of playing with Cainan. She dealt five cards each, then picked up her hand - two knights, two angels, and a song. Still undecided about whether she would play to win, or cheat to lose as quickly as possible, Jaslyn lifted an inquiring eyebrow. "Well?"

As Cainan received his first cards, he looked at what he hoped would soon be his winnings, and then back to the gloves on the table. "I'll wager another glove on this round," he said, placing the cards face down as he slowly removed each finger from its home in his glove, slipping the cloth from his hand and slowly letting it fall into the middle of the table with the others, in a mimicking of the sort he had seen from various burlesque entertainers throughout Orlais. And just like them, he kept eye contact with her as he did it, before drinking a nice gulp of wine. He was normally careful with how much he drank while playing, but with such... favourable stakes, it made sense that his level of sobriety would neither help nor hinder the outcome of the game; one way or another, someone was going to be naked. Or dressed extremely inappropriately; but either way, it was turning into an interesting night.

She examined her cards as though studying them would influence her bid, then placed her hand face-down on the table. She pulled off her left glove and dropped it on the table. "I'll raise two forearm guards." Jaslyn unbuckled each one and dropped them on the table.

Cainan watched her face, the curve of her lips, and then the action of her hands as she removed two items that absolutely had no right to be sexy, but somehow managed it as they were tossed with a smokey, challenging look. He took a peek at his cards; nothing spectacular, but that would all depend on how the cards came out. He watched her and looked underneath his coat to meet her bet. "I'll call with two forearm guards," he replied, raising his sleeves to reveal the slim bracers; designed to be discrete and deflect a rapier if caught unawares, they would do little against a heavy broadsword or axe, but Cainan had always been nimble on his feet. He teasingly dangled the second bracer for a moment before letting it fall, and letting her continue to deal.

Jaslyn began her turn by drawing a card from the deck. A knight. If she discarded the song, she'd have a strong hand. Jaslyn discarded the knight, and licked her lips, smiling at Cainan. "Your turn."

Cainan looked at the card, before looking back to his opponent while tapping the top of his face-down cards. He studied her for a moment; though not entirely because they were playing a hand. She had a mischievous twinkle to her eyes that intrigued him. His hand wasn't too bad, but it was nothing to go all-in on. Then again, the payoff could be worth the risk...

He slipped another card, discarding one of the songs in his hand. Three Angels might be enough to win, but how far did he want to press the bet? They had all night, after all.

"I raise you one coat," he said, standing to take the coat off, slowly sliding it off and carefully placing it on top of the table to leave him in his shirt, sitting back down and watching with increasing interest at the make and lining of her chest piece, that hid some of what sat beneath. She might go for her boots, but that seemed more the ante for the next hand.

Jaslyn followed Cainan's every move as he shrugged out of his coat, and exhaled as he tossed it on the table. This game she'd proposed on a whim was turning out to be unexpectedly exhilarating. Without looking at her cards, she stood and began loosening the buckles on her chest piece with slow deliberation, eyes on him. Finally she dropped her chest piece on top of Cainan's coat. Underneath she wore a thin linen shirt that, with the cool touch of the evening breeze, left little to the imagination. Jaslyn took her seat.

Cainan watched as she called the bet and they finished the round; it wasn't fair a woman could turn something as mundane as removing a piece of armour into a spectacle to cause such a rushing in his blood, but there it was. The linen she wore underneath had a lightness to it that he suspected if he positioned her in front of a fire, he'd see every curve through the cloth. Alas, the fire pit was to their side, so he couldn't test that. Something for later, perhaps...

"Call?" he asked, his fingers caressing the cards. He lay his down and watched her reaction, looking not only for the end of the round, but also for any hint of her tells as she learned whether she had won or lost. Hell, whoever won this would be getting a lovely show, and he might be willing to lose his shirt for real this night, but old habits of a gambler were hard to crack. And he liked looking at her, anyhow.

"Your game," said Jaslyn, her voice low and breathy. She gathered up the cards then passed the deck to Cainan, her fingers lingering for a moment on his hand. Her motive for playing was not winning the card game, so any gambling tells she might reveal to Cainan were mixed with a different kind of tell.

Cainan's thumb caressed her hand softly as it lingered, sending a chill up his arm as the hairs on his skin stood erect, catching the chill of the night and giving him goosebumps. The look on her face was clear to read, and he smirked slightly as he started the shuffle.

While Cainan dealt the cards, Jaslyn removed her right boot, but left it on the floor rather than plop it on the table with their clothes. "I'm in."

Cainan looked down slowly to see her boot, and slid his own off and slid it next to hers. He was passed caring about what cards he had; in truth, he'd have gone all-in with nothing more than a raised eyebrow at this point, but he wouldn't have it said he had no self-control; and fleecing someone on the first night tended to dissuade card players from repeat visits.

Jaslyn took more care with the cards in the next hands, if only to make the exquisite delay that much longer. Finally they were down to the last hand, and Jaslyn's last bid. She looked into Cainan's deep green eyes, pupils dilated, and dropped her small clothes on the table, her body thrumming with anticipation and need. "Call."

Cainan could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his neck - hells, he could hear it in his ears. He sat bare-chested, barefooted - bare for all save his smallclothes, and the bet was... even? Did it matter? He kept eye contact with her as he stood and slid the restrictive garment off and gently set it on the table, his eyes as ablaze from lust as the fire pit. "Call," he said, flipping his cards over on the table before he crossed the distance between them and met her lips with his, never having bothered to see who won; he was happy to call tonight a draw, or lose; hell, whatever led to a rematch would be fine by him.

The night chill was made more bearable for the fire pit, but it was nothing against the heat between their bodies as his hands explored her, caressing every curve and line of her form that he had been studying for hours. He briefly hoped the cushions on the bend that she lay against were enough to be comfortable, but one look into her eyes told him if they weren't then she didn't care.

As the first tinge of light breached the horizon with the promise of the dawn, Cainan and Jaslyn made love with the fervour and anticipation of the last few hours driving them in sweet, energetic need for the release each promised the other, the card game forgotten.

 

RSS Feed