This Tristan can answer with conviction. "That was very beautiful. If your question's not rhetorical, I do have an answer. We will whither and fade. I mean, I apologize for my bluntness, but we will. Would you convict parents for having children, that they would grow old and die as we will? I love mine, who gave me life, even knowing it must end. And I hope our children love us as much, and theirs even more. And if we can't make the world safe for them, let them forgive us that we tried."
Tristan smiles easily. There's no heat in his voice, no scolding or coldness. He speaks as if to a baby bird fallen from its nest and held in his hands - aware the bird is so much greater than him. He also says it simply because he believes it, truly. "There is hope such as we make of it, such as we are here to have it and to inspire it. And since we are here, Lady Sauvage, thank you for this kindness. Sir Liana is wonderful, and I am humbled to have been audience."
The word is relief - Lucien's feeling sentimental.
'Follow my lead' means 'I have worked out you are useful, but inferior'. It means Surma probably hopes that Lucien is going to get himself killed doing something relevant, and her problem will fix itself thereby. He won't, but as long as she thinks that, she's an unquestioned ally.
And evil twin means this is not Jackdaw. This is ᴇᴠɪʟ ᴊᴀᴄᴋᴅᴀᴡ, which makes this so much simpler.
Still, she's Ailee's +1, those two can do a couple's waltz. Lucien's got to be the gentleman and dance with the one who brought him.
The bolas are in the air. Lucien's still touching the Professor's shoulders gingerly - first to help position him between himself and Surma, now so he can make a friendly shoulder squeeze, ground him in the moment.
"Hey, Professor, we've got plenty of clowns in the circus right now if we need one," Lucien is the angel on his shoulder, reason to madness, "but not many brilliant academics. I need you to tell me everything you know about what that ᴊᴀᴄᴋᴅᴀᴡ is, and keep talking. You said you could be a repository of knowledge here, right? Prove it."
The information he gets out the Professor might be useful, it might not be. What's important is that he's now put the Professor's pride in the way of the Clown Madness. Pride enough to rival Ailee's.
[Talk Sense - Appeal to emotion, Wisdom, 5, 2, +2 = 9 - he does as I ask, but I owe him.]
Tristan has made an easy friendship with Mort. This did not come immediately. He did lie about his service, for starters, but after the initial wounded pride, it allowed Mort to see him more as an equal. What was important about Tristan was not a facade: He is loyal, he is determined, and he puts service to the common good above all. And, besides, Tristan just really likes him.
It helps that what he's taken from Robena is a renewed sense of wonder and playfulness. When push came to shove, it was not martial prowess that failed - not Tristan's or Sandsfern's or Robena's - it was spirit. A subtle wrongness to Sandsfern that he would not be able to pin down until he saw her again. And Robena...
He still believed Robena did what needed to be done. This is why he kept her axe with him, clean and sharpened, for the day they met again. What failed is that she could take an action she couldn't believe in, did what she felt was wrong.
To Tristan, this meant that it was not enough that he could act in the moment, but that he would always act as he should in the moment.
This new insight has alloyed him into being a playful showoff.
Is it, strictly speaking, a survival skill for him to be able to wear a tunic upside down, walk on his hands, and pretend that nothing's the matter? No, but it made Mort snort beer out his nose laughing when he managed to balance a hat on Tristan's bum, and Tristan doffed it with his feet.
Was it, strictly speaking, making him a better warrior to practice birdsong for birds that didn't exist? To invent stories for the children about what they looked like, the impossible fruits that they ate in the fantastic places they came from? (Of course it was all true; how else could he know how they sounded like?)
It didn't. It made him a warrior who was accountable to children and their sense of right and wrong, though, the harshest and most insightful of moral arbiters. And it made him happy.
The training is rigorous, as always. He can allow himself to soften, but not to blunt. When his muscles are too sore to test, when his mind is too foggy to fill, he takes longer and longer meetings with the spirits of the world, shows more and more concern. It is not insulting to rest like this. These are his most vulnerable moments that he shares with them.
So, when it was time to travel, he did not comment on Constance's exacting choice of wording. The implication that the three who go out will not necessarily be the same three that return. He pretends he does not notice this even as he takes Robena's axe with his pack, already suspecting.
He challenges his horse to a race, and mounts it a run just as it starts to overtake him at a hundred paces.
And he laughed.
He doesn't laugh now, but neither does he bow to Constance's grim decorum. He bows to the lady in the green dress upon the throne. "Thank you, again. I humbly ask if you would you have any musicians in your court? Or instruments, if no one to play them? The journey has been too quiet. It would warm us as much as any fire."
As Constance's silences become more grievous, so too has Tristan's ways of breaking their tension.
Tristan has paid special attention to his rites and ceremonies to see more clearly, and not lose another crucial moment as he did with Pellinore.
— When you look closely at another person, you have the right to see them truly. Roll Weird. On any hit, ask their player one of the following questions about them; their player must answer it truthfully. On 7–9, in addition, their soul recognizes your scrutiny. • For whom will you weep when death finds you? • How have you failed to deserve what fortune has given you? • Of what are you most deeply afraid? • For what are you most deeply grateful? • What is your soul’s greatest sin? • What would make you welcome death? On a miss, their soul recognizes your scrutiny and rebuffs you unanswered.
This has, unfortunately, left Lucien alone with Surma's attention while Ailee is biting ᴇᴠɪʟ ᴊᴀᴄᴋᴅᴀᴡ. Which is funny, because it was the second most likely matchup of this oeuvre he'd run the hypotheticals for - the first was good Jackdaw vs evil Ailee.
SWOT; Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, and Threats.
The threat's the obvious one. Surma's terrifying. That she's down an arm only means she's survived something able to rip and tear it off - without the arm at the time. ᴊᴀᴄᴋᴅᴀᴡ is secondary.
So that leaves him with a gun that is useless as a weapon (W), and a friend that is only useful as one - (S), for now.
O: "Professor," Lucien draws the clown's attention to Surma, and neatly steps so that he is between Lucien and Surma, "I don't think this one's here for the Heraclitus."
Don't try for the gun. It signals an escalation you're just going to lose. Pull it out to get put down harder. Keep her talking. Keep-
[Talk Sense - Appeal to emotion, Wisdom, 4, 6, +2 = 12]
"Surma, a moratorium until the more overt threat is dealt with? A fight on two fronts kills us both - no room for doubting each other right now, let's both of us live long enough for you to kill me, if it comes to it? But for now, we are allies." He glances at Ailee to emphasize who is included in 'we'.
This isn't a mind game. This isn't a double bluff. Maybe if he was younger, and spryer, and there were less collateral damage. But he is none of those things, Ailee is in biting distance of the threat, and he doesn't even know if this is a scenario where Jackdaw has been turned evil, or a scenario where it's an evil clone!
He's scared that honesty works against him here. He's more practiced at manipulation, where he can afford an emotional distance. Anyone who believes sincerity really matters hasn't spent a day in a courthouse.
Tristan absentmindedly goes to pick up the axe from where it's planted. It's soaked in blood. It needs to be cleaned, or it will rust. It needs to be whetted, after going through flesh.
Even the strongest weapons need to be maintained past their proving, and it's clear that Robena isn't in the presence of mind for it. That's fine.
He carries it over to Constance and Mort - not as a weapon, but as a burden. He is, for a moment, very disgruntled he's not going to get the help slaying that badger he was promised, but he brushes that aside for now.
"Pendragon is still a necessary quarry?" He asks Constance. She seems like she'd know. She always seems like she'd know. "Am I still called to hunt?"
Ominous! And here Lucien is, at the right place with the wrong book, he suspects. He keeps it tucked under one arm, and continues sifting through the pile for anything good. The Heraclitus, for instance. Hides A Victory of Crows in the pile he's making. Plausible deniability that he was trying to hide it, if it comes up.
And- Good heavens, someone put Cioran under "self-help"?! These clowns do have a sense of humour after all. Definitely taking those.
He quite likes Ailee, but he doesn't... Does he trust her? He does, but he feels like he shouldn't right now, and he trusts that feeling more. He definitely doesn't know how he feels about the newcomer, yet.
"Oh, you don't want to do that." Lucien says cheerfully, matter-of-factly. "First you'd hit me, then you'd miss me, so it goes."
And is that- Ailee just suppressed a bitter rant. He saw the Look. Ailee also didn't immediately hassle the professor, upon seeing him next to this miserable pit that puts the lie to everything he believes. Ailee is seeing Pagliacci in what might be his lowest moment, and she instead chooses to rib Lucien about his shirt?
It is decided. Ailee cannot be trusted right now because she has a crush. Does she realize, yet?
Stars above.
Lucien keeps his books tucked under one arm, keeping the spines facing away from the arriving pair. He considers going for a handshake, but decides... no. He snaps his heels together and gives his swoopiest courtier bow, dancing on the razor's edge between sarcastic and sincere - neither one nor the other. He rakes his hair back with his free hand as he straightens - but never too straight, eh?
"Hullo. Lucien Roue, charmed. If you can find anything worth a damn in this paper-puddle, you've a keener eye than I. I'll have the pleasure of adding 'myself included' before the delightful Ms Sundish gets another jab in. Our mutual here," this field intentionally left blank, "the Professor was just... you know, I'm not actually sure?"
On the other, Robena did nothing less than her duty. Not only was she true to her word, but her words were proved true. He has seen how true for himself, now. For Robena to stay her hand at the critical moment would have been to shirk a grave responsibility.
Tristan does not admire this, but he must respect it.
He scrabbles down from the rooftops as fast as is safe. Delegation of duties again; if Robena has no interest in diplomacy, then she is in immediate need of a diplomat. Best be quick about it.
Tristan is still focusing entirely on Pellinore when the blade goes in her back. He does not even see that it is Robena that has done it, yet.
More than just what he was trying to learn, he feels what Pellinore feels in the moment that the blade goes in. This is new to him. The ritual ends by the loosing of the arrow. He has not felt the target when the shot hits.
Tristan makes a snap judgement. Stay hidden. The knights will take time to reform, and there are other obstacles. But he might not get another chance to observe Pellinore like this, and that information could be more vital.
And he knows the Lady Constance. He has always been eager to learn from everyone he can - long ago she gifted him with her time, and he's treasured the lessons and the memories always. Idly, he wonders if she remembers him.
She is an ally, and she is better suited to the task of dissuading the knights. Of resolving it peacefully.
"Chase two rabbits, catch none." Isn't that what he was always taught? He focuses on the task he's better suited for, and delegates the other - though he has no good way to tell who he's volunteered.
He draws the bowstring, no arrow in hand. Now he blinds himself to the forest to better see the tree.
His concentration isn't perfect. The lingering doubt this is the wrong decision stays with him. It's irrelevant. The decision was made.
Breathe.
He is standing right next to Pellinore. He is close enough to touch. She is all he sees.
Breathe.
Blind to everything else. Trust the rest is handled. Trust that he's right to trust.
