502-01-06 Revived Emperor
From Crossroads Wiki
It's Friday, January 06, 502 A.G.
A mostly private scene between the Emperor and Empress once she has been made aware of his returned consciousness.
The cushions are set up to the side of the Gateway, a pile of comfort that plays host to the Emperor. He's still dressed in just a plain white loose gown and his hair is greasy and plastered to his head, combed over the stitches. Even so, the emerald glitter of his eyes finds Mena when she comes in. Things have shifted a bit. Clearly, he's been trying to move around some.
"Mena."
She's been in and out quite a bit today, between taking care of the babies and other sundry things that needed Imperial attention today. But it's again that Mena does enter quietly, closing the door behind her. That screen blocking the view of the Gate is still in place, of course. She doesn't want to go mad! At the sound of his voice greeting her, she stops to look at him, all laid out and scummy looking on those pillows. "Hey," she says, even curtseying as she always does. "How are you? Do you need anything?"
Rourke's tongue steals out to wet his lips. "Some mead. A bath. Even I think I smell gross." The words are froggish after a month of silence.
"You do," Mena replies with a slight quirk of her lips. "But you look even worse than you smell. Shall I send for some mead?" The month seems to have done something to her as well, less the frivolous teenager standing there, more a young, but responsible adult in her place. "Are you comfortable?"
His neck cranes a bit so he can glance about at himself and the surrounding, and he grimaces with the motion. "I just want to get out of here. I want a bath in my rooms." Rourke presses a hand to a pillow.
Mena does walk over to the laid out pillows, crouching down and wrapping her arms around her bent knees. "When can you leave here, do you think? I can have a bath brought down if you want. I know it's not your rooms, but... it would be something, at least."
"I was thinking right now," Rourke decrees, rolling a bit to the side to put weight on one arm and push to a sitting position. Sagging position. His breath hisses between his teeth, but it seems frustration more than pain. "I'm not rotting here any longer."
Mena's eyebrows lift, watching without aiding, at least for now. She knows how stubborn he is. "You're going to walk up all of those stairs by yourself? Or are you going to let someone help you?"
Rourke shoots a glare her way before he sighs. "I hate how weak I feel. You'd think it was a year, not a month." Thus far, he hasn't asked about what went on during that month. "What happened to that stupid floating chair of yours?"
"Oh! I still have it stashed in my room. Want me to send for it?" Mena asks, clearly /wanting/ to help without trying to annoy him overly. A little is okay, though. "I can have a bath readied as well, so it's set by the time you get there. You'll have to be careful washing your hair, though, because of the stitches."
The last part seems to remind him of the unpleasant reason for his state. Rourke scowls darkly and says through gritted teeth, "The chair would be good." He lifts a hand to touch gingerly at his scalp. The scowl deepens.
Mena pushes up to a standing position again, remarking not upon the scowling features before her as she turns to walk to the door, opening it up to murmur to one of the guards outside.
So, the door into the Gate chamber opens, and Mena sticks her head out. "Sir Valairre? Will you do me a huge favor? Upstairs in my bedroom is my levitating chair that I used when I was pregnant. Will you go get it and bring it down? The Emperor wishes to return to the tower."'
Valairre bows and smiles softly, "That is good news, I will have it summoned at once, and yes I recall it, you rode in it when we fled the castle, only to meet that Zombie in the Stables."
Empress Mena smiles and nods. "That's the one. Just bring it in when it arrives. Oh! And can you tell one of the servants to have a hot bath readied as well?"
Valairre continues to smile as he bows, "A hot bath as well, of course Empress, I'll bring the chair personally when it arrives."
Empress Mena smiles and inclines her head. "Great. Thank you!"
Mena closes the door again once everything is set, walking back to where her husband is. "Do you want to try standing before they get back?"
Rourke twists his head to look at the bandages about his right shoulder, a helpless frustration almost vibrating the air about him. He takes a deep breath. "Yes, damnit, I don't want anyone seeing me like this." That seems to include her, but there isn't much he can do about that. His hand bunches to a fist and punches his thigh before spreading there and trying to push.
Mena watches him with some understanding upon her features. She's a bit of a stubborn mule too, at times. "Come on," she says, offering both of her hands out. "Let me help you, for the love of the gods. I won't tell anyone."
Rourke stares flat-lipped at her hands before his left one reaches for them. The right arm is in a sling, but the sling has slipped at some point, as if he tested what motion he could get. His hand settles in hers. "I'm a bit heavy for this," he says as he pushes with his feet to take her help.
Mena grasps his hand with hers, the other wrapping securely around his wrist to give her extra leverage to pull him up. She doesn't do it in a jerky motion, but instead pulls slowly. "I'm not as weak as you think I am," she murmurs, planting her feet firmly to support his weight as she assists him up.
"I didn't say you were weak." Rourke slowly gets to a crouched standing position, keeping his weight balanced carefully and tenuously. He doesn't say anything else, silent in a war to keep his footing.
Mena looks as if she's about to say something, but cuts it off at the last minute as she stays close in case there is any falling back down. "No, you didn't," she does reply, then sighs a bit. "I'm sorry. I'm really glad you're going to be okay, you know."
Rourke's hand curls into a fist once more, pressing against his thigh. "Me too," he says, slowly pushing to a straight position. He wavers a bit and reaches for her, expression between gratitude and resentment. "Which knights are on duty?"
And she's there to support him, no matter the expression upon his features. Mena does do her best to make it at least not look as if she's obviously supporting him, in case someone does come in. "Outside the door, Sirs Valairre, Jason, Adam and Gerald."
The list of knights doesn't do much to relax him. "I don't want all of them to see this. Just one. Sir Valairre, maybe." Rourke takes a few shallow breaths. "He didn't tell me what's been going on, but he's back. Are the ships all back?"
"Well.... yes and no," Mena answers. "They all did return safely, but twelve sailed out a few days ago."
Rourke slowly looks at her, the lift of his brow really speaking whole volumes of questions at her ambiguous statement.
Mena just returns his gaze quietly for a moment. "It was the right thing to do. And Vincente was pretty insistent."
"What exactly did my dear cousin insist upon?" Rourke drawls in his low amphibian voice.
"Going to Landry and... well.. attacking Landry," Mena replies as honestly as possible. If she's going to get in trouble, she's the type to lay it all out and get it overwith quickly.
Emperor Rourke is standing with an arm about Mena's shoulders. His expression is tight. "Attacking Landry," he says, as if repeating. "Attacking Landry. Just like that, we're attacking them. I suppose we got the intelligence we need, at least?" His voice is very froggish right now.
The Empress nods to her husband, her arm wrapped around his waist. "Yes. And we'll make a friend in the process, since that winged woman will be returned to her mother, the Queen. So, two birds with one stone, there."
Valairre comes in the door pushing the chair ahead of him easily since it is hovering, only to stop as he actually sees the Emperor standing there, a smile reaches his lips as he continues to move the chair into place and then kneels with head bowed before the Imperial couple.
The Emperor gives a reluctant snort-laugh at Mena's comment. "Fine," he says shortly. His eyes slide to the arrival and rest on the knight for long moments. "Thank you, Sir Valairre. Everyone else is gone from the passage now?" He slowly moves towards the chair, trying to make it not so obvious that he's leaning on Mena much of the way. For the record, his hair is greasy and unkempt, and the Keeper smells like something very unimperial at the moment.
The Empress sure is a brave young woman. She walks with the Keeper toward the chair, remaining silent for the time being as she helps as much as she can to get Rourke settled, trying to keep it as much on the sly as possible.
Valairre nods his head as he stands up slowly, "Yes Keeper, except for the usual two guards at the door of the Gateway, the stairs have been cleared, I was not told to clear any other path but will do so if that is your command?"
A sigh sounds as Rourke settles on the floating furniture, his arm not in a sling laying along the chair's arm. "Yes. Tell the guards at the door to come back in fifteen minutes, too," he says shortly.
Mena leans over to murmur something softly in Rourke's ear, then takes a step back to fall in behind the chair, as if to follow him out.
Valairre gives a bows of his head and does as he's told, he seems not to even notice the Emperors condition out of respect for them both.
"Thank you, Sir Valairre," Mena says with a small smile. "You have been of great assistance."
Rourke tips his head to listen to Mena and nods. He frowns in concentration, and a brief look of surprise and humor touches his features for a moment when the chair moves. "I wonder how fast this goes," he says with tired humor as the chair levitates out once Valairre has had time to clear the stairs.
"Not as fast as you'd think, or want," Mena answers her husband, speaking with an obvious experience in the matter. "But it's still pretty fun."
Valairre smiels and just falls into step behind the chair, allowing them this moment and to help keep people away.
Rourke takes a few moments to tinker. The chair bounces a bit and hurries, then slows. He smiles wanly. "And I didn't even have to get pregnant to try it."
"Ha ha ha, you're so funny," Mena answers from behind, though there is humor in her tone. "I think I missed your humor the most."
Valairre watches the couple and laughs a bit at the jokes, his head tilted to the side as he envious what they have together.
Emperor Rourke smirks. "You really must have thought I was going to die. You wouldn't tell me you missed my humor if you hadn't been afraid I was about to die." He looks upwards along the stairs. "So we're at war. Anything else?"
"Well.. yes," Mena answers. "But maybe... you should get in the bath first."
Valairre looks away when the Empress mentions the bath and tries to look like he didn't hear it by straightening a sconce on the wall.
Rourke slants a look at Mena through narrowed eyes. "Something tells me that I should hear now," he counters.
Mena seems to take the stairs pretty well, not quickly out of breath. "There were two arrivals from foreign shores while you were out. Both of them have since left."
Valairre keeps his hands clasped behind his back and just stays behind the Empress.
A rapid succession of emotions cross Rourke's features, some of the obvious ones being excitement, regret, jealousy, loss, and frustration. He sighs heavily and looks away.
The secret passage opens up from the fireplace.
Mena looks around as she steps into the parlor, head tilting somewhat instinctively toward the nursery for any sounds of crying. "Your son has been quite inconsolable the whole time," she then tells her husband.
Valairre stays quiet the entire thrip up the stairs and to the tower and up those stairs, need a backet lift up here or something.
"I suppose so." Rourke hovers the chair towards the bedroom. "Bath. I've needed one so much." He looks towards Valairre. "The unglamorous duty of a knight. When you see people, tell them I looked... better than I do. Thank you, Sir Valairre." The words are a dismissal, but one with true gratitude.
Valairre gives a bow and takes up a guard position near the parlor door, "I am here to serve Keeper, and you look as you as ways have, the strong leader of this wonderful Empire, and a hot bath is already awaiting you, I will be right here if you have need of me further."
Mena smiles at the knight, seemingly intent on following her husband into the privacy of his rooms. "Thank you, Sir Valairre."
A single nod from the Keeper is his only comment as he withdraws, his chin held at a strong angle.
Rourke directs the chair towards the steaming bath and the furniture settles there. He sighs slightly and puts weight on the arm of the chair to rise. "I'm surprised the Lord of the Abyss didn't break out of the Gateway just to escape my stench."
When he moves to get up, Mena is there by his side to help in any way. "I know. I'll need a bath just from being somewhat near to you."
"If I were feeling a bit better, you'd need a bath after being near me for a different reason," Rourke jokes hollowly as he wrestles a bit with the dressing gown. "Who the hell put me in this thing?"
"The healers," Mena answers, reaching out to try to help get it off of him. "I think this will be the first time I've undressed you without sex happening right after."
Rourke wags his brows at her. "If you straddle the tub, I'm sure I can manage something," he says, stepping towards the tub. He groans as he sinks into the hot water.
Mena chuckles a bit and shakes her head. "Forget it. At least for a couple of days." As he settles in the tub, she lowers to the side of it, sitting cross-legged.
Rourke sinks a bit clumsily into the water, splashing a bit of it out of the tub. He sighs achingly as he settles. "When did you become a healer? It's therapeutic," he insists.
"I /asked/ a healer," Mena says with a bit of a laugh. "And it's taxing. That's what she said. Taxing."
"She can come tax my ass," Rourke complains, tipping his head back over the edge. The water soaks the bandages at his shoulder, a bit of dried blood staining the water. His eyes close. "Alright. We're at war, two visitors. Tyr?"
"And Maehdros," Mena answers. "They both arrived at the same time. The Prince of Maehdros is a pretty... up front and forward sort of man. Huge. Warrior type of people. They like beating each other up for status. Kind of like... a more barbaric Guardian."
Rourke slowly nods, tensing and relaxing muscles in the hot water. He reaches for the soap and just drops it in the water with himself. "I'll have to put my imagination to work on that. I thought at one point I could feel ships in the currents. Did we make treaties with them? What happened?"
Mena sits there beside the tub, still, folding her hands in her lap. "Well, Prince Saeros had to go back to Maehdros, I think to kill his brother or something. But he'll return. He was very easy to deal with. Oh.. and he wants to marry Red to solidify some alliance between us. But Red did /really/ well playing Ambassador, many on the trip said so, so I'm not sure that's something that should be pursued. But. I think they will be good to trade with, and we should still be able to work with them even if he doesn't get Red."
"But if we give Red to him, then we're friends forever? That's worth thinking about," Rourke says wryly, fumbling for the soap a bit. "And Tyr?" It's Tyr he's been excited about all along.
Mena lets out a sigh. "Alright. They left pretty unhappy. But it's not because they were treated badly. It's because I told them that when they came back in, they'd have to stop at Guardian for inspection, and that their ships full of sailors weren't going to be allowed to run freely within the city here. The Admiral and others had a good idea about building another port on the other side of the isle for visiting crews. Down on a stretch of land at the bottom of the cliffs, guarded from the top to make sure nothing bad happens there."
Rourke frowns deeply as he sudses at the stink. "We're not going to have hoards of other nations running about here. What is their problem with going through an inspection?"
Mena shakes her head. "I don't know. But they got all... condescending and up in arms over the protocols. And the Major that was with the Ambassador totally insulted the Guildmaster, and I said something about it, and then they left. They sailed out as soon as the currents switched. The Ambassador said that he had to go check with his King and Queen. Did you know they don't have nobility anymore? Anyway. I expect they will be back as well. They /did/ bring a lot of wheat and corn. I gave then fifteen barrels of ale in return."
Rourke pauses in the soaping, brows drawing together. "You gave them fifteen? Do we have an ale shortage beyond the trouble that we already have with the bugs?"
"Nooooo," Mena answers with a slight quirk of her lips. "They said they wanted ale in return for the wheat and corn. They /asked/ for five barrels per ship. They were really huge roosters, Rourke. I wasn't going to offer them more for telling me how superior we are, and how we need them above all others."
"Are you sure that you weren't being a little overreacting?" Rourke says with the frown still in place. He starts soaping himself again, slowly, and sinks down further in the water. "Or that they just weren't more familiar with the pomp and circumstance of ambassadorial work?"
Mena's lips press together to form a thin line for a moment. "You can ask many about the Tyreans, and will receive the same opinion of them. And Master Collins was at the meeting when they were really quite horribly arrogant. I'm not overreacting." Her words are delivered with a practiced calm.
Rourke eyes her as he begins to unwind shoulder bandages. "I'm not saying that you are," he says, even though he did say that was possible just a moment ago. "I'm just saying that you haven't had a lot of training in something like this yet. So they left in a huff?"
Mena draws in a deep breath, then smiles placidly. "Of course. I..." will not make a snarky comment. Just don't do it. ".. well, sort of. The Major sent me a note of apology for her behavior, and they did have a feast on their ships before leaving. I suspect that they will return, probably. Though, they did threaten to attack our ships."
Bathing is forgotten and the soap plops into the water, unnoticed, as Rourke stares at her. "They what?"
"They did. They told Marcus Barca that if we released Narjis, the winged woman, and she left without speaking to them and gaining their pardon, they would take her by force," Mena explains with a nod. "And since ours is the only other ships leaving the barrier.. who else would bring her out? I already had the Admiral and High Mage warned of it, though, so all should be fine, unless Tyr gets it in their mind to wait for their return to the barrier opening."
He mulls that over and resumes undoing the bandages. "That might not have been intended as a threat against us if these people didn't think it through," Rourke speculates. "But all the same, they can't be permitted to act in such a fashion." He sighs. "Of course everyone left just before I..." He doesn't complete the sentence, hissing once as the stiffened bandages peel away.
"They'll be back," Mena murmurs. "Them and others, and all of them looking forward to meeting you, Rourke. Not me."
Rourke frowns and traces a touch across the stitches and the bruised flesh. "I didn't want to miss it. There are so many things I can't do, and I really wanted this." He sighs, a heavy sound of acceptance. "Are there notes on the whole thing?"
Mena nods. "For most of it, I wrote stuff down. I didn't have a scribe or anything at the private meetings, but there was one at council, so there's that."
"Good," Rourke says, blissfully ignorant of the implications of that statement. He sinks down in the water and lets it slide across the tortured flesh of his shoulder. The bite of the water earns a yelp from him. "How bad are my arm and shoulder?"
"It's... pretty bad," Mena answers honestly. "That demon really clawed you deeply. The healers were pretty unsure how it's going to heal. You might end up losing strength in that arm."
Another bit of news he didn't want to hear. Rourke closes his eyes and nods, then slips under the water fully for long moments. He breaks the surface and slicks his hair back with his left hand. "I probably should see one of them soon. Maybe you could send one in?" The Keeper apparently needs a few minutes to adjust, alone.
Mena takes that hint for what it is. "Sure," she murmurs as she pushes smoothly up to her feet. "I'm sure one will be here in just a few minutes, then." She does pause for a brief moment, her forest gaze upon his features before she turns to walk toward the door leading into the nursery. "Call if you need help getting out of the tub or anything else."
"You can bring Jordan in later," Rourke comments, leaning bonelessly against the tub again. "And the girls. In a while." He nods, finally looking at her again. "Thank you, Mena."
Mena pauses to look over her shoulder as she opens the door into the babies' room, a bit of a smile finding her features. "Welcome." And then she slips out, closing the door again to leave him in the solitude sought.
