let my bed be made

cairius. warrior. closed rp blog

[highkingshand-blog]

vanariel:

A thousand thoughts raced through Vaná’s mind when Cairius confirmed his identity. Time seemed to stop for the briefest of moments and the air in the tent thickened with tension. So, Vaná’s gamble about that particular Warden had been right after all. At least one of the careful plans she had created for the Wardens was paying off. There were many others in a web of necessary schemes which she hoped would follow suit too - for the greater good.

She pushed herself up from her seat and stared at the other with a knowing look. “I have met you before. Haronell was the previous Hand of Light and was my mentor before I became the Hand of the High Mother and High Father. He often visited you in a village. I inherited his journals because he wanted me to safeguard a particular boy who he said was in the charge of a man called Cairius but I did not have all of the necessary information at the time. The journals were incomplete.”

Vanáriel inhaled a deep breath and schooled her expression to a look of patient calmness despite her heart thumping in her chest. “It is a pleasure to meet you again, Lord Cairius. On behalf of my former mentor and your old friend, please share with me your news. I take any news about my Wardens most seriously as I am responsible for their safety.”

Cairius’ brow raised as the woman across from him stood, the other rising to meet it when she told him who she was.  “I remember you,” he said gruffly, nodding as she relayed more information.  “And I remember Haronell.”  It was surprising to hear how much the former Hand had told his apprentice about Arden, considering how important it had been - how important it was to keep Arden’s heritage a secret.  

He nodded, taking a seat across the desk from the woman - he remembered Haronell calling her Vaná - and settling back in the chair.  “I have a feeling you know of whom I speak,” he said, crossing his arms.  “But I speak of Arden Wood.”  A deep breath, a pause.  One almost as heavy as the words he was about to speak, the information he was about to impart.

“Arden is the High King’s brother,” he said, voice solemn and final.

[highkingshand-blog]

vanariel:

Vaná was nursing a rather distracting headache when she suddenly heard a commotion outside her tent. She was seated at her makeshift desk, surrounded by hoards of scrolls, tomes and maps, with a hand shading her eyes. With a sigh, she fought down the urge to growl and decided to greet whoever had the urgency - or the foolishness - to disturb her with a schooled look of coolness. 

However, before the former Hand could even stand and make her way to her guards, the tent’s flaps were pushed aside and revealed a tall, weathered man. Vaná decided to remain in her seat and study the warrior with grey, calculating eyes. His stance emphasized an aura of confidence which was not arrogant or ill-meant but one that perhaps highlighted military experience. However, as she continued to study his features, her eyes suddenly widened at how familiar he seemed! 

An image from the past - a fleeting memory when she had been in the Citadel under the High Mother and High Father - flared into her mind but could this truly be the same man? Her heart started to thump in her heart as she continued to notice the similarities in the man’s features.

“I am indeed the leader of the Wardens,” she replied in a clear, silvery tone, “and any information that is useful to our cause will be of great interest. What is your name, sir?”

Cairius crossed his arms as the woman across from him looked him over.  She looked like a leader, sitting straight and tall in her seat, maps and scrolls strewn about the desk in front of her.  There was something about her that seemed familiar, as if he’d seen her before - long before - but he couldn’t remember exactly where.  It did seem, however, that she recognized him as well. 

“My name is Cairius, my lady.  The former Right Hand of the High King.”  Former.  His lips drew together in a thin line at the thought - it’d been years since he’d last set foot in Highwing, and though it was for good reason, he couldn’t help but remain bitter.  He’d had his own life in the capital, but... country came before family in his line of work.  The world, even.  

“I come bearing information regarding one of your Wardens.  Information that I believe will greatly affect your campaign against the Rifting.”

[highkingshand-blog]

{ @vanariel​ }

Cairius moved through Miwor Town with determined, nigh unstoppable steps, shouldering his way through the townspeople with a grim set to his jaw.  He’d ridden for days to get to the town upon hearing the Rifting was happening again, desperate to get there and either warn their leader of exactly what sort of danger they were walking into, or take Arden home.  Preferably both.  

After tying his horse up at what was left of the stables, he snagged the arm of a young boy.  “Where is the Wardens’ leader?” he asked, voice gruff and hoarse.  The boy’s eyes widened, and he pointed to a tent pitched in the center of the town.  Cairius nodded his thanks, and set off.  

Ignoring the protests of the men standing outside the tent - guarding it from any possible return of the netherspawn - he pushed his way inside.  “You’re the leader, I take it?” he asked, drawing himself upright and hooking his thumbs in his belt.  “I have some information you’ll want to hear.”