![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
103 » holes in my false confidence
[Aether had just bathed and redressed himself in his quarters when an Abyss Mage came to report that they'd captured a human intruder on the premises.
Interesting, was all he'd said in response. Nothing more or less than interesting. Evidently, the intruder tore through two contingents of their soldiers and nearly slew a lesser dragon before the mages finished their spell and paralyzed his limbs. The man is in the dungeons now. His Vision and other baubles have been confiscated. His attire and choice of weaponry suggests that he's a member of the Fatui, and his level of skill suggests that he's a Fatui Harbinger. Given enough time, their intelligence services will be able to tell Aether exactly which one.
There's more to the story, too: evidently, the intruder seemed to have a sense of where he was, despite having just fallen into the Abyss.
That last piece of information informed the prince exactly of who the man might be, and therefore, who might be best suited to deal with him. At least, that's what he tells himself. The truth of it is that there is still a part of Aether that is kind, that is considerate, that wouldn't want to harm a child one of his lieutenants once trained. It's that part of him that takes the time to locate a certain swordswoman, just to see if she would recommend mercy for the boy with whom she once traveled.
But Skirk only laughed it off. Ajax? she asked. Sure, I caught a glimpse of him before they brought him down. He's grown! But I can't have taught him very well if he went and got himself captured.
Then the swordsmaster's smile faded, and her gaze steeled over. Hefting her blade over her shoulder, she turned away. Do what you want with him, Your Highness. He's of no further use to me.
The Abyss, predictably, is a dark place, with little in the way of natural life, but Aether's "palace" boasts what few luxuries their forces can manage. The lifeless branches of petrified trees decorate the cold stone walls, as if in imitation of floral arrangements; rugs of tattered silk line the halls. Defying gravity, streams of water run upward along the walls in violation of the laws of Celestia.
Aether's footsteps take him to Childe's cell, where he stops, and simply stares at his prisoner with eyes of cold amber.
He's not sure what he expected. Unlike Skirk, Aether didn't watch their soldiers bring the Harbinger to his knees, and he's never known Tartaglia as a young boy named Ajax. He didn't expect the man to be quite so handsome, or to have such startlingly blue eyes.
In any case, Childe is their only guest for the moment. The dungeons are otherwise empty. Besides, there are only six cells in total, so this is not a place built to accommodate scores of prisoners. The implication is this: if anyone else was ever in Childe's position, they are now no longer here. ]
How kind of you to pay the Abyss another visit, Tartaglia of the Fatui Harbingers.
[ Aether's voice is soft and quiet, perhaps even unexpectedly so. His face —
Well, that explains why she would always ask people if they'd seen a boy who looked like her, no? ]
...Or do you prefer to be called Ajax?
Interesting, was all he'd said in response. Nothing more or less than interesting. Evidently, the intruder tore through two contingents of their soldiers and nearly slew a lesser dragon before the mages finished their spell and paralyzed his limbs. The man is in the dungeons now. His Vision and other baubles have been confiscated. His attire and choice of weaponry suggests that he's a member of the Fatui, and his level of skill suggests that he's a Fatui Harbinger. Given enough time, their intelligence services will be able to tell Aether exactly which one.
There's more to the story, too: evidently, the intruder seemed to have a sense of where he was, despite having just fallen into the Abyss.
That last piece of information informed the prince exactly of who the man might be, and therefore, who might be best suited to deal with him. At least, that's what he tells himself. The truth of it is that there is still a part of Aether that is kind, that is considerate, that wouldn't want to harm a child one of his lieutenants once trained. It's that part of him that takes the time to locate a certain swordswoman, just to see if she would recommend mercy for the boy with whom she once traveled.
But Skirk only laughed it off. Ajax? she asked. Sure, I caught a glimpse of him before they brought him down. He's grown! But I can't have taught him very well if he went and got himself captured.
Then the swordsmaster's smile faded, and her gaze steeled over. Hefting her blade over her shoulder, she turned away. Do what you want with him, Your Highness. He's of no further use to me.
The Abyss, predictably, is a dark place, with little in the way of natural life, but Aether's "palace" boasts what few luxuries their forces can manage. The lifeless branches of petrified trees decorate the cold stone walls, as if in imitation of floral arrangements; rugs of tattered silk line the halls. Defying gravity, streams of water run upward along the walls in violation of the laws of Celestia.
Aether's footsteps take him to Childe's cell, where he stops, and simply stares at his prisoner with eyes of cold amber.
He's not sure what he expected. Unlike Skirk, Aether didn't watch their soldiers bring the Harbinger to his knees, and he's never known Tartaglia as a young boy named Ajax. He didn't expect the man to be quite so handsome, or to have such startlingly blue eyes.
In any case, Childe is their only guest for the moment. The dungeons are otherwise empty. Besides, there are only six cells in total, so this is not a place built to accommodate scores of prisoners. The implication is this: if anyone else was ever in Childe's position, they are now no longer here. ]
How kind of you to pay the Abyss another visit, Tartaglia of the Fatui Harbingers.
[ Aether's voice is soft and quiet, perhaps even unexpectedly so. His face —
Well, that explains why she would always ask people if they'd seen a boy who looked like her, no? ]
...Or do you prefer to be called Ajax?
no subject
He's dead. He's known that from the moment the spells immobilized him. He wasn't good enough, wasn't high enough on the food chain - so it goes. That's life.
The only thing is, he can't quite figure out why he's not dead.
The Abyss is no place for mercy or kindness. He has known that since his childhood. It's only kill or be killed here, and while Childe had killed quite a few, he hadn't gotten them all. Where did that leave him? In a cell. To be presented to whichever king or ruler owned this place, he supposed, though he still wasn't quite sure why.
When he finally sees him, Childe is... well, disappointed isn't quite the right word for it. Underwhelmed?
The man is shorter than he thought he'd be, with less regal of an appearance than expected for someone in charge of such a dangerous and sanity-sapping place. His hair gleams a brilliant gold, with bright eyes and a face that looks almost sweet. Childe doesn't expect that and it makes him recalculate a few things about his situation here.
Except, the man knows his name. His birth name, for all that it matters, and Childe's jaw tightens just a fraction. It's enough to keep him from making some sort of lighthearted joke, and he shakes his head, trying to keep his tone conversational, even though the situation is anything but.]
Childe, [he corrects, airy.] Tartaglia is my codename among the Fatui, and - the other one is for family. Childe is my name to everyone else.
[He slowly rises to stand on shaky legs, still partially numb from the restraining spells that had been cast on them. Better to stand here, to subtly show the difference in their heights, to give him some small fraction of power in this conversation.]
I guess I have to assume you're in charge here. Which is a little odd... I've been here before and I never ran into anyone like you.
no subject
[There is a gentle implication there: this man, Childe's captor, seems perfectly willing to comply with his prisoner's demands, but he will refuse to do so if he is displeased.
Aether does not react outwardly to the way Childe is towering over him, but he recognizes the gesture for what it is: an attempt to grasp power. Feigning a certain degree of indifference, the prince snaps his fingers — a plush, gilded armchair materializes behind him, forming from golden light the way a Vision-wielder's chosen weapon materializes for its master (though one must reasonably assume that the young man with golden eyes does not fight with armchairs).
Sighing, Aether seats himself in his summoned throne, bending one leg over his knee, leaning his cheek upon his knuckles as he regards Childe with a kind of indolent curiosity.]
I must have been busy, last you visited. Do forgive me for not canceling my plans.
[He cants his head to one side, just the barest bit. If Childe knew him better, he might recognize it as amusement. Aether doesn't smile much anymore.]
I'm sure you would have made darling company.