Cillian Frost

[forgottenaoife]

Don't Panic || Aoife + Cillian

Aoife's head had been spinning her entire trip back from Lorcan which, luckily, was much shorter given that she'd managed to catch a ride on the back of a cart headed towards Malconaire's village. Saoirse's words were playing over and over in her head. There's a rumor that...that you and...Sebastian Varmont were..."

There's a rumor that you're carrying his child."

It wasn't true and she knew anyone with half a bit of sense in their heads would know wasn't true- that rumor and any of the other ridiculous ones that were circulating about her sisters. But Aoife knew there was one person who would both know it wasn't true but still want to seek retribution on behalf on the Malconaire. That person was Ronan.

Aoife hopped off the back of the wagon as it slowed to take the bend near her home, waving at the driver to thank him before setting off in a run back towards her home and straight towards one of the few people who might be able to stop Ronan from doing something completely mad.

"Cillian!" Aoife burst into the stables, breathless. Cillian looked a bit shocked, which was unsurprising as Aoife rarely appeared at any places\ with such urgency.

"You have to take me to Ronan. I have to talk to him before-- before he--" Aoife couldn't process the words, thoughts coming all at once. What if Ronan had somehow heard the rumors already? What if he was halfway to Stafford as he spoke?

"I know you must know what's being said about me, Cillian," Aoife turned to him. "That they're more than the horrible lies being spread about my sisters. But I know there's... there's other things being said about how... Sebastian and I being seen in... in... compromising positions at the Emperor's tournament-- which of course isn't true! But I know how he is, Cillian-- Ronan, I mean-- I know how he is and it seems as if its gotten worse since he left so... I just... I have to talk to him. I don't want him to get hurt and I... I don't want him to hurt Sebastian.

[forgottencillian]

Cillian was whistling while he worked, breathing in the warm, rich scent of the soil, black and cool on his hands. He liked this work, it made sense to him. There were plenty of things, of course, which he enjoyed which did not make sense to him -- Cassandra Varmont, perhaps, being the leading example -- but working the land had a calming effect. Malconaire had always proven a bread basket of sorts to Astaira, and so perhaps it was simply that the work was always both effective and beneficial, but there was something rewarding in hard work always paying off.

It was a merry tune upon his lips -- one which had been stuck in his head since Arthur Varmont's bard (who had proven himself quite the musician) had played it at the gala. It was true that he'd not so much attended the event as observed it, ensconced high in a tree where precious few saw him, but he'd heard and seen much of it. Good and bad. Just now, however, his thoughts were far from that, meditating more on the simple, wholesome pleasures of his life, planting just as his father had taught him, so long ago.

All such thoughts fell immediately away, however, as he heard Aoife's voice calling across the field. She sounded tense. He stood, immediately, scanning the fields for her, and hastening her way as soon as he spotted her.

His brows arched in astonishment at her request. His breath caught. He licked his lips, brushing his dirty hands off on his apron, absentmindedly. He stopped, met her eyes again.

"Aoife..."

He didn't quite know what to say. He had to refuse her, surely. But could he? He didn't think he'd ever turned Aoife down, for anything. She and Eithne never asked him to do anything that wasn't eminently reasonable, and besides, Cillian would do anything for love, even if it hadn't been...but he was caught here. Aoife was a sister to him; Ronan was his brother. Was he meant to choose between them?

But an answer came. Neither of them would wish for Aoife to see him as he was, now. Neither of them. Still, it was hard to deny her. It was hard to say what he had to say.

Exhaling slowly, he chewed his lip. "Aoife, I'm sure you're thinking o,f--Ronan isn't...He's not how he used to be." It pained him to say this, burning in the hollow just above his heart. He rubbed at it with his hand, jaw working. "What is it you want, I--I can tell him, whatever it is. It's better if you don't see him, Aoife. It's better if..."

He frowned, a nagging uncertainty whispering in his head. "Before he what?"

Cillian colored, looked away. He did know the rumors. He hadn't credited them for a moment, naturally, but he knew how she must feel, and he was angry besides. He still felt the tug to do his worst. But he hardly even knew where to direct his fury.

"Where did they even begin?" he murmured. Oh, Valentina had made them wildfire at the gala, he knew that much, but he also felt sure she wasn't the originator of these words. She was that devious, no doubt, but they weren't her style. He couldn't put his finger on it, precisely, but it didn't seem like something she'd invented. They had just enough basis in fact to cause doubt amongst those who did not know the particulars nor the players well, and that was their brilliance. Likely, it was meant to be a gambit to discredit the princes (it was only Valentina who stood to profit from the Malconaires' part of the scandal as far as Cillian could tell) -- their obvious favor of the Malconaires simply pointing the way to his ladies -- but who would benefit from discrediting all the princes? Guinevere, perhaps, but it seemed even less like her than it did like Valentina...The Hand of the Emperor? Might Ciara know something?

Hearing Aoife's voice, again, he was pulled from his thoughts. His head snapped up to hers. "You've seen him." It wasn't a question. Her testimony that he'd gotten worse could mean nothing else. "You--but--when? Where?" He and Saoirse had been careful, so far, to keep the matter from him, but if he was venturing out -- she was right to worry. If, however, she'd only seen him in the Old Forest, well...

"I--Aoife, please tell me everything."

[forgottencillian]

Hart & Raven | Cillian & Brigit

"How does Rosie manage all this," muttered Cillian with an irritable sigh as, for about the fourth time, the antler fell away.

It was perhaps foolhardy to try to assemble a real antler to a white-washed wooden mask, but it was, notwithstanding, what he had done. He'd found two perfectly recognizable shed antlers lying on the forest floor, after all, and it was true that they were hefty, but it was easier than trying to...fashion false ones. Still, this exercise in fashion setting had left him with renewed respect for Rosie and her many such endeavors.

He'd also borrowed some green fabric from her, which he'd used to fashion fairly nondescript clothing, and all that was left was to complete this completely stubborn mask which, in truth, he didn't particularly wish to wed, anyway, but it was better than losing his alter ego. Lord Ormond was too valuable an asset, he told himself, to risk in so cavalier a fashion. No, this was all for the best, and so he bent once again to his task.

He'd been blessedly spared from making much clothing, one way or another, beyond the occasional repair. He had forgotten how greatly he disliked the activity. Cillian's thoughts and feelings on the matter of Ciara Varmont were more complex than he would like but, this morning, as he slipped ran his fingers over the fresh noble clothes she had given him, he was glad of it. The one Rosie had made for him, nearly two whole years ago, had gone very nearly threadbare in spots, given all the strange things he undertook while wearing them and the fact that they had come to him already a touch worn, a mixture of the half-tattered Ormond standard he'd claimed from the battlefield, and of Lord Malconaire's own clothing. While he thought, nonetheless, he'd probably keep those initial threads his whole life long as a reminder, he was sure that sooner or later court would start to note the increasingly shabby manner of his dress, and today he was to be on full display. But today, he was not dressing either as himself or as Lord Ormond. He was to play someone else entirely.

Donning the green raiment, including his antlered mask, he completed the look with a green bycocket to which he added a red feather. He exhaled slowly and, making off with a Malconaire horse (no one but Brigit was like to notice, and Brigit was unlike to begrudge him the use of the steed, as he was not to be riding the poor creature into any of the melees or jousts and thus would expose the beast to no harm), he rode to the spot, a familiar field outside of Stafford where, once, the queen had been accustomed to welcoming her people for dances and celebrations and the seasonal festivities of the year.

It was the dawn of the day of the archers, and he dismounted quickly, letting the horse into the paddock and handing off the reins quickly to Percy, there, lest someone recognize the creature from Malconaire. "Wish me luck," he said to his friend before making his way to the field where the archers were beginning to assemble.

Excitement for the hefty reward had indeed been piqued. Glancing at the long line, he could see that many were those who had come from far, indeed, including accents from other parts of the empire, itself.

How many have come here to make their fortune, only to watch so much of it slip away, already, to the greedy emperor and his lackwit son, already? They must feel desperate to get whatever's left...

Ahead of him, Cillian saw a huge, boorish man shove a much smaller person. "Outta the way!"

"Hey!" shouted Cillian, reaching out to steady the person. "Wait your turn like the rest of us!"

"What're you wearing, mate?" rumbled the boor, shocked out of his anger.

Cillian smirked. "A forest crown," he joshed, openly laughing at himself, managing to diffuse the moment. "Mind your own business."

The boor breathed a contemptuous laugh and looked away.

Cillian turned to the person he'd so rudely jostled with a smile. "Steady now?"

[forgottenbrigit]

If Brigit was truly going to do anything for Malconaire and her sister, it would be today.

She'd managed to advance into the second round yesterday, but it had been luck and Feidlimid's skills alone that had managed to get her even that far: without either of them, she never would have stood a chance.

In hindsight, she wondered if she should have risked entering that, at all? Her chance of winning had been so slight to begin with, it had likely not been worth the risk she'd made to enter. As soon as she had heard what was being offered to the winners, she'd abandoned all thoughts of reason. So desperately had she been praying for some help to come to Malconaire, it seemed as though this might be the very answer to it. It had not mattered that it was Roderick Varmont, himself, who was offering her aid.

But now, as she stood amongst the line of men competing in the archery portion of the tournament, did she wonder -- even if she did win, would the Emperor part with so much so willingly to someone like her? And what would happen to her if it was discovered that she had been a woman?

Those thoughts would have to wait: it was much too late to withdraw now and if she meant to win, she could not allow herself to be distracted. It had been announced that she would compete against Edmund Varmont in the first round. While she relished the idea of beating him, she realized that she did not know what she was up against. While she had heard that Edmund was often thought to be inferior to his brothers and uncles when it came to jousting and sword fighting, he had presented himself well enough in the previous days that Brigit wondered if he hadn't improved upon himself.

Her eye was so intent upon him, that she didn't realize that she stood in the way of a man who was barreling through the crowds and was nearly knocked to the ground. It was only by the quick reaction of another that she kept from loosing her balance altogether.

Brigit might not have recognized him from afar, but there was no mistaking his voice. The man in the antlered mask was Cillian and while she had not known it before this moment, there was so surprise at this realization. If she had been impulsive enough to enter the tournament, she should have known that Cillian would, too.

Brigit's own disguise was simple. She had worn some clothes Rosie had made her for working in the stables and had paired them with an old leathered vest that had once been her father's. It was ill-fitting, even though it had been one he had worn as a boy, but beneath her dark green cape, it made her chest and shoulders appear broader than they were. Her hair had been pinned up and tucked beneath her hood and she wore a simple black mask around her eyes.

Brigit wondered for a moment if she had managed to fool even Cillian, but through his mask she caught his look of surprise when he looked into her own.

"Don't be so surprised."

Her voice was lower than normal and this sorry attempt at a man's voice wasn't likely to fool everyone (certainly not Cillian, if she hadn't been discovered already), and so she had kept as silent as she could until this point, but she couldn't help but speak to him, now. And since it would be hypocritical to be furious with him, and so she could only delight in the fact that she would not be here to face this alone. "You can't be the only one to be in on the fun," She winked.

[forgottencillian]

"Don't be so surprised." She winked. "You can't be the only one to be in on the fun."

Shock diffused into delight, and, all at once, he asked himself why he had been surprised at all in the first place. Of course she would be here, of course she would find a way to fight for her family, even when strictly barred from doing so. Cillian, of all people, was the last to gainsay her in this -- in truth, he admired her all the more for it. Cillian looked away, laughing softly despite himself, fierce pride bubbling up within him. That's my girl, he thought. Even now -- or, perhaps, especially now -- he couldn't help but love her. She was too bold, too bright not to adore.

Had he been either of his siblings, he knew, he would have tried talking her out of this, and perhaps he should, but he wanted too much for her to succeed. He knew what it would mean to her, and what it would mean to Malconaire, too. She deserved the chance to fight for what she believed as much as any of the rest of them, perhaps more so -- she was a Lady of Malconaire, and the rest of them only servants. This was her guardians-given role.

"Right you are," said Cillian, smirking. "I'm sure your teacher would be proud," he added, returning her wink with one of his own. "All the very best of luck to you," he added, heartily.

He didn't need to ask what she would do with her winnings, either, should she make a success of the thing. He knew her faithful spirit too well to doubt it. Much as it would serve Astaira if he could make a good showing of it, himself, he couldn't help but hope she would win.

He realized, then, that he didn't know what she was calling herself or who she claimed to be. "Remind me, lad," he began, softly. "You're...from Malconaire? Or, do I seem to recall that you work for Lord Ormond?"

Knowing as she did who Lord Ormond really was, these days, he wished to remind her in this way that, if being from Malconaire was too suspicious, he would certainly vouch for her as Lord Ormond, if it came to that, though he very much hoped that it did not.

"What's the name, again? You must forgive me. In all the excitement, I seem to have forgotten it. Not to worry, though," he added. "I won't make that mistake, again."

[forgottenbrigit]

Brigit laughed quietly beneath her hood, the sound low and bright with mischief as she folded her arms across her chest. “My teacher may rue the day he ever instructed me,” she said, tilting her head slightly toward him. “For I know very well that he has entered the lists today, and I mean to beat him swiftly.”

She shifted her stance slightly, lowering her voice again in her attempted imitation of a man’s tone. “Bran O’Connor,” she said, giving the name with a faint, deliberate smile. She knew he would understand the choice immediately. It had felt right to carry her father's name with her today.

She had planned to say that Bran had come down from the North -- removing him as far as possible from Malconaire -- but when Cillian suggested Lord Ormond instead, her eyes gleamed behind the mask and she gave a small nod. “Aye. That’s the one,” she said. “I work for Lord Ormond.” What better lord to claim than one who did not truly exist? It was a safer lie to tell. Brigit leaned slightly closer and added with mock seriousness, “Though I’ll tell you plainly, he’s a dreadful lord to work for.”

She paused just long enough to let the words sit before continuing dryly, “Charming? Certainly. Handsome? No doubt. But unreliable, reckless, and inclined toward very poor decision-making. In a year, I'm afraid Ormond will cease to exist, if he carries on as he does.” Then, when she was fairly certain no one nearby was paying them any mind, she gave him a quick, conspiratorial wink.

For all the danger of the moment, there was a strange comfort in realizing that they were both here, both disguised, both determined to make something of this mad venture. Brigit felt an unexpected surge of relief knowing she was not entirely alone in the madness of it. If either of them was discovered, it would be a disaster, but if they were careful, perhaps they could even help one another. She only hoped Cillian did not decide to do anything particularly foolish before the day was through.

Straightening again, she tipped her head toward him. “And what about you?” she asked, voice still low beneath the mask. “What is your name, sir?” Her lips curled faintly. “I promise I won’t be offended that you forgot mine, as it seems I cannot recall your's either."

[forgottencillian]

"Ahh, cruel, indeed," laughed Cillian in mock seriousness, eyes gleaming with amusement. He couldn't help the way the sound of her merry laughter brightened his own face, winning a still brighter smile from him. "Looking to eclipse the most handsome man of your acquaintance, eh? But no matter, I believe a being bested by a most proficient student would, in fact, prove the worth of the teacher," he teased with a wink. "So, really, your instructor triumphs, either way."

The breath left him at the sound of her name. He stood a little taller. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. "Your father would be proud of you, today, Bran, whatever happens. Your mother, too. Don't forget that."

Cillian laughed, brows arching high beneath his mask. "'Dreadful!'" cried Cillian. "And here I had heard Lord Ormond was the cleverest, the most beguiling lord that ever there was. The poor man has been taking it on the chin, of late, I must say. Do you know, Lord Calleary approached me the other day to say that he thought that, if only Lord Ormond would wear cloth-of-silver, he might look half as interesting as the so-called 'Lord Malconaire'--" here he adopted a disrespectful tone to show just what he thought of that man wearing that title. "I near challenged him, on the spot."

As she listed his virtues, Cillian fought the growing smile that wished to take hold of his features. He knew Brigit well enough to have no doubt this string of compliments was leading him nowhere very desirable, but hearing them -- even in jest -- pleased him, notwithstanding. "Tragically as you describe him, no doubt many will take heart in the fact that his roguish, debonair good looks are beyond question," he replied in the same mock-serious manner. "I have often heard it said that such rare beauty is, in fact, the best qualifier there is, to rule. It is the reason, you know, why all lords and ladies are born exquisite visions -- but mere peasants, I am told, never are." His eyes danced with merriment at this little piece of irony as he looked at her.

It was Cormac who claimed this, but Cillian had heard it oft repeated. He'd heard it many times, both as Ormond and as himself, and in both guises, he'd made semi-treasonous quips about the Varmonts, which had gone directly over the poor man's head, and to which he'd thus agreed with great alacrity. In any case, Cillian was well aware that Brigit, also, was fully aware of the origin of this bit of wisdom. Cormac certainly said it often enough...

"Yet, I must say, I think all these qualities, really, are virtues. Why, is not unreliability not simply spontaneity? And recklessness not...courage?" He grinned. "You know, I heard another tale of him, just the other day--" he often took these moments as opportunities to mock Cassimir and Cormac and the Varmonts, and all those like them, and he was warming to his subject. "It seems Lord Ormond was once, while on the road, faced with highwaymen who demanded all that he had. Rather than relent, I am told, he scaled the side of a tree and threw acorns down at his pursuers, all while singing the national anthem." It was a story, he knew, that Brigit would recognize. As children, after all, they had all played together, and there was one occasion upon which, during a game, Cassimir and Ronan had cornered Cillian, who, scrambling up a tree, had proceeded to do all that he described, right down to pelting the older boys with acorns. This was, however, a feat slightly more befitting a small child than an adult, and Cillian was at once in some difficulty, preventing a smile. "What do you say to that! Quite the heroic deed, no? Ormond doomed! I'll reckon you've never been struck by a flying acorn from a great height, to say so!"

He grinned. "Ahh, that is good of you lad. Call me Saighdeoir Iontach," he replied with a conspiratorial grin. Any Astairan would know it at once to be a pseudonym, but he didn't mind. The Varmonts most certainly wouldn't notice. The name, after all, literally translated to magnificent bowman. "Fitting, no?"

[forgottencillian]

A Protective Brother | Cillian & Sebastian

"Lord Ormond!"

It was Rosie's voice ringing out amongst the throng and, turning to look, Cillian smiled a brotherly grin. "Rosi--Lady Roisin."

Her smirk was lopsided -- very clearly trying to suppress laughter -- and she shook her head. "You're hopeless," she hissed. "Anyway, Sebastian Varmont wants to meet you and he insisted -- very politely, he's very polite -- I introduce you! He's such a dear, do be nice--"

"What?"

"And I think he may be sweet on our Aoife! Isn't that marvellous?"

"What?!"

"He's coming this way--"

"What?"

"--but don't worry, I said some very promising things in your favor!"

"Rosie -- I can't deal with another Varmont right now!"

"Another? Wha--"

"Gods, Rosie, what did you say to him about me?"

"What, precisely, does 'another Varmont' mean--"

"Rosie! Focus!"

"On what?!"

At precisely that moment, Sebastian materialized out of the crowd, causing Rosie to hasten to his side, guiding him over to Cillian. "As promised!" she gleamed. "Your Imperial Highness, may I present my dear friend, Cillian, Lord of Ormond?" she said, gesturing to Cillian, who did his best not to sigh.

"And Cillian," she added with a slightly more warning tone (a be-on-your-best-behavior tone). "May I present His Imperial Highness, Sebastian, Prince of the Varmont Empire?" she turned quickly, eagerly to Sebastian. "Did I do tht right? I'm not the best with everyone's elaborate titles. Do you and your siblings have different styles -- oh, but nevermind. Answer me later. I'm interrupting! You two wished to chat!"

"Rosi--Lady Roisin!"

"I'll catch up with the both of you later!" So saying she danced way, disappearing amongst the tumult of people, very clearly delighted with herself, and Cillian was left to face yet another Varmont alone, but this time as Lord Ormond.

Turning to face Sebastian, he bowed very stiffly. "It is a pleasure," he began. "To finally put a face to the name. Her Imperial Highness the Princess Cassandra has told me much about you." What sort of inanities did such people generally chatter about? "How--how do you find the ball?"

[forgottensebastian]

Cassandra's infatuation with the mysterious Lord Ormond was quickly becoming the palace's worst kept secret. Sebastian suspected that perhaps, by now, only their father was truly ignorant of it. He had long wanted to see for himself the sort of man Cillian Ormond truly was. His sister's imagination left her as a less-than-reliable narrative of events and he realized that it was just as likely that Lord Ormond had only said two words to her as it was that they were planning a secret elopement.

And while Sebastian meant to give him the benefit of a doubt, it was his position as her elder brother that made Sebastian feel a bit distrustful of him from the start. Cassandra was idealistic, romantic, and naive -- all qualities that he loved about her, but similarly ones that made her both all too trusting and gullible. If a handsome and charming young man meant to take advantage of her, it would only be too easy.

"Has she?" He did manage a laugh at this. He could only imagine what she would have said about him. "I'd tell you not to believe a word she's said, but I think her description of me as the boring older brother is a bit more accurate than I'd care to admit." Sebastian knew that Cassandra was fond of him, but it was no secret that Arthur was the favorite. Arthur was much less likely to deny Cassandra anything.

At the same time, Arthur was much more likely to try to drive off any of Cassandra's potential suitors and he knew it was this very reason why his sister had been trying to keep her feelings about Lord Ormond to herself. Arthur would find fault with him, no doubt, even if Sebastian could not.

"I confess I feel the same. She's speaks very highly of you, Lord Ormond. In fact, she hardly speaks of anything else, at all, these days. You've made quite an impression on her. Tell me, are all of the wild adventures she's gone on about true?" He was eyeing him now, perhaps a tad more critically than was fair given that they'd only just been introduced. And now that Sebastian was face to face with him, he realized that there was something very familiar about him.

"I -- I'm sorry, have we been introduced before?" He found himself asking. Sebastian always did his best to remember everyone he met (from kings and queens down to the men and women who served him), but there was always an influx, especially during the eras while they were living in newly conquered countries, where he found he forgot ever having met someone.

It was in this very moment that he considered that they may have even met upon the battlefield and he hoped and prayed as soon as the words had escaped him that that was not the case.

[forgottencillian]

Sebastian's easy laughter reminded Cillian somewhat of Cassandra's and, despite himself, he smiled with it, but quickly roused himself. It would be foolish to too easily let his guard down. He'd done that once, already, with a brother of hers, to less than wonderful results. This, he reminded himself, was one of those who may have headed the Battle of Malconaire. He would not forget.

His smile remained, but it was a mask: the sort of smile he was accustomed to wearing when there were less than pleasant guests of Lord Malconaire's present, yet he must keep up appearances: he could not risk staining his lordship's reputation with anything less than polite behavior amongst his servants (with Valentina in charge, he rarely hesitated to smear her reputation for hospitality, however). It did not come easily, but it looked natural enough, and that was all that mattered in such situations, his Mam always said.

"She's said enough that I think I may have a sense of what it may feel like to be your younger sister," he jested, carefully regulating his tone. He had to sound friendly. "Something I cannot say of any other man." He had a tendency to steer the discussion elsewhere when it fell upon Arthur or Edmund, not sure he could contain his irritation. "But, given your own description, I think she may speak more highly of you when you are not present, than when you are." Cillian thought, particularly at that present moment, that she was altogether far too apt to speak positively of all her relations.

Bowing his head at his comment, Cillian nevertheless took in Sebastian's quizzing look. Cillian was a servant, and one with something to hide, no less: he had long since learned how to look up while still looking down, as these Varmonts seemed to expect. He knew he was being tested. Corners of his lips turning up, Cillian chuckled. He had little doubt Sebastian knew that they could not all be so. "I do not pretend to know what she might have told you about my 'adventures,' but I do imagine some have become somewhat...exaggerated in the retelling. What, precisely, have you heard, Your Imperial Highness?"

His gaze flicked towards Sebastian's at that, eyes widening for a moment, his hands clasping into fists at his side, and then he laughed, but there was an edge to his voice when, without intending to, he blurted, "I can hardly say. Did you fight in the Battle of Malconaire? I met many a Varmont warrior there, I'm afraid, and lost my uncle to the fray."

He paused, lips drawing into a thin line and then, all at once, he laughed, even surprising himself with the sound. "Though...it may be thought that that was no great loss, I suppose. Much as I may miss him, the man was the rival claimant to my title. You may struggle to sort out your own impending succession crisis, but it seems you managed to solve mine, rather handily, though I confess," he added, his gut felt light and empty, and his head much the same as something burned just behind his eyes. "I'd sooner have my friend and mentor back again than this title."

Exhaling a long, slow breath, he shook his head, passing a hand before his face. "Gods! Forgive me, Your Imperial Highness. You may well understand," he added, glancing towards the Queen and her sister, stripped now of what little honors Roderick had left them, in the sight of his court, Cillian's shoulders hunched with ill-concealed fury. He pressed his eyes shut. "Guardians know, it has been already a difficult evening for Astairans everywhere."

[forgottensebastian]

Sebastian smiled to hear that. He knew that Cassandra loved him more than she tended to let on most days, but it warmed his heart to know that she, at least, spoke more affectionately about him when she was describing him to others, than she might have let on otherwise. "It's good to know that I am not always resigned to the role of her tiresome older brother, but it does make me wonder if she is prone to exaggerate my qualities."

He paused, "As for your own adventures -- I shall admit to knowing that there was some trouble on an island; a forty's day march through a desert where you encountered a band of thieves; and a mistake of identity which led to be imprisoned and nearly falsely executed for crimes you did not commit." There was something about the desert thieves, whom he had somehow won over, raiding the prisons, freeing him, and offering him a place amongst the men. Or perhaps it had been pirates and a great journey across the ocean?

He did not know how it happened, but he had come to meet Lord Ormond to question both his intentions and his worthiness of his sister, but he soon found himself dwelling upon the battle of Malconaire and the horrors that had befallen the Astairans since his father had taken over their lands.

And he found that himself at the mercy of Lord Ormond's questions. His family had a lot to answer for and he knew, instantly, that nothing he could say would satisfy him. He also knew that this was not the place for such a conversation, however much he cared to try to help foster peace between the royal family and the lords of this land. His father could be around any corner and his loyal councilmen and guards around the others.

"I did not fight in the Battle of Malconaire, Lord Ormond," He said. And although it had been the truth, he found that his voice wavered as the suggestion that he had put it to the sword. If he had had more promise in that area, perhaps it would have been him who had led the charge. And he wondered, as horrific as the idea was now, that if his father had commanded it of him, would he have done it?

He did not think that many knew that it had, instead, been his half-brother who had. Sebastian did not wish to reveal it, if it could be helped. Edmund's friendship with the Lady Roisin had been a positive influence on him and Sebastian did not wish to relinquish any information that would tarnish that. If asked outright, he had no intention to lie, but Sebastian knew that things were different now, than they had been then.

He and Edmund had never been close, but he knew that his brother would never let harm come to the place now, even if their father commanded it.

"I am sorry for the your loss of your uncle. Many brave and honorable men were lost that day. I lost many friends and I regret that a more peaceful solution could not have been found." Perhaps he ought not have said the last bit. The only peaceful solution would have been surrender and the Astairans were not cowards. If Roderick Varmont meant to have their lands, they would not give it up willingly.

"Think nothing of it," Sebastian said, hastily. "I understand --- " He stopped. There were too many there to listen for him to say anything more. For Lord Ormond's own sake, he hoped that this would be the end of it.

Desperate to speak of anything else and feeling too ashamed to push him any further on his intentions towards his own sister, instead Sebastian asked him, "Have you any other living family, Lord Ormond?"

He hadn't considered, until the words left him, that he could have lost them all in the war.

[forgottencillian]

((ooc: so once again imma say that this convo was interrupted at the ice ball, but perhaps is now being resumed at valentina's gala bc i think its too big a convo to just...abandon but also lots has happened since the v first event of the rp! <3))

"Ahh, I know the feeling," laughed Cillian before he'd thought. While Cillian Frost had a younger sister to roll her eyes at him -- Cillian Ormond did not. He shrugged. "Well, in a sense. The Malconaires are like sisters to me." His smile was genuine. That much was true enough -- though of the new Cillian Ormond. The previous one, the true one, the one who had perished on the bloody glades and fields of Malconaire had not been particularly close with them. He knew that much.

Cillian had met him, a few times, though only in passing. Cillian's mother, Caoimhe, had come from the Ormond lands and, on occasion, would take her family back with her to visit her family. The two rival Ormond lords were not so much amongst their people as the Malconaires or Lorcans or Calleries, whom he knew so well, had been, but they were Astairan lords, too, and Caoimhe had known them. And, of course, Cillian had ben there when he had died.

Cillian remembered that his namesake had been tall, taller even than Ronan, but skinnier, too, with a mop of ever-tousled black hair, a hawkish nose, and piercing grey eyes. He wasn't so much what one might call handsome to look upon, as arresting, but he had a certain something, and his bearing had been always unmistakably lordly. Cillian tried his best to mimic that quality. In his youth, he had witnessed a few of Cassimir's deportment classes, though he had never had any himself -- what need had a servant of that? While Cillian tried to execute what little he remembered hearing, he didn't think he quite pulled off that way of moving, of speaking, of looking that the other Cillian Ormond had had. But, though only a borrowed sigil, Cillian believed he had far more of the fox about him than his namesake had had. The other Cillian had been more of the stag.

Cillian, did, however -- ironically enough -- somewhat resemble the Ormond uncle with his red-blond hair (though it was admittedly turning more chestnut, with streaks of white at the temples, by the time Cillian had known him), and green eyes not unlike Cillian's own. The resemblance to the younger Frost had ended there, however, with his nose, height, angular looks, and lordly bearing more closely resembling his actual nephew. Still, little as it was, it was better than nothing, Cillian liked to tell himself, and he proceeded from that truth.

With a bright smile, Cillian tilted his head as Sebastian declared Cassandra likely to exaggerate his good qualities. "Oh, I'm sure that's not possible."

Cillian would hardly call himself fond of any of Roderick's sons, but Sebastian was, in his opinion, the least objectionable of them. While Cillian was not wild over his attachment to Aoife (why did it seem a nice Astairan boy would not do for them? Though, he could scarcely blame the Varmont princes for admiring his ladies, right enough), Sebastian had grown greatly in his estimation by two sources, since their first meeting. Firstly, he was but half-brother to the Varmont who'd lain waste to Cillian's homeland and, secondly, he'd managed to drive the fear of the gods into Valentina's heart, a thing which had proven gratifying to Cillain in the extreme.

Despite himself, Cillian chuckled as Sebastian recounted some of his feigned adventures. He could easily pick out which were the satiric tales of his own invention, and which the more fanciful stories Rosie had told, though many of them traced by to the mytho-historic figure of James Garin, sure enough.

Sebastian's measuring look did not escape him, and Cillian's smile deepened. He knew tales, too, very true, which were just as wild as Cillian's very false ones. Better that off-putting parallell than to confirm or deny anything. "Ahh, but what are these things to marching upon countless countries and crushing them, one after the other, beneath one's heel? My adventures have been grand, I will own, but they pale, too, in comparison to yours, I've little doubt. As it seems you know all my own stories, perhaps you will share yours with me sometime, eh? I will not deny that I am fond of a good yarn, well told."

He grew a touch thoughtful. It was strange to hear that quaver in a Varmont's voice. He thought of them often as heartless -- but this spoke of something else, altogether. And it made him feel strange, indeed, to own it.

"Well, I am glad to hear it," he admitted. "Some things are hard to forget." Though he knew by now that Sebastian had not been the commander at that battle, that did not mean that Sebastian had not been there. It improved his opinion of him to know that he had not been.

"I regret that a more peaceful solution could not have been found."

Arching a brow, Cillian regarded him a moment. Whatever he had thought he might say, he had hardly expected to hear that. To his ears, it was tantamount to admitting Roderick's brutal guilt. "Yes, as was our one-time queen. I still recall the look on her face when she received your father's letter, rebuffing her offer of treaty one Samain, well before the war."

In truth, not being at court, Cillian had not seen her face, but Eithne's description of it had proven memorable enough. Roderick's response had proven characteristic, his only reply a piece of paper bearing, simply, a list of all the countries he had so far conquered. Astaira was listed at the bottom. The queen had not sued for peace again, taking it for what it was: a declaration of future war. Watching his face, now, Cillian could not help but wonder if Sebstian knew anything at all about that damning letter. Roderick did seem the type to play such things close to the chest.

He wondered, too, though, if Sebastian truly was sorry. If Malconaire had not been taken, Astaira would not have been. How would he, then, have met Aoife, or come into more lands, more precious wealth? Was he truly sorry, then, to driven the Ormonds to extinction? To have struck down one of the best men who ever had lived, in Lord Malconaire? How would he or his father now be, a ruinous war dragging on and on? Already, Roderick seemed tired of it, even in vicory. Had he not burned hundreds of innocents in his fury, three years before? Cillian's gaze shot away, gut clenching. Somehow, he thought of Cassandra, now. He did not think that such a man could make a very caring father. How could anyone, who lacked so entirely basic compassion?

His gaze shot once more to Sebastian's as he spoke. For a moment, he fell silent. His thoughts strayed to Ronan, and he looked away. All the Ormonds were dead, it was so, the last rival lords lain low by his own brother's sword.

"No," he said, starkly. "I am all that is now left of House Ormond." His exhalation was long and low. "All the rest perished at Malconaire." He paused, in truth considering aloud. "Should I die without an heir, I suppose all those lands that once were Malconaire shall revert to that House, as I am their vassal, but I confess, now it is Cassimir who has governance over them, I am quite determined to live a very long and a very fruitful life. If I'm all that stands between him and the people there, well, I've little intention of handing him anything else to drive into the ground, let me say that much." The other possibility was, of course, that Roderick would seize those lands -- somehow an even worse fate, he thought, than the one Cassimir threatened.

He'd not considered any of that before now and, frowning, he glanced into the distance, wondering what would happen, were he unmasked -- or killed. As it stood currently, the people lived more or less without a lord, only the shadow of one at court. He imagined they still got on better than did those who had been subjected to Valentina's sickly rule. Ought he to make a will? Or search for one his Ormond forebears might have put down? Even if of no blood relation, surely nearly any candidate would prove superior! But was the responsbility even his? Or did he overstep? He was not even from Ormond!

He did not want it, true enough, but hadn't he seized it, with the title he wore? Wasn't that more or less the basic tenant of governance in Astaira? The very means by which they appointed their rulers, and had done, for centuries gone by? But Cillian had nothing, and too much to contend with as it was. How was he to manage this?

He wished, all at once, that Eithne knew everything. He wanted to ask her what could be done. She was his lady, after all, and Ormond was her vassal, too, anyway. But how could he tell her without threatening her safety?

He smiled softly, gaze falling upon the prince before him with quiet curiosity. "What would you do, in my place, Your Highness?"

[forgottencillian]

OOC | Hiding Guardian, the Oakenbrand

So the following (w typos corrected! aksdljfklsdjf and @ 's adde) is from disco "thinking abt the hiding of the true sword of malconaire—might they quite literally have put it back into the tree from whence it came, since it can only be drawn forth again by a true malconaire and until that time it’ll simply be a branch again?

"idk if cillian or @forgotteneithne could have done that or if it’d require Brigit to do? It seems tho that only eithne or ~maybe one of her sisters or uncle can take it back out again tho? Ik w Excalibur ~anyone could return it but only arthur could reclaim it but yeah idk if that’s true here or not But yeah! Just a thought!

"But yeah if they did that, even if @forgottencassimir actively recognized the branch hilt sticking out of the tree somewhere (tho if cillian was the one who replaced it he would’ve climbed high up and hid it amongst the branches where Cassimir wouldn’t see it hopefully…) he couldn’t remove it. Plus there ~is the fake one sitting it his armory to reassure him that that branch just looks weirdly like the hilt! Weird! Sghjkjfdf"

although this might also depend how the ~guardians classify "a true malconaire" -- are the ppl who live there, like the frosts, true malconaires? is it just those of the bloodline? i can see either definition as potential bc, for example, cassimir ~has grown up in malconaire, but he doesn't have the culture/heart of it down, so does that count?

cojent to this, too: is it just the lord/lady (like, in this case, just eithne), or is it anyone of the bloodline, or anyone who has malconaire's true interests at heart, who can pull the sword from the tree? likewise, who can sheath the sword in the tree, again, after its been pulled free?

also, we said, before this, that the sword is currently hidden at the resistance camp -- do we prefer that, particularly w the tree facing down death and the malconaires abt to be out in the woods, etc? ik @forgotteneithne said that she wanted cillian to hide it and not tell her where it could be found, so she could look cassimir in the eye and tell him truthfully she didn't know where it was, if he ever figured out the replacement was a fake. so, cillian might've ~thought he could put it back in the tree, only to learn that -- not being a malconaire or whatever -- he ~couldn't, and thus taken it to the rebel base? it could also be that the tree, being precognitiant, ~knows its going to die/that the girls will be expelled from malconaire, soon, and so just refused to accept the sword back? (tho if that happened to cillian he'd def assume that was just bc he wasn't of the ~blood and just accept that and not assume it meant smth bad was on the horizon!)

or else maybe the sword ~is in the tree, but eithne'll still be able to pull it free, even after the tree dies, when she needs to bc the sword has its own magic independet of the tree, now, having been its own entity out there in the world for so long, etc, kinda like aella's trees do? idk???

just random thoughts, really! i just thought we should all know ooc where the sword is -- i feel like asp ~someone's gonna need to wield it, be that eithne, brigit, or...uncle lonan, idk!! alkjdsfkljsdf but yeah!

[forgottenamira]

OOC | Amira & Brigit

amira would honestly be deeply intrigued if she knew that brigit was a witch...i doubt she does, but amira kinda wishes she ~were a witch, and she uses a lot of arts that her grandmother taught her on the daily but honestly brigit, not having a prince on her lead, will probs be the least interesting malconaire to amira, tho moving brigit can move her sisters, so that could show some promise. but yeah! i think she's least likely to get much attention from amira even tho ironically of all the sisters, amira'd have most in common w brigit in truth lakjsfjksdf

[forgottenbrigit]

I was thinking -- do you think that Amira kinda keeps her ear to the ground when it comes to witches?? Like so many people had been accused of being witches, obviously, during the pyre walk but do you think she might have heard about Brigit being accused and then the accusation being rescinded??? And, if she did, do you think that that's something she would try to look into???

Also, I can't remember which post you asked it on, but I remember that you asked if maybe Brigit would have healed Cillian with magic after the battle and I 100%%% think that she should have!!! And like, maybe he was unconscious/delirious when it happened, so he doesn't remember, but someone else saw (or thought they saw!) her doing magic?

[forgottenamira]

ooooh ok so i love all of this!! i def think ~both calainons keep their ears to the ground re: witches!! and godfrey has a whole spy network, i feel like, so one way or another i def think she ~would know abt that!!! and she'd be verrrryy interested! whether its true or not is equally interesting bc just the accusation alone, floating out there in the aether, can't be taken back entirely and its all ammo in her arsenal, one way or another!! i do also think there's an interesting sort of anti-parallel here bc amira has all the knowledge/a former teacher in the art of witchcraft etc but no power whereas brigit has all the power and none of the practical training/knowledge so they've got this strange sort of inverse thing happening here that i just feel like could potentially make for some interesting parallels and anti parallels etc but ANYWAY i def think, this being the case, that amira would be sure to arrange a 'chance' converstaion at the ball to sort of get a feel for who she is ajksdflkjdkljfkjds its called being a good hostess laksdjflksdfjkdsf

AHHHHHHHH omg obsesssssseddddd AND THE FACT THAT HE DON'T KNOW likeeeee slajfksljdfdsf he would've died but she saved hima nd doing so v nearly cost her her own life i-- *clutches heart* cillian will F R E A k if he ever finds out alkjsdfalkjsdfkljsdf and yessssss i like the idea that someone saw and RATTED lajsfkjskdfj amira, tapping her chin as she hears this 'hmmm yesss very interesting, very interesting indeed...'

[forgottenbrigit]

alkjflsajfsfll oh my god I never thought about that parallel?? And like, Brigit's v stubborn and obviously anti-Varmont, but depending on the situation/what is happening, there might be a time when she'd consider asking Amira for help -- if she knew that Amira has all of this knowledge, y'know??? I mean, she'd have to be in dire straights to even consider it, but Brigit will ultimately do anything to save her sisters, so if they were even in jeopardy and she needed to use her powers beyond what she knew, I can see her maybe going to Amira!!! (it would literally be a last resort, but!!)

aslfjsalfjlsajf but yeah brigit secretly saving cillian's life at the expense of risking her own!!!! <333 I do have a headcannon that she def stayed with him until he regained consciousness and her's was the first face he saw when he came to, again, and he witnessed her relief and honestly, I feel like that moment also factored into him later confessing his feels to her!!

[forgottencillian]

ooooooh brigit being pushed to go to amira! what a team lajsdafjlsdf i wonder if this maybe ties in to amira being able to contact/claim a guardian, too? bc we know our girl aint too altruistic lakjsfjklsdjf and she wouldn't necessarily tell brigit why she wants her to take her for a walk in the old forest mind but yeah! she ~does need a malconaire to get there...that being said, she's happy to pass on her knowledge bc #witchsolidarity (amira, you aint one babe! amira: don't be rude lakjsdfakljsdf) but she gotta get smth out of it...like powers of her own (borrowed laksjdfjklsdf)

bc like...lauren, kate, and i were thinking that maybe there're ~other magical trees at malconaire and maybe there's a dark!tree chained up at malconaire in the old forest that might be the one amira targets for the plan re her og bio of seizing a guardian for herself laksjdfjksdf [ here ] [ here ] [ here ] (i ~think that's everything?) which obv has yet to be confirmed/idk if this makes sense to you/works re your thoughts etc etc etc but yeah! provided we ~do go in that kind direction, that could be an aspect thereof? tho, equally, this could be in exchange for any help amira might offer re her sisters being burned alive as witches etc ig? idk lakjdsfkljsdf

but, yes, irregardless of the above, basically amira would be down to train brigit!!!! she'd def want smth out of it tho, even if its just a favor to be named later or whatever!!!

anyway, re: cillian!! oh man i loooove the idea that she stayed w him till he woke and hers was the first face he saw and ughhhhhh babiessssss SOBBBB aksjdfkljsdjff honestly ik his face was just written all over w 'that's the light of my life right there' as he looked at her then not even necessarily sure exactly where he was or what had just happened in the moment bc he just <33333333 he loves her sm frankly ughh lakjsdfjksdf and omgggg him seeing the relief written all over her face, he might've thought 'omg she loves me too!' and its sad bc like...he's not wrong, its just, not the kind of love he hoped SOB and oh man that factoring into his confession!!!! yassss!!!! and that paired w everything that had happened honestly makes all the sense in the world!!!!!

also i wonder if maybe ~her healing cillian~ being what originally had her accused of witchcraft might come out when roderick tries the girls for it? it wouldn't necessarily have to, i don't think, bc frankly i think simply having been accused asp is probs enough in roderick's book esp bc he's mad at the malconaires for interfering w his kids etc, but yeah!

BUT i ~do think it could potentially contribute to a supposed pattern of behavior displayed by all four girls esp since i def think rosie, at least, will think there's secretly smth going on between these two when she notices that now brigit is ~also going into the old forest at the same time as cillian a lot and, if that habit gets out, she may not be the only person to draw that conclusion esp bc like...i do think cillian isn't always fully aware of ~the way he looks at her~ sometimes and yeah!! basically, brigit's sisters are also accused of using witchcraft to seduce the emperoro's sons, and now even brigit seems to have some tryst going (even if its just w some farm boy...if only roderick had had another son ig ;DDD) so obv its all the same behaviors and, since brigit (being the only one anyone can actually claim to have witnessed...tho valentina might perjure herself fearfully on this occasion, feeling she's protecting herself and her own kids, ngl...yayyyy best stepmom award!!) was actually witnessed using witchcraft, that means they're ~all witches right (obv this logic is a iron-clad!!!!!! ;DDDD)??? might be a factor in the trials, potentially????

anyway, that was a bit of a tangent but my point is, if cillian finds out that ~he's the reason she was put in this terrible position, he will be GUTTED and alksdjfkljsdkfj MUAHAHAHA *angsttttttt* timeeeeee!!! lakjsfkljsdjfk

EDIT:

from the replies...

forgottenbrigitFeb 26, 2024@forgottenamira alternatively re: Cillian and Brigit healing him, she totally could have gaslighted him and he’s like “brigit! I’m dying!” And she’s like “no you aren’t” *heals his wounds* “this isn’t even your blood. You’re fine.”

forgottenamiraFeb 26, 2024Original Poster@forgottenbrigit THIS ISNT EVEN YOUR BLOOD lajsfkljsdjfdsf cillian: 'i...what is ~happening!!!' alkjsdfkjldf also cue him feeling weirdly guilty abt not even being injured when lord m went and fully diEd alskdfjkjsdf

love this! i say we ~mingle them!! so boy's last thought is that he's dying and he passes out. he wakes up in brigit's arms and is like 'is this heaven?' and she's like 'you're fine this isn't even ur blood' and then he sees like yeah...he doesn't have a scrape on him????????? and tada!! lkajsdfkljdsf soooooo disoriented and confused and yeah feeling kinda guilty and meanwhile he really ~did almost die he just doesn't know it lakjsdfkjldsf

[forgottencillian]

"I have to get home!" Brigit x Cillian

It was all going according to plan, this ruse within a ruse of the resistance's own devising; all of it -- until Bran O'Connor was also seized. Cillian had been prepared for the inevitable arrest of his brother, even in his crafty disguise as Battleman Run, (if Roderick had ever bothered to learn even a few words of Old Astairan, well, the rebels would have been foiled much more easily!) and that of their cohorts, but Bran was...a wrinkle. It was true that they'd anticipated the arrest of all native Astairans to win, but Bran was a folly for the simple fact that the archer's true identity was Brigit Malconaire -- and Brigit Malconaire most certainly knew the Frosts.

"She'll want to join," Ronan had hissed to Cillian and Saoirse (whose own response had been an eye roll) during a quick, stolen tete-a-tete to deliver the news when Cillian had discovered it.

"Then she'll join," said Saoirse.

"She can't!" said Ronan.

"Why not?" said Saoirse.

This question had stumped their brother.

"It won't come to it, anyway," Saoirse pointed out, at last. "She won't win. Cillian was her teacher!"

But she had won. And now she was imprisoned in the dungeons Roderick had had installed in the one-time cellars of the Citadel. They were decidedly good dungeons, really, had it not been for the Staffords' incisive knowledge of the Citadel, and its many, many secret tunnels. Or for Saoirse's abilities to knock out the guards with a little witch's brew-tinged wine. Or for Cillian's ability to climb in from above and swipe their keys, undetected, even before she'd got to that.

Dropping down outside the cell in question when he saw that the gaolers were finally and wholly out, Cillian leaned against the bars, grinning as he glanced at his beleaguered cohorts caged within. His eyes were laughing. "We have got to stop meeting this way."

No one, save Brigit -- or, as she was currently dressed, Bran -- was particularly surprised to see him. Kale laughed and Ronan, for his part, rolled his eyes.

Brigit's reaction, however, was one of astonishment. "Cillian!"

Chuckling, he reached for the ring of keys at his belt. "Good evening, Master O'Connor." He arched his brows. "Congratulations on your victory at the lists. Your instructor, whomever that mysterious, and doubtlessly roguishly handsome, genius may be, must be extremely proud of your accomplishment, I have no doubt."

"Yes," commented Brigit, dryly, crossing her arms (yet Cillian thought he detected a smile cloaked beneath her deadpan reaction). "Whomever that may be." She paused, pushing herself off the bench at the end of the cell where she and her fellow prisoners were sitting, and coming up to him at the door where Cillian tried key after key on the well-stocked iron ring clenched in his hand. Her voice was hushed, yet urgent. "Cillian, how long have you been involved in all this?"

Pausing as he extracted another useless key from the lockm and thumbed for the next, he flashed her a misschievous smile. "Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

"This is what you've been up to in the woods!"

He shrugged. "What, exactly, did you think I was doing?"

"I don't know...brooding?"

"Brooding? What am I, a chicken?"

"You know what I mean! Since Papa and then I--"

Cillian shoved the new key in the lock a touch more roughly than he'd meant. His voice was a touch rougher than he meant, as well. "I know."

He cleared his throat. Gave her an apologetic glance, tried turning the key to no avail. Started again on the next one.

"You're keeping track of which ones you've already tried, right?"

He chuckled. "I hate to tell you this, love, but...this is not, in fact, my first jailbreak."

"Cillian, why didn't you tell us? You know we would have helped!"

He stopped, falling still for a moment. He heaved a deep breath. "Brig--" he stopped himself, looked sightlessly down at the lock a moment before turning his gaze back to her. "M'lord gave me one final command. Can't you think what it might have been?"

It was Brigit's turn for her eyes to drop, going sightlessly to his hands. She swallowed hard. "To take care of us." It wasn't a question.

"I can't break my word, Brigit. Not to him. Not...now. But not ever, really. I--The less you know, and certainly the less you're involved, the better."

"Well," she said, that old something fierce and stubborn, that he loved so well, flashing in her bright eyes. "I'm both, now."

Cillian's heart gave a little traitorous leap at that look, and his smile softened, eyes growing warm. His voice, when it came out, was low. "That you are." A beat. "Now," he added, clearing his throat and returning his attentions to the keys. "Let's get you out of this."

"Yes," Brigit placed both hands on the bars between them. "I have to get home. That celebration Valentina planned at Malconaire: they'll be missing me soon enough..."

"Right," muttered Cillian, reaching urgently for the next key. "Brigit, your sisters--You can't tell them."

He found her eyes. She looked steadily back. She said nothing.

Shaking his head, Cillian put the key to the lock. "Brigit, they--"

"No," said Brigit, quietly, reaching through the bars to stay his hand. Her skin was cool against his. She lifted her hand from his. She picked a new key. "This one."

Brow furrowing, Cillian looked at it a moment, before turning to her. Her face was sure.

He nodded. "All right." Dropping his key and taking hers, he turned it in the lock. The door swung open.

Brigit turned back towards the others. "Come on, boys. The door's open. Let's go." With that, she walked past Cillian.

Ronan patted his brother's shoulder as he passed. "I'll talk to her."

"Well," muttered Cillian. "That's comforting."

Laughing, Kale slug an arm around Cillian's shoulder as he walked out. "Isn't it, just? Soon enough, I expect," he said with a wink. "All of Malconaire will know what we're about."

"We were hoping to begin fresh recruitment," laughed Cillian, shaking his head as they strolled along. "Why not a whole county all at once?"

"That's the spirit, Frost! We're well past subtlty now, eh? What's the good in denying what we really want?"

Instinctively, Cillian's eyes went to Brigit's retreating back, the slight angle of her face as she turned to look at Ronan who'd come up beside her, the way the light of her eye seemed to warm her whole face in a single look. Only a moment. She looked forward, again, her face lost to him. A light seemed to go out in the darkness of the cells around them.

Cillian's laugh, when it came, sounded hollow even in his own ears. "I can't imagine."

[forgottencillian]

eithne : you can't do everything by yourself.

"Have a little faith, darling," he replied with a wink. Eithne was hardly one to doubt him, he knew. Hadn't her first request upon agreeing to wed Cassimir been that Cillian be raised to steward of Malconaire, like his father before him? But he couldn't help play off her concerns. It was simply his nature. Besides, Eithne was much too like to worry, he believed, and he wished to put an end to that before it was ever begun.

"Cillian, you need more help."

"So do you, love." He shook his head. "But as for me, I won't have you paying for that with a kiss to Cassimir. Besides, if keeping every pothole in the road patched will keep that wretched imperial stain out of here, I'd say its well worth the effort, however long it takes."

"Cillian," chided Eithne.

He grinned. "Ever the elder sister."

"I don't believe either of your siblings would be glad to see you lose your head."

Chuckling, he shrugged. "Might depend on the day."

But he watched sobriety wash over her, the famed beauty of her face turning all to sorrow, and regret came as a gut-twisting wave.

"Eithne, I'll be more careful--"

"Cillian, how is Ronan?"

They both stopped.

"Ahhh," hummed Cillian. Turning, he knelt and bent to his task, again.

"Cillian."

Busily, he worked, not looking up. Ronan was a difficult subject. Even for him. It wasn't as if he had to worry in the absence of knowledge, as she had to do. His lot, he thought, might be worse. Each day, it seemed, something dulled under Ronan's skin, some little piece of the big brother he'd always known slipping away. It was a kind of leprosy, this, a horrid sloughing off of all that was best in a person, replaced each day by unfeeling steel where once there had been flesh. How much, now, remained of the boy they once had known, dissolved in rage and anguish? Bile rose in Cillian's throat. He shoved Eithne's question from his head -- fought to. Yet it wound, round and round, choking out all other sound. How was Ronan?

He's dead, Eithne, thought Cillian. Tears rimmed his eyes. Or dying. He never came back. He may never come back.

And how was he supposed to? Cillian could not shake what he had seen -- and Ronan had faced more, and worse. Maybe there was no returning, after awhile.

But Eithne was speaking and Cillian swallowed hard, dashed at his eyes with his forearm, as if it were only sweat, and tilted his head slightly, so as to listen while he worked.

"It's only, when I saw him--"

"What?!" Cillian dropped his trowel. He stood; he turned. "You saw him!?"

Eithne's face was pale, and Cillian swallowed hard.

He reached out a hand as if to apologize for the outburst, dropped it to his side. While he may have surprised her, he didn't doubt that was hardly the primary concern on her mind just now.

She reassured him with a quick, small smile. She took a step towards him. Paused. Touched his sleeve. "How can I help?"

Cillian felt the tears pricking his eyes, again, and clenching his teeth, willed them away. He didn't pull away, but he turned his face away from her, all the same. He didn't want her to see, but he knew she saw, despite it. He knew she'd hear the weight of it in his voice. "Eithne, I--"

"Let me give you a basket, at least, to take. I know its not much in the face of everthing but -- perhaps a taste of home will help."

He turned to her again. He swallowed hard, watched the tilt of her chin, the certitude in her eyes, wide and blue and unflinching. Her face was ringed with soft-waving curls, stirring ever so slightly in the late-summer breeze, and he thought for a moment that everyone was wrong about her beauty. Oh, her physical virtues were undeniable, but her looks were far from the greatest beauty in the land of Malconaire -- that title belonged only to her soul. Hadn't she started out trying to help him just moments ago? Hadn't she persisted, and found a way, even when he'd tried to shrug her off?

Reaching out, he pulled her all at once into his arms. She was warm, and her arms came around him just as tightly. For a long moment they stood that way. Then slowly, gently, he pulled away. Wiped at his eyes. Eithne, her hand on his shoulder, now, gave a gentle squeeze. He nodded.

"Eithne."

"Yes."

Cillian put his hands on his hips. He breathed out deeply, ensuring his voice would come out normally. "If you--if you see him again?"

She nodded.

"Eithne, you have to tell me, all right? Me or Saoirse, right? He can't--It's a matter of safety, Eithne. For everyone. You understand?"

"I understand, Cillian."

"Right." He nodded, turned back to the pothole, claimed his trowel again with a quick swipe at the earth. "Well, best get this done." He stared into the pothole a moment, unmoving. "He--"

"He came to me."

Cillian nodded. "Was it about--?"

"About the marriage, yes," she acknowledged with a sigh.

Cillian nodded. His eyes found hers. "I know it must feel like a lot, Eithne."

She glanced away.

"It's only because we all love you so much. We want the best for you."

She was silent a moment. "What's best for me is what's best for Malconaire, Cillian. This is what's best for Malconaire."

"Is it?"

"I'll see to that basket." Turning, she walked away.

"Eithne!" called Cillian. "Eithne!"

She didn't turn back. A breeze ruffled through the leaves. The trees all around him whispered her name. She disappeared into the green wood. Eithne, Eithne, Eithne, breathed the forest. And Cillian stood standing in the road, watching her walk away, a trowel still clutched in his hand.

[forgottenarias]

Imposter Lord || Cillian + Aria

"The list," Aria repeated again to the woman she thought was the head housekeeper for the Varmont servants-- mostly because she seemed to be the one that had one eye on Aria and Eilia a majority of the time. "The list of who is staying in which room? Or did you just shove guests into whatever door the were closest to?"

Aria was fed up with nearly everyone at that moment and snatched the piece of paper out of the house keeper's hands the moment she produced it. After being expecting one of the Malconaire sisters and being met with Cassimir instead, it was no surprise.

Scanning the list of names, she came across Malconaire and found that they'd been given a much more suitable set of rooms than their step family, which did raise her spirits slightly. She was about to hand the last back to the housekeeper when a name caught her eye.

Ormond.

That name again-- the name of the young man Princess Cassandra was so besotted with, the man with the fascinating stories... the man she was sure couldn't be the Lord Ormond she remembered from the past.

"Who is this?" Aria demanded, pointing at the name. The housekeeper looked at the name and back to the young woman.

"The Imperial Princess Cassandra was adamant that he needed a room, though he was not on the guest list for the --"

"Nevermind," Aria shoved the list back into the housekeeper who was now glaring at the young woman with a look that clearly said 'you can't talk to me that way, low ranking as you are.' Aria glared back at her before turning on her heel and marching down the hallway without another word.

Aria knew the houses of Astaira, all the way down to the smallest bannermen in the far corners of each county. She knew Lord Ormond was at least three times Cassandra's age and not capable of any of the great feats she claimed he'd told her all about. While it didn't matter to her that Cassandra was living in some fantasy world, she did want to know if there was some stranger masquerading around as a lord of Astaira.

There was no answer when Aria knocked on the door to the room that had been assigned to Lord Ormond. After a few moments, she knocked once again. There was no answer, but there was a distinct noise inside that indicated someone was there. Throwing propriety to the wind, she turned the knob and threw open the door.

It took her a moment to realize that she was staring at Cillian Frost, having not seen him properly in nearly two years.

"Cillian? What on earth are you doing in here?" she asked, looking around the room. She paused. "Tell me Valentina hasn't fired you? Have you had to find a new position with House Ormond?"

[forgottencillian]

Cillian bad been surprised when, overhearing some scuttlebutt from his fellow servants, he'd heard that a room had been reserved for Lord Ormond. The notion of sleeping amongst the other servants did raise risks, but equally so did staying in Lord Ormond's rooms: either way, he was like to be caught as someone who knew him by his alter ego. Cillian had heaved a sigh. He really ought to have been ill that night, he'd thought, but he knew he couldn't have let anyone less qualified than himself ride out into the freezing wilderness.

He didn't sleep there, in the end. Instead, he eschewed both pallet and matress, and collapsed in the middle of a hallway, preferring -- whether as Frost or Ormond -- to be seen to have simply passed out on his way, as that same excuse might equally due for whichever version of himself any given person might recognize. He did choose a rather out-of-the-way hall, hoping that would lessen the chances that two people, each of whom knew the opposite man, might run into him at once, and uncover the secret that way.

Still, he was curious and, when morning came, Cillian found himself against his better judgment, creeping up to the room, all the same, curiosity oughtweighing caution. It was rather a fine chamber, he found with interest, and wondered idly if Cassandra had had a hand in choosing it. Boasting wide windows and a massive fireplace, it boasted views that reached nearly as far as Astaira, with the old trees either uprooted or simply de-leafed in this spate of wintry weather. There was a door, too, that seemed to lead into still other rooms and he stood for a moment at the door, wondering if he were housed in a suite...or if he were about to interrupt some unsuspecting other guest.

Cillian had no yet arrived at his conclusion when he heard a knock at the door. Cursing his impetuous curiosity, Cillian quickly swept the room for hiding spots, not knowing in which character he ought to appear, and was contemplating the high beams, wondering if he might scramble up there, when, all at once, the door flung open at him.

"Your-Your Grace," breathed Cillian in dumb shock, his eyes wide as she stormed in, a look of determination written across her face like a thunderclap. "Your Grace!" he exclaimed, recovering from his astonishment, and sweeping a hasty bow, too late remembering the courtesy. "I--I did not--" but she continued speaking, then, and he fell silent to listen as she furnished him with a ruse with her own lips. Still, he barked a little laugh at her words. He had, indeed, found a position with in the household of Ormond.

He might have told her. He wished to tell her, but the door stood open, still, and he did not think she needed another secret weighing on her mind. "No, no, Valentina has graciously elected to keep me on...I suspect for no other reason than because she prefers even my company to working the fields, herself...but only just," he added with a mischievous grin.

"Why, what do you think I'm doing? The same as you, I expect! I'm investigating. Who is this supposed Lord Ormond? Both claimants to the title are, well," he shrugged. "They were both at the Battle of Malconaire, Your Grace."

His heart gave a little tug. He wasn't meant to deceiving his princess -- he was meant to be helping her. But, in this case, wasn't deception helping? Guardians, help him! Cillian hardly knew what to do.

No. No, this was wrong. He couldn't do this. Not to her. Not to his princess. Marching over to the door, he gently pulled her into the room, hastily shutting the door behind her. Cillian turned to the princess and held his finger up to his lips before began quickly looking through the room and did, at last, throw the curious door open. It did, indeed, lead to a suite of rooms and he motioned for Aria to follow him, shutting the door behind her. Deeper into the suite, he knew, they would be less likely to be overheard.

He gestured for her to sit before pulling the desk chair up to hers and sitting, himself. "I..." he opened his hands, looked down at them, cheeks flaming scarlet as he barked out a laugh. She was a real princess, real and true, hand-selected by the people and he...he was nothing of the kind. Poor, foolish Cillian. He scratched his head and dropped his hands, looking her full in the face. It was time to come out with it.

"I did, indeed, find a position in the Ormond household, Your Grace," he shrugged. "I am Lord Ormond."

[forgottenarias]

Aria couldn't understand exactly what was happening, though she was quickly remembering exactly who Cillian Frost was-- chatty, bright, quick, never without a response to anyone. It made her smile, even as her head pounded from the events the night before.

"I was of the same understanding about the two final members of House Ormond, " she replied as he spoke of their demise. "Which is why when the youngest imperial princess started telling me such fanciful tales of a handsome lord she'd met called Ormond, it seemed to be completely impossible!"

She was about to ask him what he himself had uncovered when, seemingly changing his demeanor entirely, he began guiding her deeper into the chambers. Had he found this imposter lord? Was the man in this very set of room with them?

When no other human appeared and Cillian gestured for her to sit, she was beyond perplexed about whatever could be happening. What an odd day this was also turning out to be, and what came out of the man's lips in response was not what she could have imagined hearing.

"You... you're Lord Ormond?" Aria asked, her mind whirling as she tried to process this information. It made no sense. He was the child of Lord Malconaire's late steward. His mother had worked for Lady Malconaire when they were children. Unless...

"Oh, Cillian!" she exclaimed, reaching out her hand to touch his shoulder. "How shocking a revelation this must have been! But how good of the Frosts to take you in as they did. I cannot believe the old Lord did nothing for your family to aid their financial burden having an additional child in their home!"

"But please tell me," she continued quickly. "Tell me there must be some official documentation to accompany this revelation, yes? He has legitimized you formally? It may be a hard sell to the Emperor but knowing it was done formally, perhaps he shall not push back too much against it. I doubt Varmont's bothered to seat anyone at Ormond yet, given its size-- no offense meant, of course, its one of the oldest holdings in all of Malconaire!" Aria added, shaking her head. She stopped herself before she began rattling off more information about the history of Ormond-- that was for another time.

[forgottencillian]

Despite himself, Cillian felt a lopsided grin tug into place at the corners of his lips. "She called him handsome?" Quickly shaking his head -- that was hardly the most important matter at present -- he cleared his throat and refocused. With any other person he might have turned it into something of a bit, calling back time and again to Lord Ormond's fabled good looks, but this was different. This was no ordinary person, sitting opposite him, and he could not treat her as such.

For a moment, Cillian was perplexed, staring at her in confused incomprehension before, all at once, her meaning dawned on him. Eyes widening, he fought, for a long moment, to suppress laughter, biting his lip and looking quickly away as he clapped a hand over his mouth. He couldn't very well laugh! She was his princess.

Composing himself with some effort, he turned back to her. "I think I...Well, I have gotten what I deserved," and then he did laugh, for this laughter was self-directed. "I placed drama over satisfaction and I believe sewed confusion." Cillian clapped his hands together in thought, looking down at them. He smirked, still, before his dancing eyes took hers in again and then, all at once, Cillian sighed and stood. He thought better when he was moving and he paced away from her and then back again before beginning, face utterly serious once again.

"I...am no relation of either Lord Ormond, no Cillian O'Réimse," he added, wishing to be clear. "I...I saw both claimants die, Your Grace, in the battle, and...and when the Malconaire standard was shredded, I took up the Ormond one." He swallowed hard, looked away. It was difficult to think of that time and, quickly, he shook his head, sank back into his seat.

"I...I still had what was left of it when I returned, you see, and I--" he paused, then decided not to implicate the Malconaires should there be trouble. "I made a set of fine clothes from it, in order to free a servant Valentina had sold as a serf to finance her latest wardrobe selection," he snarled, waving a curt hand.

"I knew both men were dead, which...decreased the likelihood that either should find out or object, but I also knew there were confused reports on the topic, such that I might believably pass myself off as one of them. It worked. I had no intention of ever taking up that mantle again but...I realized how much good I could do as Lord Ormond which I could never achieve as Cillian Frost, so I...I kept on with it. I've been using it to..." he squeezed his eyes shut. He ought not to continue...

"I've been using the ruse to glean as much information as I can that might be helpful to the cause of true Astairans, everywhere, Your Grace." He paused. "I'm part of the resistance."

[forgottenarias]

In any other moment Aria would have been the sort to clock Cillian's comment about Cassandra calling Lord Ormond handsome but everything he had told her that day, coupled with both the previous nights events and alcohol, had her head spinning wildly.

"Oh, Cillian..." Aria said quietly as he spoke of the Battle of Malconaire, even for a moment. She could see the pain of the memory flash through his eyes. But as he continued on with the rest of his explanation, she was ready to admonish him for his foolishness until he explained his reasonings.

"You are very foolish and very brave, Cillian Frost," Aria informed him with a small smile as he told her of saving the serf. Aria had never taken to the second wife of Lord Malconaire, finding the woman ridiculous and foolish. Aria was not completely surprised in that moment to find out she could also be so cruel for her own gain.

What did surprise her completely was what came from Cillian's mouth next.

Aria's eyes went wide at Cillian's confession. A resistance. A resistance in Astaira. People still fighting for them. Exactly what she had hoped was out there, exactly who she had hoped might find...

"Siobhan." Aria was on her feet then, hurrying to Cillian's side, grabbing his hand in hers. "She's with you all, isn't she? I knew it... I knew she was alright, I knew the people would protect her," Aria tried to keep her voice low but the thought that she might have proof that her little sister was alive and well was enough to erase all thoughts of what had happened the night before.

"Please tell me she's safe, Cillian. Please."

[forgottencillian]

Despite himself, a lopsided grin lit his face as her words. "Amazing, Your Grace," he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "How very often those two things go hand-in-hand."

Yet, his face fell instantly at the name that next fell from her lips. "Oh..." She clasped his hand in her own, eyes fervant and his belly seemed to fall away. He swallowed hard. He, himself, knew the pain of a missing siblings: it had been some months before he and Saoirse had known for certain that Ronan was safe, and watching that feeling wash across the princess' features was a slap.

"Your Grace, I--I don't wish to give you any pain, but...No. No, the princess is not with us, but I assure you we have been diligent in our search, and should any news reach her she will have friends ready to assist her immediately. But, please, don't lose hope. We are our own enclave, its true, but I am certain there are many other rebels all across Astaira. The...need for secrecy means we can't all know about one another. But I am certain Princess Siobhan has found help out there. Look, if some...foulplay were at work, she couldn't have disappeared so thoroughly. She's out there somewhere."

He paused. "I know this from experience, Your Grace. My own brother is wanted and, for some time, was missing. But I know now he is well. The princess has far more friends than my brother has. Someone out there is helping her, even now, don't doubt it for a moment, Your Grace."

[forgottenarias]

Aria's face fell at Cillian's words, the moment of relief at knowing her sister's fate gone as quickly as it had arrived. She dropped Cillian's hand, tok one, two steps backwards before turning away from him. She felt the tears threatening in the corners of her eyes but she knew she must not cry. She would not let Roderick Varmont bring her so very low.

She half heard what Cillian said after he told her of not knowing Siobhan's location, all thoughts now on her sister in those last moments when Aria had looked into her eyes, trying to memorize everything about her little sister before she'd run off down that hall to her fate.

"Of course," Aria brought her hand up to wipe away the single tear that had managed to escape before turning back to Cillian. "You're right, of course... if she was thinking straight, she would have tried to get as far from the Citadel as possible," Aria rationalized to herself.

She hoped Cillian was right, that there were little pockets of the resistance across Astaira. That thought gave her hope. Of course she would know nothing of it-- she'd not left the gates of Stafford for nearly three years! But perhaps, father away from the Citadel... father away from Roderick and court... who knew what plans were being devised behind the doors of Astairan homes?

"I'm sorry, Cillian," she crossed back to him, taking his hand in hers again. "I was so consumed by my own thoughts of my sister, I failed to think that so many others must be in a similar situation to my own. I am gladdened to hear your brother is safe enough and I will ask the Guardians, if they're even still listening, to protect you all."

Aria released his hand then, taking a deep breath before continuing. "How can I help you?" she asked next. "I know there is little I can do, trapped behind these walls as I am... but tell me what use I might be to your resistance. I will do whatever I can to aid you all."

[forgottencillian]

Feast for Fools | Cillian & Aria

Lord Ormond must make an appearance at every feast Roderick held following each tournament day. Cillain Frost could not. But it would certainly be noticed, he knew, if Lord Ormond were not to appear -- Cassandra would certainly notice it and she would talk of it. And, given the intrigues in which Cillian Frost was even now embroiled, he could ill afford such talk surrounding either one of his pseudonyms. Fortunately, he knew there was at least two people at the palace who would help him account for any lost time spent mucking about in the palace cellars (transformed by Roderick, now, into dungeons). One was Ciara, the other...was Aria, now that she knew his true identity.

Since Ciara was unfortunately distracted, Cillian sidled up to Aria with a wry smirk, wearing all the finery Ciara had smuggled to him that he might appear more in character. Roderick's sartorial laws, alone, would have had him in trouble for this, little less his stunt of pretending to be noble -- or the far greater one of wanton revolt, but Cillian was at present far less concerned by any such mischief than he was about disguising the fact that he'd ben missing from the feast for over an hour's time.

Forgoing any other greeting (a relief, as he refused to call her 'my lady' something he could hardly avoid in a greeting), as if he'd been with her previously, Cillian simply launched into conversation without preamble.

"Now that you've had some time to witness the dance, you really must give me your opinion upon the partners with the lightest feet. It's no secret, I'll own, that our conquerors' style of dance is much different from our own, but I still believe some skill must remain measurable, don't you think?"

In truth, he cared not a hoot for this topic at all, but he wished to give the impression to any who might overhear that he had emerged from the crowd to reignite a topic previous to the evening and, the dancing having just begun, it gave some excuse.

"Ah, but I do not see the two firstborn princes on the floor? Where are they?" His smile turned playful as he looked to Aria. "Too timid of our judgment, are they?"

In truth, this was another reason for bringing up the dancing. He knew well and good what would happen should someone who knew him as Cillian Frost recognize him here. Besides the Malconaires, whom Cillian had already taken home, Arthur knew him...and Edmund knew him so well he had gone so far as to banish him from court. Neither seeing him in his current regalia would prove a good thing -- but one alternative would, he imagined, prove decidedly more disastrous than the other. Particularly given that Cillian had noted Rosie's recent mood and imagined that the cause had indeed proved that talk with Edmund which Cillian had enforced, a thing he imagined would only further dislodge any goodwill Edmund might once held for Cillian.

Cillian had accounted for Arthur, already, who seemed to be having what Cillian could only guess was a decidedly serious and absorbing conversation with his queenly mother, but Edmund he could not seem to locate at all -- and that worried him. Was he lurking somewhere, watching? As Aria lived with him, he harbored some hope that she might prove able to account for his whereabouts.

[forgottencillian]

OOC | Cillian & Cassandra

what a mess!!!! idek where to start lasdkjfakljsdf ig at the beginning! ok, so i def feel like when lord malconaire called his banners for the queen and went off to war, cillian went w him and that obv went precisely the way cillian was hoping *grimance* his father figure died in his arms, his country was conquered, his religion overthrown, in short his whole world came crumbling down around him and cillian is just not!!!! dealing!!!!! super well alkdjsfkjdf and he blames the varmonts for all of this and even is lowkey like 'valentina is probs their fault somehow too' and THEN valentina starts welcoming varmonts into his home!!!! they're here!!!!! they're harrassing his not!sisters!!!!!! everywhere he looks everything is being snatched away!!! its all just loss and loss and loss

so yeah he finally gets home from this whole traumatic experience and eventually he works up the courage to tell his lifelong love how he really feels and!!! she!!! laughs!!! and he hasn't really let himself deal w that except to mope for a week and then be like ITS FINE WE'RE JUST FRIENDS NOTHING HAS CHANGED etc so!! its all just...chaos

BUT! THEN! this whole situation came w cassandra and the rescuing of his friend and????? it was really nice to be found attractive????? which he tells himself is stupid esp in the face of all this but there it is and like???? he props himself up by telling himself that like its fine!!! at least he's always done the right thing!!!! but now this girl's a bit much maybe but she's been nothing but good to him really and he's literally planning to use her to destroy her family/hopes/dreams and he's like 'its for the greater good' but also????? objectively that is a bad thing to do to someone like?????? but also he has fun w her honestly!!!! like its fun sneaking in and being a lord and making up a dumb backstory and slapping that one asshole and 100% getting away w it and spreading a rumor that makes valentina and her son look bad, and flirting w cassandra and he can kinda forget the stuff that's bad, and he likes having this excuse to do that, but then he comes back around like 'this is not an ok thing to do...or is it????' but he gets so angry and there's no justice in the current situation and sldkjfalkdjsfjdsf and he's just like FML basically!!!!!

[forgottencassandra]

ahshdhsjksjsjd okay but Cillian going to war with Lord Malconaire and being there when he died (and then also having to be the one to break the news to his daughters!!!!) ugh so tragic but obviously canon!! (Also ngl this timing of his declaration to Brigit probably also had something to do with her reaction to it bc I can tell ya she wasn’t in a great place when her dad died!!)

Anyway!! Back to these two losers … yeah I feel like Cassandra also is having a lot of fun flirting with him and lbr probably sneaking around and just over romanticizing this entire situation. Plus I think she’s more in love with the idea of him than the actual him since so much of what she finds appealing is also this wild backstory that keeps getting elaborated upon lmao (not that she wouldn’t like the real Cillian too tbh but she doesn’t know him)

I also think she’s knows that her dad would never let anything serious happen between them which is also some of the appeal bc Cassandra def has a rebellious streak in her … not to mention it would all be so wonderfully tragic to be separated while in love (#facepalm)

Also she has literally NO idea he’s not who he says he is, despite all of the red flags haha. Honestly even if she ran into him serving the Malconaires all he would have to say is like “hi I decided to go undercover as a servant as a joke and you are the only one who recognized me!” And Cass would just be like “omg Cillian you’re crazy!”

[forgottencillian]

omg!!!! i didn't even think abt how he's just trauma info dumping on poor brigit the second he gets home, left and right! 'ur dad is dead and im in love w you so its fine that everything's changing oh and also we lost the war' jk jk obv he def didn't do it like that, but honestly i feel like coming back from the war really gave him the courage to finally tell her, and thinking about her and that they might have a future together was part of what helped him get through the war, so honestly he probs really ~didn't wait too long to tell her bc he ~is impetuous and he was feeling it and...well, that's cillian hahaha shooting his shot at the WORST possible moment is frankly so him i can't even hahahha BUT ANYWAY!!

honestly that makes total sense!! and honestly i KNOW that between cillian's satirical edge and rose's romantic streak, lord frost's backstory is just so wildly out of control laksjdfkjdjfkdf and probs just the perfect melodrama to overromanticize ngl hahaha plus, i feel like cillian just has a bent for fun etc plus -- not really being noble and, in fact, being a rebel -- he has a totally different pov on the world than she probs usually runs across and that whole combo is probs v exciting esp since he's also probs the only person she knows who is like 'fuck roderick we do what we want' hahahaha

to be separated while in love!! lkajdsjfdsf cillian: 'been there, done that, not nearly as fun as it sounds' (but it doesn't help that his situation was unrequited AND he was in a war so lasjdfjkldsf)

im undercover as a servant alkjsdflkjdfjsdf honestly that is a CLASSIC cillian moment and frankly if it hasn't happened, yet, it soon will lkajsfkjsdkjf 'don't say anything, im investigating the corruption here -- this woman and her son are even worse than i originally thought. the way they treat their servants? disgraceful!'

[forgottencassandra]

(ngl I fEEL like that's how Brigit felt tbh :DDD)

Yeah, I agree!! Even the ~fake~ Cillian is more exciting and real than a lot of the guys she meets on the regular, so even w/o her necessarily realizing it, I think he's also just a breathe of fresh air, y'know?

I'm crying just imagining Cillian though as a servant and making up that he's investigating the way they treat their servants like .... I feel like Cassie never would have even thought to consider that because??? servants??? who really thinks of them???? and s/o to cillian opening her mind, even while it's just an accident

Also, I have been calling him Lord Frost in the comments, but IDK if you think he would have just panicked and used his own name, or if he came up with another name for himself while posing as a lord? I feel like he could get away with it, since no one really knows that name who would get him in trouble except for Valentina/Cassimir plus, I feel like there are a lot of nobles not everyone knows now with the mixing of Astaira with the outsiders Roderick's brought. But I'm cool if you think he would have played it safe, too -- it'll probably help the ruse last longer idk up to you!!

[forgottenalaric]

ooc | Alaric & Cillian

I'm guessing Alaric may know Cillian as Lord Ormond?? I do think Alaric would take an interest in him if he ever saw how cozy he and his niece have been getting!

[forgottencillian]

cillian out here hanging w the rest of the varmonts as lord ormond, ready to leap under the table if arthur or edmund walk in laksjdfkljsdkjffd SCREAM 'forgive me, my lord, tis but a silly astairan supersticion! do not tell him i am here!' jk jk

no but honestly i think him knowing alaric as lord ormond makes a tonnn of sense! also i def think arthur would be like 'uncle im on the hunt for this lord ormond fellow so pls keep an eye out. he's an elusive one! whenever im told he's in a room, he's always just left and it's just one of the malconaires' servants standing there!' jk jk -- kind of ;DDDD but anywayyyy i do think arthur would rest a lot easier if he knows alaric's met ormond hahaha but im not here to talk abt arthur!!

i def think cillian would be verrrrryyyyy interested in getting to know alaric!! he represents a whole treasure trove of info cillian would def hope to mine!! idk how effective he'd be at that hahaha but he'd want to at least try! also

cillian: pls tell me your personal badge is NOT another damn bird

[forgottenalaric]

Honestly, it will probably NOT go well for Cillian. Unlike Sebastian who is sorta trying to test out what Lord Ormond is about, all while being a lil ~suspicious just because he's a big bro -- Alaric here is NOT trying to figure him out, because he's convinced he already has figured him out and he's already determined that he's no good! Meeting him will only provide him a way to prove to everyone that he's The Worst(tm).

Also realizing that Uncle Alaric has probably helped Arthur on more than one occasion run out a potential suitor for Cassandra laskjfaslfj

ps for fun (and to drive cillian wild) alaric's personal badge is a hawk <3

[forgottencillian]

cillian, getting himself in over his head with a varmont: ah, yes, another tuesday

no but we all know this will be the death ofhim someday but until that day he willcontinued to be the menace we all know and love lajsdfkljsafj <3333

ok but someone actively tryna investigate him/figure him out...and its the dude who arrested his big bro!!! D R A M A also i just knoW this engenders a lot of close calls for him and lbr will probs be how he's inevitably caught someday alskdjflksjdfjdf cillian, hiding out amongst the rafters (again) while all the varmonts search for different versions of him below: 'that's showbiz, baby!'

omg alaric and arthur team up GET OUT!!!!!! suitors everywhere run for the hills lakjsdkfljdsfj and cillian: 'what're you gonna do? execute lord ormond? he's already dead!!!!!' anyone w half a brain: 'yeah but ur not and they're looking for ~you, dumbass' alksdjfklsdjfsdf

not me immediately like I MUST FORGE HIS CREST!! me, breathing heavily: what are alaric's colors? what are farrington's? does he have a different personal crest from his duchy? oooh! also! what is ciara/her dad's/his sigil? we could complete the varmont collection heehee -- the old official tinctures left over are tawny/tenne (orange/brown), sanguine/murray (maroon), and furs (ermine, vair, counter vair, pean, potent counter potent, etc) but lbr this is a made up world! we can use any colors we like ;DDDDD

[forgottenalaric]

Also do you think that Cillian knows Alaric was the guy who arrested Ronan???? (or is he just like ... it was another bird sigil but WHICH ONE ;DDD jk jk)

HE'S ALREADY DEAD!!!! but no like I feel that Alaric might be a candidate for the person who might actually discover who Cillian is??? IDK if it would end up being him or not, but he will definitely start putting in the man hours to figure out what Cillian's deal is!!!!

YESSSSSS!!! Alaric needs his crest! So, as far as his colors go, I kinda like the idea of orange/purple??? So like, it is kind of close to his bro in terms of look, but obviously different!!! As for Farrington, I haven't 100% decided where that is (but I feel like it is back in the OG country??? Which lord knows I need to name asap!!!!).

Ahhh but yeah definitely need to figure out what Bart's is!!! idk his colors but I feel like his symbol might be a bear? Or maybe I'll pick a bird to keep this party train going lmao ??? maybe a hippogriff being half eagle *side eye @ arthur*

[forgottenkale]

ooc | Kale & Cillian

Kale talks about how Ronan is his best friend, (but lbr, it's probably actually Cillian??!) like omg Kate, I feel like these two are soooo chaotic together and if they ever come across a varmont together they will both DIE!!! especially since I feel like their already reckless natures feed off of each other when they are both together!!!!!

Isolda is 100% right for keeping them separated!!

[forgottencillian]

omg i legit thought id responded to this laksjdfkjlsdf im so sorry! ok so i ~did do a lil reply at least alksdjfkjsdf (so that makes it ok SOB cue the skull emojis)

giadesstrin May 19, 2024

You knoW they spent their whole childhoods double dog daring e/o and while they’ve stopped calling it that way their mere presence still brings out the chaos in one another 😂🙌👏 Ronan whenever these two come within a half mile of e/o: ‘I’ve got a headache suddenly’

but omg I COMPLETELY AGREEEEEE i feel like they have some kinda similar energies sometimes and i feel like that part of them each goes through the ROOF when they are together lkajsfjldfjd and naturally its the most chaotic parts of them too laksjdfalsdfdsf BAHAHAHAHA both of them like the bfferies are ronan/kale and percy/cillian and ronan just grunts and percy is like 'let me lie down i just need a quick 5,000 year nap' ;DDDDD but also you KNOW these two grew up dragging those two into some insane situations too lakjsdfkljsdf no but i ~do feel like its that friend who balances you vs that friend who encourages you thats going on here lakjsdfkljdjf

but you know, even before the varmonts showed up, these two were talking themselves into, and then out of, again, the most insane scrapes and everyone at home is like 'did they make that up or are they really that stupid' dslkfjadkljfjdsf cillian: 'you know the answer to that in your heart of hearts' laksjdfkjlsdf ;DDDD

honestly you put these two, and then the calleary twins, in a room together and it really ~is a wonder that anyone made it out alive lajksdfljksdf ;DDDDDD let alone continues to do so!!!! ;DDD

real talk: they probs came abt this close to dying multiple times just based on sheer chaos before the varmonts even showed up, little less now...alksdjfjsdf kale the one guy like 'man im glad you stood up to edmund varmont like that, good job letting him know ur out to get him like that!' while percy and ronan just groan in the bg jk jk i have no idea how kale would feel abt that specifically but...yknow what i mean: they def bring out the stupid in eo sometimes ;DDDDDDDD and then, at least on cillian's part, he's like 'damn, we did so good kale im so glad we did that stupid thing' *explosion in the bg* lakjsdfljksdkjf

[forgotteneithne]

Out of Trouble || Cillian + Eithne

"Stop."

Eithne's voice was harsh but still laced with warmth as she caught sight of Cillian Frost darting through the kitchen, clearly trying to avoid her notice.

Hands on her hips, Eithne took a few steps towards where he stood, trying to keep her face stern but clearly unable to do so properly. She didn't think she'd ever been properly cross with Cillian. Any scolding always came with an air of levity to it and while Eithne did hope to make a point, she knew it would not come without a bit of a grin.

"I was told that a clumsy manservant spilled wine in the lap of a certain Varmont Prince while he was dining with Valentina last evening," she informed Cillian. "Not simply once thought... but twice."

She paused, waiting for a reaction. When he said nothing, she continued.

"Now I know we are both aware that you are too steady of hand to do anything of the sort," Eithne continued, turning to walk back to the kitchen counter where she was mixing up a meal to leave for the servants to prepare for themselves while the household was off at the palace. "But if you were not, I would wish to remind you that despite everything we may think or feel or wish we could change... it is in no one's best interest to dump wine into the lap of a potential future emperor."

[forgottencillian]

His plan had, of course, been to stay well clear of Eithne for the next few days. By then, no doubt some other disaster would have consumed her thoughts and he'd be able to avoid her chidings. But how could he resist! Admittedly, his feelings regarding Arthur were complex, as the existence of a rival who outranked Cassimir for Eithne's affections did allow her some respite from Cassimir...but at what cost? Hadn't this man's father butchered her own? And Arthur, it seemed, was every inch the arrogant ass that Cassimir was, if somewhat richer and more powerful.

Still, as far as Cillian was concerned, that counted for precious little -- and was, perhaps, even worse over all, as he was fishing with greater bait and was equally wrong for Eithne who, in Cillian's not-so-humble opinion, deserved the world and not some self-absorbed price who was likely more interested in making love to his own reflection than anything else.

When Arthur had begun elaborating the glories of the Varmont Empire, it was more than Cillian could bear. His hand had, in his own opinion, been forced. When, only about forty-five minutes later, he'd begun speaking in a too-low tone to Eithne, well, what was Cillian to do? It had been so effective in cutting off the first outpouring, he could only hope it'd relieve somewhat the second.

Grinning cheekily at Eithne, now, Cillian snatched an apple from a bowl on the countertop. "Who is this clever and resourceful servant? Sounds as if we ought to reward him for his courage and loyalty to the House of Malconaire and, indeed, to all Astaira, for that little act of patriotism."

Grimacing, Cillian glanced rather sourly at the apple in his hand. Hearing her final words, it suddenly didn't taste quite so good. "Future emperor...gods be good, I hope not! Doubtless, for the shame of having had wine in his lap, his father will finally do something marginally inlligent and disinherit him, we may all hope."

He paused, leaning against the island between them. "Tell me true -- do you really think he'll rule, someday?"

[forgotteneithne]

"Who is he indeed..." Eithne laughed, pulling out a loaf of bread she'd baked the day before, making to slice a few pieces for Cillian as a treat. She fed the young man whenever she had the chance knowing he was on his feet most of the day usually completing Valentina's never ending list of tasks.

"One might say he might be a bit too clever for his own good at times," she commented, grabbing for a jar of jam and slathering a healthy portion onto the bread slices before placing it on a plate and handing it to Cillian. She was teasing, of course, but she did worry for him-- Valentina was desperate to be rid of him and it was only her constant intervention that kept him employed at the estate.

Eithne didn't meet Cillian's eye for a few moments after his question. Did she think Arthur would be the emperor? She honestly wasn't sure. It did seem as if traditional would dictate that Arthur should be Roderick's heir. But it could be asked what was traditional about having three wives at the same time?

"I wish I could know the future," Eithne finally replied, smiling across the island at Cillian. The sun was streaming in the windows behind him and it reminded her of the days when her father was alive and Cillian would wander in and out of the entire house as he pleased, often bursting into their father's study with a question or comment or observation that just needed to be attended to at that moment.

"Truthfully I don't think it really matter who reigns, really," Eithne continued. She ducked down momentarily, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a bowl from the proofing cabinet. She straightened up, tipping the dough out onto the counter as she continued. "I know most members of this household won't care either way which Varmont ultimately gains the crown..."

"Because its not Eilia," is what went unsaid in that moment. Cassimir had declared the family loyalty to Varmont but most of the household's loyalty was and would always be with the house of Stafford.

"I think the real question is does the Emperor's indecision lead us into another war? And if it does, are we forced to pick a side yet again?" Eithne brought her fist down a bit too aggressively into the dough in front of her as she spoke. Her motions softened as she continued, "Which is why I say once again..." she paused, looking up at Cillian with a grin. "It is in no one's best interest to dump wine into the lap of a potential future emperor... be it Arthur or Edmund or even quiet Sebastian."

[forgottencillian]

"Too clever for his own good?" rejoined Cillian, wrapping his knuckles rhythmically against the counter, and gazing eagerly at the treat she was preparing. His mouth watered and he sat himself opposite her, deciding to take a moment and pause -- even if it meant being lectured. She deserved to have him hear her out, anyway, little as he might like her imperial follower. "I rather like the sound of that! It was, I daresay, a rather daring exploit." He paused, suppressing the sigh that warmed the inside of his throat. "But you really weren't...so very displeased, I'm sure?"

Despite his words, his tone was anything but certain. After all, little as Cillian liked Arthur -- or any of the Varmonts -- the prince had shown concern for Eithne's own feelings when he'd seen her horror at the incident, and that, at least, had been rather gallant. In truth, Cillian couldn't help but think better of anyone who was thoughtful towards one of his ladies...Yet, unforntuately for Arthur, Cillian's disapprobation was so severe that even quite a few such moments would never prove sufficient to dig him out from the hole into which Cillian had cast him. But it was something.

Nevertheless, Cillian felt perfectly justified still in both misliking and mistrusting the man whose father had conquered them. Besides, he reminded himself, Arthur had even proven arrogant even in the midst of his gallantry, declaring red his own color, as if anyone could own a color! Yes, why Eithne might like the young man baffled him completely! Still...Cillian detested the idea of having in anyway hurt or unsettled her and for that he did feel grievously ashamed, despite how proud he otherwise was to have inconvenienced a Varmont.

"The other Varmont certainly got some entertainment out of it, I daresay," he added, suddenly wishing to defend himself somewhat.

It had not escaped Cillian how Rosie and Eithne's followers seemed rather set against one another. Why a man who could not manage to instill peace in his own family thought he was qualified to do so for whole kingdoms utterly eluded Cillian.

"I will say this much for him," relented Cillian, slightly. "He certainly has wonderful taste when it comes to the ladies and...Well, you would make as splendid an empress as there ever was, but..." he paused, swallowed hard. "Eithne...is that really what you want?"

Glancing down as she said it wouldn't matter which Varmont won, Cillian arched his brows. It was true, he supposed, but more to the point... "It matters how he gets there, whoever it may be. It matters very much. Thousands will die, Eithne. Thousands. And Arthur and Edmund, and all the antipathy we laugh at under our roof, will be directly responsible for their deaths. And this time we've no army to defend Malconire, we'll just, we'll just--"

He stopped, looked down, exhaling a long sigh as he braced his hands against the cool island top, letting the chill creep into his fingers, his palm, focusing on that. He was too close, too close now and he could feel his breath starting to quicken. 'Promise me...' he heard his old Lord rasping again, and he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the cold.

When he looked up, again, he was master of himself, no trace of what he'd been pushing away in him at all. He was glad. He was glad her back had been turned, too. He didn't want Eithne to know. It would distress her. So instead he grinned cheekily and stole a piece of the bread, popping it into his mouth with a self-satisfied expression.

"You're right. Doesn't matter. It's not as if there's anything we can do to stop it, after all." Though, there was perhaps something he could do: what was the good of being a rebel, after all? "Suppose we'll just have to get along until that time."

He chuckled. "Then you must gratify me, for if I cannot find out in my own way, we must speculate wildly! We know well how our friend, Arthur, would react to having wine spilled repeatedly in his lap, but how do you imagine the others would take it? I want details," he added with chuckle. "It was, you know, my plan to pick on Rosie's favorite, tonight."

[forgotteneithne]

It was Eithne's turn to be glad she was facing away from Cillian in that moment. Part of her heart still hurt when Arthur was mentioned.

"My duty has always been to Malconaire. And even if it weren't... no," she turned back to Cillian. "I would not want to be an empress. I don't have any wish to leave my home."

She knew he was right, everything he said about the Varmonts, everything he said about the wars to come. "There is little we can do about the Varmonts, it is true. But there is much we can do here, in Malconaire. In our home."

"Cillian..." Eithne sat across the table from him. "I know you're all ignoring the engagement but I want to talk about what I'd said before the Ice Ball, about you helping me run Malconaire as the steward. It was always Papa's intent to ask you, he just wanted you to have the chance to leave here if life decided to take you elsewhere. But deep down he knew that one day that would be your fate, to be here, to help care for the land..." Eithne paused for a moment, trying not to tear up as she spoke of her father. He would be so disappointed with how things had changed in his home.

"Cassimir is willing to give you a chance, he promised me that. But you know as well as I... one step out of line and he'll retract his approval in an instant. So I know its good fun and I know their family has wreaked havoc upon our lands and our country but we must figure out how to move forward. And I need you to help me... there's no one I trust more. No one who understands what Father always wished for Malconaire to be."

[forgottencillian]

Lord Ormond | Cillian & Cassandra

The evening's blanket of dark was punctuated everywhere by burning torches, guttering and spurting by turns in the cruel winter wind. Cillian didn't consider himself particularly supersticious, but he a night like this couldn't help but bring his old Móraí's stories. On such a night, divine brothers dueled for supremacy, she'd say. Her voice -- gravelly with age -- would drop a decible or two, near-blind eyes narrowing as she leaned forward to make her point to the wide-eyed children gathered round her chair at the hearth. It had been a particularly popular tale with her, after all: the older she got, the more continously cold and so, it seemed, king winter was forever fixed firmly in her mind.

Cillian had been intended, he knew, to take the sleigh to the stables and then await the Malconaires' convenience with the other servants and, certainly, this would have been the safer route. Instead, however -- Cillian knew the Malcoanires' habits well enough by now to know without doubt that he hneed have little fear of them wishing to leave any time soon -- he'd crept to the hideyhole where he'd long since stored some of Lord Ormond's finery. Do nning this, he'd then slipped into the revelries, careful as always to avoid anyone who might recognize him.

Like many others, Lord Ormond had been one of the unfortunate souls to lose their lives in the battle for Astaira's freedom. With him had died a long and noble lineage, but Cillian was putting in some rather decided effort to take that House very much alive in the minds of others. Though, in truth, that was in no way his object in borrowing the young lord's name as his own.

Swooping in towards the food table -- Cillian was quite miserably famished -- he quickly liberated a piece of cake and, turning, came face to face with Cassandra Varmont.

Grinning, he swept a gallant bow. "Your Imperial Highness, well met." Straightening, he took her in and his smile deepened somewhat. "Your Higness -- may I just say how very well you look this evening?" In truth, she looked half an angel, her honey locks glowing golden in the firelight, her eyes and color bright from dancing. But, surprised as he was to have met with her so suddenly, he didn't quite possess the words to articulate that. "I suppose you must be enjoying this festive occasion very much? Difficult though it must be not to outshine your sister on her day."

[forgottencassandra]

Cassandra nearly running into Lord Ormond wasn't entirely on accident. She'd spent most of the evening on the lookout for him and had been half distracted during the evening's celebrations with her eyes flickering towards the entryway during any sign of a new arrival. It hadn't helped that Rose wasn't there to divert her attentions until much in the evening.

She had nearly resigned herself to the possibility that he wasn't coming, at all, when she saw him grazing near the refreshments.

"Lord Ormond!" She cried, "You, sir, continue to be one of the most fascinating young men in my acquaintance. I do not think you were announced upon your arrival?" In fact, she knew he had not been. She had been listening specifically for his name to be called.

She took a step towards him, "Tell me, did you sneak in just provide your evening with more excitement? Surely, otherwise, tonight must seem rather dull to someone who has been on so many daring adventures." She could listen to his stories for hours on end. Each seemed to be more exciting and dangerous than the last.

Her cheeks flushed crimson when he complimented her appearance. She was afraid he must have noticed, for she could feel the blush and could only hope it was a lovely shade of pink. Despite this particular concern, she could still do nothing but smile.

"Hush! you shouldn't say such things!" Cassandra laughed, even as she scolded him. "My sister shall always outshine me and I am quite happy for it to be so." Even still, she felt as though she was soaring from his compliment -- she was more than pleased to hear him say so. Secretly, she hoped to always outshine every other woman in his eyes.

"However, I will be content if you agree that I do outshine everyone else, my dear sister excluded?"

[forgottencillian]

"Fascinating, eh? I must say, Your Imperial Highness, I do quite like the sound of that."

Chuckling at her words, he handed her the piece of cake he had just collected before gathering a second one for himself. Playfully arching his brows, Cillian shrugged. "Anyone can walk through a door, Highness. Where's the sport in that? Besides," he added, his gaze meeting hers. "You wouldn't find me nearly so fascinating, I think, if I didn't come with the promise of adventure, would you? There is a zest, princess, in thrilling a beautiful woman, which I cannot seem to conquer."

Smirking, he shrugged, "And, if I may be frank, Highness," he added, deciding as he often did, to tell the truth...even within his disguise. "I cannot abide all that pomp and circumstance. I find, in general, the prospect of a simple life far more enticing. Too much flavor can spoil a cake, no?" he added with a cheeky grin, spearing a forkful of the one he had claimed and sampling it. Fortunately, this one proved to bear just the right amount of flavor, and he grinned at her. So far, this was the best moment he'd had this evening so far since spotting those damned banners.

Noting her blush, he couldn't help but grin. In truth, it had been long since he'd had such an effect on a woman, and he couldn't help enjoying her smiles. Overcoming his heartbreak over Brigit had been no easy feat, but she made it somehow sweet and, whatever else was true, there was no guile in Cassandra, no real pretense. She was who she was, and she did not apologize and, while in all other respects she and Brigit could hardly have been more different, he couldn't help but admire that trait in each other no matter how different it otherwise made them. All the same, he tactfully glanced down at his plate, pretending not to notice her blushes, however pretty they might be.

He arched his brows. "You sister is, indeed, beautiful, but it is you who lights up the room. I am not the only one to think so, either. See -- it is you who attracts all gazes," he glanced around them at those stealing surrepticious looks in her direction and smiled. "They do well to conceal their interest -- the wrath of your father and brother is famous -- but even so, they still cannot help themselves. And I cannot fault them. You see, Highness, you glow brighter than any of these torches, and anyone who suggests otherwise is clearly blind." He grinned. "I can readily and easily agree to that, I assure you."

Glancing around, he shrugged. "Now, you must tell me: how is it that you Varmonts generally celebrate feast days? Rather differently, I gather, than we Astairans do?" He paused. "Is all this metal part of that or...simply the Emperor's taste?"

[forgottencassandra]

"But you are! And I do not think it could be considered vanity for you to agree with me. Who has had a more exciting life than you?" And this from the daughter of a man who had conquered twelve countries -- most of which in Cassandra's own lifetime. But how did that truly compare to Cillian Ormond, when each tale of his adventures was even more exciting than the last. "Is it true that you once spent months stranded upon a dangerous deserted island, with nothing but the clothes on your back?" This was the latest adventure that Roisin had relayed to her.

"... but how did you manage to sneak past everyone?" As someone who was watched, perpetually, Cassandra did not exactly know what it was to be completely free of it. And this was almost more perplexing to Cassandra than him surviving and escaping from an island. How did one slip into anonymity long enough to enter a crowded room without anyone knowing?

Her eyes darted round the room, looking for other ways he might have gotten inside. The windows? The fireplace? Neither seemed particularly likely. She crossed her arms in a pout, "Or do you insist on being mysterious, as well as adventurous?"

Cassandra was a bit thrown when Lord Ormond stated that his own tastes were simpler than the grandeur her father had put on display. While she could agree that not everything was exactly to her own tastes, making it less grand wasn't exactly what she would have changed. "How do you mean? What would you change?" She tilted her head, slightly, curious as to his response. Would an evening without such spectacular displays be as enjoyable.

"Oh, the metal is my father's influence -- as are the excessive drums," She couldn't help but giggle, "Perhaps it is because he is more comfortable on a battlefield than a ballroom," She said this teasingly and affectionately, but even so she spoke softly -- even she was not so bold as to wish this comment to get back to her father. It might become misconstrued. "But otherwise, I should say it reflects tradition. Although, it isn't so common to have prayers and devotions before the celebrations begin. At least, it wasn't until my father became king. He is, you see, very devote." Cassandra, herself, tried to be but her mind always drifted to more exciting things when she ought to be in prayer -- especially when it preceded something so divine as a ball! "Most would have a simple prayer, traditionally before the food is served, in which the food is blessed and thanks to god is given."

Cassandra followed Cillian's gaze towards the men he had declared her other admirers. In truth, she had not noticed them before -- so eager had she been to find Cillian among them. But now that Cillian had pointed them out, she needed little more convincing that it was she who held their gaze (the prospect that some of them were eying Lord Ormond did not cross her mind).

She felt her cheeks blush again under his compliments -- it wasn't that she had never received such attentions before (she had) but never quite so brazenly with both her father and her brothers present, nor with someone she found so appealing as Cillian. She found it terribly romantic and if she had had a weaker constitution, she was sure he would have made her swoon.

"But you -- you are not afraid, my lord?" She asked, timidly, looking up at him through her lashes as she felt her heart beat faster in anticipation of his answer.

[forgottencillian]

Chuckling as he glanced down upon his cake, Cillian shook his head. That tale, whatever it was, must have been one of Rosie's inventions. Knowing her, it was likely inspired by an Astairan tale and he racked his brain for any island stories. The only one that came to his mind in that instant was the doom which came to the ancestral Calleary isles and Cillian shook his head once again, a thought running to Percy who would doubtless be quite anxious at the birth of yet another story to keep straight. If only Percy might be able to talk to Cassandra about it: she seemed to have each committed to memory, unlike either Rosie or himself.

While his instinct was, admittedly, to leap into the tale, allowing some sanguine observations about the nature of nobility to pepper it, even Cillian had had enough of his own untempered instincts for one evening and, his mind on Percy, he recalled that his friend had advised him to do his diligence in trying to suss out the tale at hand before beginning another variant or -- worse yet -- a completely new tale, thinking he knew what Rosie must've said.

"How much of that tale have you heard? I'd hate to bore you now with details you've already heard," he added, eyes twinkling. "I will say," he added, discarding his plate onto a passing tray with a sincere 'thank you' (Cillian was always unfailingly considerate to servants). "That was one incident which did rather...try me."

Perhaps it was the fact that the first isles of which he ever recalled hearing had perished suddenly and horrificially, taking most of its cosmopolitan people along with it, but there was something about the idea of an island that made Cillian antsy. One would always do better, in his opinion, to keep their feet on firm, dry ground...but, he reasoned, Cillian Ormond likely didn't feel the same. Cillian Ormond, it seemed, could and would do anything. And Cillian Frost envied him.

"I think I must insist on mystery, for I fear if I were to tell all, I would lose your interest -- and that is a blow I do not think I should survive."

He paused, the eager twinkle in her eye, arresting; her pouting lips strangely appealing, and Cillian rubbed his chin with his free hand, laughing at himself. "Yet...I find I cannot disappoint you. Would you believe, Highness, that I dress as a servant at times to escape notice? Amazing how one may turn thus invisible in plain sight...and see the real faces of those who seek to conceal their worst traits from those of their own station. You'd hardly credit some of things I've learned about many of the people here this evening, that way."

The question took him quite unawares. In truth, even while he had suspected the decor must be culturally appropriate to House Varmont, some part of him had simply assumed that Cassandra must find it all a bit...heavy, and for a moment he regarded her with in astonishment, before shrugging. "Forgive me, Your Highness: I forget that your upbringing was...entirely different from my own. I...am Astairan," he began; laughed: that was quite obvious.

"No, let me start another way. This Hall," he gestured broadly around him, careful to avoid looking directly at those horrific banners which he'd positioned to his own back. "It is not...new or strange or in any way different to me. I grew up here. To me, the vaults of the ceiling ought to swim with stars, the gurgle of water ought to course its way through the floors, flowering trees ought to brighten the room with their perfume, light music ought to brighten the mood, reels ought to be danced in every corner. How can we mere mortals presume to outdo the glories of nature with our displays of wealth? No matter how rich we may become, we will still die, and the stars will still twinkle above. I am not accustomed to gold and silver everywhere save amongst the vaults above. The aroma of bread baking in the hearth is more enticing to me than the mimicked scent of exotic orchids brought from far Xing, and feel of a cotton shirt on my chest more comforting than these heavy brocades. Wouldn't you rather dance amongst a field of wildflowers and fireflies than to the monotonous beat of a war drum?"

"I can well believe that," laughed Cillian, who was (foolishly) rather less concerned that his words might get back to the emperor. "I should think three brides should make home rather less comfortable than more so." He sighed, glancing down. He'd not meant to hurt Cassandra with that comment, and his expression turned contrite. "Pray, don't heed me. You must ignore the foolishness of a bachelor."

He considered her words with interest, wondering not for the first time if he might not have better liked the natural preferences of House Varmont to those practices enforced by its current dictator. "He does, indeed, seem to take a rather...particular view to his faith. I wonder -- what is your own belief?"

It was a pleasure, Cillian thought, (not for the first time,) to watch her flush at his charms, and his smile brightened. Cassandra, he thought, was just the tonic he needed tonight. "Afraid?" he echoed, cocky, his voice half purring as he moved a breath closer. "The only thing I fear, Your Highness, is the notion that someday you might cease to look at me just the way you do now. So long as that remains constant, princess, I find that, for me, there is nothing else to fear."

[forgottencassandra]

"Only that you were stranded there for months and survived on nothing but coconuts and crabs and that, for all of the dangers of the island, you had constructed a small house amongst the trees where you lived."

Cassandra had never once even stepped foot in anything that could be considered a tree-house, but she imagined that it would a thrilling experience to do so. (She did not take into consideration the heat; nor the noise of the island; nor the bugs; nor the discomfort of sleeping upon anything that was not a soft feather bed). "Is it true? I wish I could have seen it!"

"And is it true that you had to fight all different sort of manner of beasts while you were there?" This Rosie had not told her, but it was so firmly planted in her head that he must have encountered hostile animals that she was certain that it had happened.

When Cillian told her that he sometimes dressed as a servant to go in and out of places unnoticed, she found herself at a loss for words. The idea had never once passed into her own mind -- why should one ever wish to dress as a servant? It would, perhaps, be interesting if they had better clothes but, as it was, Cassandra would have thought that they had little to offer.

But he was right -- servants did often pass through unnoticed. Besides the handmaidens who served herself and her mother, Cassandra wasn't sure she knew a single one.

"You dress as a servant? I think you are rather ingenious, Lord Ormond."

She wondered if she might be do so sometime to explore more beyond the castle than she was allowed by herself. She would put up with wearing a hideous dress for an hour or two if it meant she might be able to sneak further into the forests on her own (although not too far! Arthur's ghost stories still haunted her enough that she should be cautious).

But when Cillian mentioned that dressing as a servant allowed him to see the true character of those around him, Cassandra felt tears well up in her own eyes. She suddenly wondered what he might think of her, if he saw her through the eyes of a servant. The truth was, she had never once in her life stopped to consider them before, beyond what they were doing for her. And often, she didn't consider them unless they had forgotten to do something.

"Oh," She took a breath, afraid that if she spoke she would cry and she had no intention of doing that in front of him (certainly not at a public ball!).

A moment later, she managed, "Oh, Lord Ormond, I'm afraid you should be very disappointed with me, if you could see me -- " A tear did fall then and she hastily tried to brush it away before he could see. Cassandra found herself wanting to promise him that she should do better, but she wondered if she would always remember to be and she should bitterly hate to make a promise to him that she should not be able to keep.

She tried to distract herself from it all to hear him speak of the differences between her own culture and his. "I will admit that you paint a magical picture, Lord Ormond. But I cannot imagine an Emperor holding ball in a field of fireflies over gilded hall." Perhaps because she could only imagine her own father in such a position and the concept of him anywhere else besides an ornate palace or a battlefield was a foreign concept. "It doesn't seem right, somehow, I suppose."

It might have struck Cassandra that he made such a comment about her father's situation with taking so many wives, had this not been a recurring theme here. But Cassandra understood his apprehension - taking multiple wives was not a common thing and while it seemed only natural to her, she could appreciate that it did not seem so to everyone. "Oh, but it isn't," She said, "They all get on well enough, although I do think that there is, at times, some jealousy between them," This she said to him, quietly, for even Cassandra wouldn't like anyone to overhear her. "Which I can imagine is hard to avoid, but my mother and Queen Amira love each other dearly and quiet think of each other as sisters, I'm sure, beneath all of it."

Her mother had warned her not to trust Amira before, but Cassandra was certain that that, too, stemmed from her jealous moments. Amira had never been anything but kind and considerate to Cassandra and her siblings.

"But I do not think it is a life everyone is cut out for. My parents are all rather exceptional, in that way. For I should not like to share my husband with anyone."

[forgottenaoife]

Brothers | Cillian + Aoife

"I know who Cathaoir Rith is."

Aoife was standing in the doorway to the stables just past dawn the on the second day of Roderick's tournament. The names of the competitors had been posted at the tournament the day before and that name had stood out to her.

"Its Ronan, isn't it? Don't lie to me, Cillian, please," Aoife walked into the stables where Cillian had been readying the horses to pull their carriage to Stafford later in the morning.

"I saw him, Cillian, in the woods, a week ago. He didn't tell me he was going to Stafford but I knew. He's the man in the eyepatch, isn't he?" Aoife didn't want for him to answer.

"You can't let him compete," Aoife balled up her fists as she spoke. "If anyone recognizes him, they'll kill him... It hasn't been that long, really, since everything happened..." Aoife's voice trailed off as she referenced Ronan's attack on the Varmont soldiers after Malonaire had fallen. Aoife did not think that something Roderick's soldiers would forget.

"Please... you have to make him see sense. Or let me," Aoife hurried closer to old friend. "Tell me where Ronan is. I can take a horse and catch him before he gets to the Citadel... make him see sense. He can't get caught... he can't... Cillian... please."

[forgottencillian]

"What?" Cillian's eyes widened as he turned to face her. Then he laughed, "That's a made up name, surely. Battleman Run, Aoife?" He shook his head. He was trying to play the matter off in a cool tone. It wasn't strage or suspicious, it was just smeone fooling around. She shouldn't think about this Cathaoir Rith again as anything other than a prank. "Someone playing a practical joke on our esteemed ruling class, I don't doubt. I wouldn't concern yourself about it, anymore."

All the same, he gently caught her arm and pulled her inside the door of the stables. It didn't do to be speaking of these things where Cassimir might overhead, should he come to fetch his horse. He paused, her eye catching his and, sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of defeat as she named her suspicions.

"Sweet Darius in chains," he mumbled, turning away from her and shaking his head. "Listen, Aoife, don't...don't do anything, don't say anything. He's not...Aoife, he's not..." Cillian stared absently ahead. he yanked a curry comb into his hand and began rubbing down Brigit's horse. His voice was thick when he spoke gain, but soft, too. He didn't turn to look at her. "He's not how he was, Aoife."

"I saw him, Cillian, in the woods, a week ago."

Cillian froze. The horse gave a little whining knicker, displeased with the sudden cessation of his mesage, but Cillian didn't hear him, slowly placing down the comb, and turning to face her. "What?" he whispered. He gestured, raising his hand. "I--He went to Stafford?" Cillian had known Ronan was getting more and more reckless. That hadn't been the plan. The plan had been that Cillian was going to sign up both the Knight of the Tree and Cathaoir Rith. Ronan hadn't told him he'd started out himself -- and he certainly hadn't mentioned running into Aoife.

Taking her hand, he led her into the stock room, and closed the door. "I'm glad you came to me about this," he said. He didn't wish to alarm her, to tell her that he couldn't possibly stop Ronan, but he also didn't want her not to come to him in what he feared would be the next time something like this came up. "Aoife, what else do you remember about...about the time you saw..." he licked his lips, glanced towards the window. It was probably better not to use Ronan's name, even here. "Cathaoir Rith a week ago?"

Aoife launched into her pleas and, despite everything, Cillian reached out and pulled her into his arms. He could feel her growing desperate, and he knew well just what she was experiencing. He felt much the same. But this? This was one chance Ronan couldn't miss, and Cillian couldn't let him miss it. The rebels would need every one of their number to see this through.

Pulling back from her a bit, he nodded. "Listen to me, Aoife, I know just how you feel, believe me. And I will look after him, no matter what happens, I promise you. But he can't be stopped, not on this, and believe me, if we try now it'll just make things worse, the way things are. The best we can do is look out for him, now. You, me, Saoirse. She's signed up to work at the palace; I'm going to be there as well, though you won't see me or...if you do, pretend you don't. Can I tell you something? We have a plan, I promise you, Aoife. I need you to...to go about the tournament, just as you usually would, all right? We have to throw off suspicion. Listen, if we need something, I promise that we'll ask. Otherwise, Aoife, I want you to forget what you saw, what you know. Any strange behaviors could be a dead give away."

He paused. That was a lot to ask, he knew, and precious few answers. "Tell me what you're feeling right now, Aoife. How can I help?"

[forgottencillian]

The Move | Cillian & Eithne

Cillian leaned in Eithne's doorway. Conversation between them had lapsed for a moment as she busied herself with her daily tasks...and he fell thoughtful over the series of endless secrets he was keeping. Until now, his...discretions had never bothered him, but seeing the effect of his own actions on Rosie...and then realizing he was even now doing just the thing he'd thought foolish in her by entertaining a Varmont...Then, there was the matter of Brigit disguising herself to engage in dangerous stunts which might just put her right in Roderick's line of sight, something he also did, but hadn't thought over much about until someone he loved was doing the same. In truth, Cillian generally leapt before he thought, but now seeing strange reflections of his own impulses in the Malconaire girls, some strange guilt was inching its way up his spine, a cold tingling he could hardly stand.

He wanted to ask Eithne about it. She was wise, and she was kind, and she was his lady besides. She would know whether what he was doing was the right thing to do or not...but could he break any of his long-held silences, particularly when the secrets were no longer simply his own? His question about Rosie would certainly involve revealing his Ormond identity, and might involve outing Edmund's dealings in the Battle of Malconaire, something he believed all the Malconaires had a right to know...but something he also felt it was Rosie's right to tell them, now. And asking about Brigit would involve telling her secret, as well. Any of them might involve at the very least hinting about the rebellion, and hadn't they fought so hard to protect the Malconaires from any knowledge of it, to maintain their plausible deniability?

It was a dreadful business, from start to finish, and he found himself brooding, now, over it, unsure what to say or, indeed, if he could say anything at all.

Eithne passed him, then, on her way in and out, about her chores, and Cillian was obliged to step back to allow her passage. He moved and shook his head slightly, as if to clear it of these thoughts, returning instead to the topic of Valentina's withdrawal from the main house.

"Is it true she's insisting on having your mother's portrait?" he shook his head, righteous anger kindling in his eyes. "Take my advice: hide it away somewhere. I have no idea what she intends, but we know her well enough by now to know its most certainly not out of any particular effection for our late Lady. She's got something nefarious in mind, like as not."

Picking up a stack of items to help her, Cillian followed after her. "Shouldn't Cassimir be handling her, anyway? I thought he was making grand promises about the ease of your life...has he really given up on all that, already?" Cillian hadn't imagined those promises would long be fulfilled, but he did think Cassimir would have at least tried to make good on them till the marriage. Apparently, Cillian had overestimated him, unless...

"Don't tell me you've not told him she's making all this trouble for everyone? I know he's busy preparing for the tournament so he can bring you back imaginary winnings--" Cillian had no faith in his ability to bring back so much as a copper pence. "--that you might actually afford a trousseau, but surely even he has paid more heed to Malconaire than that? It's not as if he can pretend to be ignorant of his mother's true character after all this time."

[forgotteneithne]

"She can't have Mama's portrait-- I'm getting rid of it," Eithne said simply as she passed by Cillian in the narrow hallway.

As soon as Aoife had come back from the Dower house with the news that Valentina was demanding their Mother's portrait, Eithne had made a decision. She had gone into town to dispatch a message to Lorcan addressed to Aine. The portrait, which Eithne had somehow managed to wrestle off the wall late in the evening without waking the entire house, was currently was wrapped and hidden under Cook's bed.

"I'm sending it to Lorcan so she can be with Grandfather and her brother," Eithne explained so Cillian wouldn't think she'd gone mad herself. The paintings of House Lorcan's members still hung in the portrait hall in the great castle up in the mountains, even with Padraig dead and Rian Stafford holding the place for Roderick Varmont. "Aine is sending two of the servants next week to take it while we are away at the tournament. Valentina can't have it if it is in Lorcan."

It felt like a betrayal, sending her mother away from Malconaire. It felt like Valentina had finally won this war she'd been waging against her dead mother for years. At least at Lorcan, she would be treated with the respect she deserved-- not hanging in the Dower House or some worse fate Valentina would think up for her.

"It will be better if she's there, with her family... better than being hidden away here," Eithne said more to herself than to Cillian in that moment.

Eithne smiled gratefully at Cillian as he took a pile of the blankets and followed her down the hall to the cabinet where linens were kept. With the weather turning warm, she had taken it upon herself to change over the bedding to the summer linens to keep herself busy.

"I've learned it is better to pick and choose my battles with both Cassimir and Valentina," Eithne explained, though that wasn't completely the truth. Eithne was exhausted-- exhausted from her step mother, exhausted from trying to explain to Cassimir why he needed to help her, be on Eithne's side in some of these disagreements. It felt that no matter how much she rested, she never had the energy she needed to continue her fight to be the Lady of Malconaire.

And the tournament is important to him," Eithne insisted, "And as his betrothed... I must support him." She did not mention that Cassimir had promised Eithne his winning to buy her wedding gown, even though it seemed as if Cillian had guessed that on his own. Eithne paused at the linen cabinet door, using her elbow to knock it open. She placed the blankets on the highest shelf she could manage, indicating to Cillian that he could put the items in his hand up just out of her reach.

"I haven't let him forget... Cassimir, he knows the wedding won't happen until he's met all my conditions. And don't forget, he has hired a new kitchen maid... and has not sacked you yet," Eithne continued, giving Cillian a look that was meant to be somewhat disapproving but she couldn't help but grin instead.

And he would never sack Cillian, not if Cassimir wished to marry her. Eithne knew that many said the Malconaires were the only family who could care for these lands but Eithne herself was quite sure without a Frost by their side, the Malconaire clan would have never survived this long.

"Did you not wish to enter the tournament, Cillian?" Eithne asked her old friend as she pointed to a pile of bedsheets so that Cillian might pull them down for her. "Cassimir has said their is to be archery and I know you spent all that time shooting with Brigit. Perhaps you might still be able to enter, should you want?" she offered.

[forgottencillian]

Cillian followed after her as she walked, but stopped dead when Eithne announced she was getting rid of her mother's portrait. A moment later, however he realized what she meant, and resumed his pace as if he'd comprehended all along. Part of him doubted the portrait was safe, even there, what with that traitor Rian in control of the place, but the sad truth was that it was still, at the moment, far better off there than here.

"Saoirse is coming to visit tomorrow. She could take it up with her, and no one the wiser," he volunteered as they began putting away the linens together. Unbeknownst to him, Rosie had also offered to take it, hoping to escape the recent news she'd had, and, as Eithne continued, it seemed Aine was also ready to act. As usual, Eithne had the better plan, and Cillian, he quickly understood that his plan of including his sister would not work. The tournament was one occasion on which Saoirse would not be available, serving at the palace, instead, in order to help the rebels. Saoirse could make her own excuses to Aine, so he said nothing more about that. "Yes," he mused. "It probably is wisest to remove it while Valentina isn't here to see it, even if it is wrapped and hidden. That woman is nothing if not suspicious."

He paused, considering his own point. "Might I suggest staging a robbery?" Cillian licked his lips. He knew this must sound absurd. "Its only that...I imagine she knows that you'll not give her your mother's portrait, and like as not she'll use your refusal to give her the one thing she requested to stage some...leverage, some ploy of her own. If the matter is...simply out of your hands, stolen away, well then, she cannot make out that you are to blame for it." He shrugged. "Though...only after Aine has sent an artist to make a copy of it. For Lorcan," he winked. "That way, when Valentina inevitably spots it there, well, she has no claim over it. That one's the commissioned copy. Some shameless thief made off with the only one she had any claim to. Besides, the 'robbery' might prove an excellent opportunity to make off with...any of a number of things best not left here for...other hands."

He didn't mean to be indelicate by naming Cassimir, but...Cillian knew deep down Eithne was not entirely comfortable with everything her husband-to-be had seized, any more than she was with Valentina's actions. Besides, he did also mean those goods Valentina still had her in her clutches, which once had been Sorcha's. There were any of a number of things that might well go missing into the starless night...

"Perhaps, they might find their way to..." he shrugged. "Wherever it is your father's sword wound up." They both knew, well and good, that Cillian had been the one to abscond with that, at her request, and he knew precisely where it was, though Eithne herself had ordered him not to tell her its location. That way, she need never lie when she had to confess that she knew not where it was.

He laughed at her expression. "What? Did you imagine Valentina was the only one capable of being devious around here? I've got a lot to live up to if you mean to keep me on as any sort of caretaker here. I'm not against a little...innovation, if it comes down to that." That the role had been his father's before it was his was of no small consideration to himself and, while he japed abtout it, Cillian could not help but fear he'd never fill such shoes as those.

"Well," replied Cillian with withering sarcasm, as he lifted another pile of linenes into the highest shelf. "Someone besides Cormac and Valentina best support him in something, I suppose. It's important we all have new experiences every once and awhile. For enrichment." Cillian smirked, well and truly pleased with himself.

Yet, as Eithne spoke of Cassimir meeting her standards, the humor died away and Cillian let out a long sigh before heaving a particularly large bundle above his head and shoving it into place slightly more forcefully than entirely necessary. He turned back to her, then, chewing his lip in thought. Despite himself, he did chuckle, smiling ruefully as Eithne teasing him, to acknowledge the hit. Despite everything, it was delightful to see a grin cross her face. He couldn't help a matching one stealing across his own features. "There's that smile," he said, affectionately. Crossing his arms, he leaned lightly against the cabinet. "Yes, it's true, and despite constant provocation, I must own. I daresay that has been hard on him."

Still, disquiet stirred in him. He'd had more than sufficient time to do more than he had, in Cillian's view, and he'd not. Yet, much as that boded ill for the future, he couldn't pretend to be sorry that it would mean a delay of the wedding, itself. "It's shaping up to be a Varmont betrothal, then, I suppose." Much as Cassimir had boasted of a quick wedding, he didn't seem likely to pull it off. "Though he still talks a big game." Cillian arched meaningful brows at her before folding -- much more gently this time -- another bundle into the cabinet. "Do you imagine you'll be wed within the decade?"

Turning and bringing down the new linens she wanted, Cillian didn't hand them to her, instead simply holding them that she might tell him where to put them. She might often work beside him, but when he could help it, he preferred to work for her. Cillian, at least, had not forgotten that she was his lady, despite everything.

Besides, it gave him something to do while he considered how to answer her question. It was one thing simply not to tell her something, a lie of ommission wasn't so much a lie, was it? Though even that left a knot in his gut, when it came right down to it. It was another thing, entirely, however, to look her in the face and lie to her. He wasn't at all sure he was truly capable of that, when it came down to it, and even if he was -- he already knew he didn't wish to. Perhaps...Cillian hated all the secrets. Perhaps...

He turned towards her, a guilty look on his face. "I should have told you...Eithne, I did enter the tournament just...not under my own name. Do me a favor, don't...don't tell anyone? Look, I don't know what shot I've got of actually winning, and," he chuckled at Eithne's reminder of how he'd trained Brigit. "I must say the student has certainly surpassed the teacher, there! But...If I were to win, as myself, don't you think Valentina would be demanding some...tax on those winnings for herself? For more jewels?"

He licked his lips, pressed his eyes shut, and let the truth out. The truth that was about far more than just this. "I know you don't like me to tell you...certain things...because its better if you can truly say you don't know, so...Sometimes...I don't say, but...I'm never sure where that line is and...I always want to tell you, Eithne. Truly, I do. But I thought maybe this might be one of those times where...maybe it was better if you didn't know?" He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

He paused. "If I win, I want that money going to a far better cause than Valentina's tacky jewelry collection, I'll tell you that. Maybe there could be some more good done around here, eh? But, do me a favor, Eithne? Don't...don't look for me out there? I don't want to make...anything more complicated than it has to be. And I don't want..." he gave her a look that said Cassimir or Valentina, though his list was in fact far longer than that. "Anyone finding out..." He smiled, half rueful. "But now you know...Won't you wish me luck, anyhow?"

It was a start, at least.

[forgottenroisin]

OOC | Grandmother Eithne

ok so this is...frankly neither here nor there but @forgotteneithne mentioned in a reply (so you may or may not have even intended that to be canon!) that our eithne was named for her grandmother and it got me lowkey thinking abt bran's parents and like...maybe we've already talked abt this somewhere? so i might be way off! but what if the prev lady eithne was, in fact, ruling lady of malconaire, and thus ~our eithne following in her footsteps is even more reinforced in the eys of the ppl bc they remember good lady eithne's goodness to this day and idk!!! nothing really specific here i just got malconaire fam feels abt this and wondered what you all thought? <3 obv not married to this or anything either! <3

[forgotteneithne]

STOOOOOP KATE I LOVE THIS IDEA!! omggg his mama teaching him how to run malconaire and bran naming his first daughter in her honor! <33333 I know that we'd discussed that Bran had no siblings-- throwing out the idea that ~something~ happened-- illness? a war?-- and Bran's father died before they had any other children so it was just Bran and his mama at Malconaire for years?

okay but could that have also been when the connection between the Malconaire and Frost family was solidified, essentially? The Frosts were obviously part of Malconaire (maybe even the steward then??) and Bran grew up running around with the Frosts kids as, essentially, his siblings! <3 which is just another reason it was so important he do whatever he could for Ronan, Cillian, and Saoirse!

i am apparently having ALL THE FEELS about this because now imagining that grandma eithne lived long enough to meet her namesake!! also did she just sort of one day wake up and think 'i'm tired of running malconaire-- its bran's turn now!' and just hand off the title and live out the rest of her days playing with her grandbabies and like... i dunno knitting socks?

WAIT AND IS THE signet ring Bran gave Eithne for her 18th birthday not just ~her~ signet ring but was it originally his mother's?! I'M NOT CRYING YOU'RE CRYING.

[forgottenroisin]

ok so!! building on this (<3333) ik we've chatted abt bran potentially having been an only child, but lately @forgottenbrigit and i were (admittedly joking) abt bran potentially having had a brother who like...faked his death and became a hermit in the woods, radagast the brown-style, long before roderick or valentina were in the picture etc, so basically no one really knows he's still kicking but he ~is still out there hanging in the woods doing his hermit thing, and occasionally hosting his nieces, and anyway!! we were, as i said, ~mostly joking so idk how srs she was abt this???? buT we ~were saying that bran and sorcha ofc knew he was still alive, but now only the malconaire girls, basically, know

anyway, like i said, this was all us being silly, but now im like 'if we went w this fr, this is yet ~another place, in addition to godfrey and ronan/the resistance that the malconaire girls could flee post woods-witch thing etc!' so yeah obv no pressure there but i just thought id mention it hahaha anyway, i got distracted by this potentially from my main point here??? hopefully itll come back lakjdsfjklsf but anyway there ~is that! lakjsfkljsdf

ok so!! also!! [ here ] we discussed gm eithne potentially having a goth bf asp (idk if this would be baby daddy or not? or a romance that didn't work out for whatever reason?) and talked both abt the possibility of this guy being either astairan (and if so potentially a vassal of the fens!) or ~not? so we have a lot of moving parts here hahaha but either way, fast forward a couple generations, and it sounds like this house got pr decimentated by roderick on one of his purge kicks since naturally the bat house is full of goths and roderick hates goths and their witchy aes SOB alsdjkfksljdf so ~that's funnnn SOB

anyway! whatever happened w all the above stuff i just said, i kinda love the idea of a tragic backstory like that for gm!eithne? like, she's one we know really promoted self-sufficiency in the family and taught current!eithne abt plants etc (im guessing rosie never really knew her, since she barely had time to know ~sorcha, and sorcha was def lady malconaire before she died so that means gm!eithne was probs gone before that...)

but anyway i loooooove the idea that this is what really kickstarted the frost connection!!!!! that papa frost (who i need to name!) incoming -- Ciaran Frost and Caoimhe Frost are @forgottenronan @forgottencillian and @forgottensaoirse 's parents' names! <3 also incoming thought -- might @forgottenkale or @forgottenpercy actually, in addition to being friends w the frosts, be their maternal cousins?

oooh ok so this opens a really interesting issue that i frankly hadn't even thought of! can astairan ruling lords/ladies/kings/queens abdicate? there're plenty of arguments both for an against this, and im personally down either way, but yeah i thought, given this notion for gm!eithne, we might wanna talk that possibility out (if she didn't ~also fake her death and gonto live w her son in the woods ;D jk jk)??? i realize now that i ~was sort of operating w the sense that @forgotteneilionora didn't feel she could step down now that she's been elected, but that might ~not be a thing, and given astairans views it might make sense that they can step down? (re: eilia, i don't think it ultimately makes a difference rn for eilia anyway bc either way she cant abdicate atm since there's no mechanism for her to do that except to like...accept roderick since obv they can't hold electins rn but yeah!! so it wont make a different re: plots or anything/wont mess me up etc) i think this is really interesting, either way we go w it, and thought itd be fun to chat abt!

omggggg loooove the idea that the signet ring was gm!eithne's!!! what if its maybe even a trandtional malconaire ring passed down from every lord/lady to future lord/lady all the way back to macdara i or whatever???? like what if it was basically saying 'yeah sure cassimirs here but its you baby ur still my successor' or smth???? idk!! lakjsdfjkdsf if it ~is a lordly heirloom, and if @forgottenvalentina ~knows this abt that ring (which she may not, even if it is, tbqh!) she's def tryna get her grimy hands on it for cassimir!!! alkjdsfkljsdf

[forgotteneithne]

A HERMIT UNCLE LIVING IN THE WOODS?! I mean I am ALL FOR THIS if the plot goes that way! I feel like there are tons of reasons he might have wandered off into the woods honestly! maybe he's a seer! maybe his one true love died (pot. that same plague that took out some of roderick's fam!?) and he just decided being a hermit was his life! but this could honestly be SUCH an interesting plot-- WAIT THOUGHT MID WRITING A SENTENCE.

Does the will that @forgottenaoife stole out of her father's office that he made in the event Roderick took power say that Malconaire did NOT go to Cassimir, but actually to his hermit brother?! because maybe bran went into the woods like 'listen i know you love being a hermit but this is astaira and family duty is like, our thing, so i'm gonna need you to roll up and take over Malconaire if i die so my girls don't end up destitute' or whatever

i feel like this entire idea isn't fully formed but there is some reason aoife hasn't said 'oh i have the will and this is the guy who SHOULD be Lord M!'... maybe the need to find someone who roderick & co will trust to say that the guy in the woods IS actually bran's brother? idk that needs some work, haha

i may be going insanely off the rails here but now talking abt Gma Eithne and her goth boyfriend-- maybe her husband was from bat house? i think we'd maybe discussed asp that Gma Eithne was the 'heir' and not Bran's father-- whoops having another thought mid typing a sentence hahah-- but if there IS a hermit brother, is part of the issue w/ him coming out to become the true malconaire heir that the brother has a DIFFERENT surname that Bran? Like as the heir, Bran's surname was Malconaire like his mother/lady M but then any other kids Gma Eithne & Goth Gpa had after bran would have Goth Gpas surname!

am I making any sense? - facepalm-

and since goth bat house got Roderick'd, there might not be many people (who are noble/people roderikc might trust?) who could confirm or have records that say 'yeah Gma Eithne and Gpa Goth Bat had two sons' or whatever-- AND MAYBE THAT'S ANOTHER THING VALENTINA DESTROYED? (if she even KNEW abt hermit uncle?) and if she DIDN'T then maybe one of aoife's secret things (which i feel like she's SO CLOSE to clueing @forgottenbrigit in on) is trying to find some documentation abt hermit uncle? idek.

also that's an interesting question abt being able to abdicate! i feel like maybe there's a difference between abdicating from being a lord/lady versus abdicating from being the king/queen? like in theory when you do through the trials you CHOSE to do that so you're willingly deciding you potentially want to spend your life ruling, whereas becoming the heir to one of the houses IS passed down through the family so if you had one kid who really wasn't into it they could say ' thanks but no thanks, fam!' at least... legally. i would think probs depending on the family would be how accepting that move would actually be! [side note i think in one of those kid memes i had maybe Arthur/Eithne's firstborn giving up malconaire to his younger sister, haha! so at least its possible in THAT alternative universe lol]

omg you KNOW valentina wants that ring! i love the idea its been passed down for years and years-- maybe when eithne turned 16 or 18 or however old we decided they were when they got a special present, she did get the heirloom signet ring but bran still had one (since he was still lord m) so possibly @forgottencassimir has that?! i've HC'd that Eithne keeps that ring with her always and has it tucked away somewhere secret in her skirts or w/e because she knows that the safest place and valentina won't find it if she's snooping!