"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
((Anyone remotely in Gaius' vicinity is in danger, who are we kidding ((Particularly if he takes an interest in them XD))
((Sure thing! Cornyx isn't gonna say more, he doesn't have a deathwish lmao))
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
About two hours later, the carriage arrived back at the Keep. The massive gates creaked open to admit them, and the Iron-horses slowed to a stop about a hundred feet from the Keep's doors. Gaius climbed out of the carriage as his sons dismounted their horses. Marcella followed, then turned to help Cornyx down.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Cornyx ducked out of the carriage, the bitter winter cold against his bared skin. It might've hurt if he weren't so numb from it. He accepted the young woman's hand, casting her the faintest of half-smiles and a murmured 'thank you, ma'm,' the soles of his boots crunching against the crusted ice.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Marcella dipped her head, shooting her twin brother a dirty look in response to the glare he gave her. Gaius, pretending not to notice, limped toward the doors, gesturing for his family and Cornyx to follow.
"Marcella will see you up to Sera," he told Cornyx, glancing over his shoulder. "I trust you remember our apothecary?" She was a hard woman to forget.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"Yes, sir." The look the woman cast past Cornyx didn't escape him, but he didn't turn to see who it was she was looking at, not wanting the fact he saw it to be evident. He only turned his head slightly to catch one of the men who'd he'd met in the cells in his periphery. Mattathias, wasn't it? The more pissed-off of the two, or at least the more uncivil one.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
(Actually, Mattathias was a bit nicer than Regulus. Not much, but still better.)
"Excellent. She'll tend to your wounds." Without another word, Gaius tugged open the doors and disappeared inside. Regulus followed, but Mattathias paused to murmur something in Marcella's ear before leaving as well.
Marcella wrinkled her nose at his retreating back, then turned to Cornyx. "Well, we'd better get you up to Sera, then. Those lash marks look positively horrid." She kept her expression carefully neutral, though her green eyes were alight with interest.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
((I knew I should've gone back and re-read it lmao)) ((RIP my memory))
His sharp gaze followed the others. Gaius, Regulus, Mattathias, one at a time disappearing into the keep. The latter stayed for a moment longer to speak to the woman--Marcella, as Lord Ash had just uttered her name--but soon enough, he was gone, too, leaving the both of them.
"Thank y-you, miss. I can't say they f-f-f-feel quite better than they-they look." It could've been a joke, but it would've been challenging for most anyone to tell with his even tone and straight face. Not even the slightest twitch of his lips to betray a hint of humor. He would follow her when they started to walk, pulling ahead only to get the door, as was only proper.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Marcella dipped her head in thanks as he held the door for her and made a left down the hallway. "I can imagine. Father had similar injuries some years ago. The whip is....quite a harsh punishment." She glanced down, obviously uncomfortable. She shouldn't have said anything.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Lord Ash? How strange. That had to have been when someone else was in power, and, assuming the system was similar to Earth's, that would've been either his own father or an elder sibling. He might've asked, but there was a discomfort that was inherent in her posture and her own avoidance of his gaze.
"At the very least, I will say that I favor it more than the noose," he answered, all but ignoring her words of her father; no reason to further her unease. "Your father was generous under the circumstances."
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
"You have no idea." Marcella smiled hesitantly. "You should count yourself very, very lucky, sir." She ascended some stairs. "He's likely offended more by what you said in the carriage, so he might be in a less favorable mood now. Tread as carefully a you can."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
((I also just realized that me, being the idiot I am, totally forgot to mention that he has some tattoos, which would be obvious since he's not wearing a shirt
He's got one on his back, right over his left shoulder blade, of a dove carrying an olive branch, and behind it (almost as its shadow) is a somewhat blurred raven
The other one would be on his right forearm, on the outside of it, from his wrist to a little more than halfway down to his elbow, and it's of a rose that's all black except for the red petals))
"I'll be as careful as I can," he answered, returning the ghost of a smile. She seemed nice enough. At least he didn't get the hint that she was completely and utterly manipulating him but, then again, the best manipulators were skilled at going undetected.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
(Hell, GAIUS needs some tattoos. Too bad he's a noble with low self esteem)
"Good." She glanced sideways at him. "May I ask you a question?" Her eyes flickered to his forearm.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
((if gaius had a tattoo and it was anything but a snake, I would riot))
His gaze followed hers down to his arm, alighting on the rose there. Blackthorn. The ink was so much more obvious than the scars, now, which was probably the only benefit to his pale skin: over the years they'd faded so far that even he could hardly find them.
"Have at it," he said, mind already anticipating it. If she were to ask about the meaning of them...the birds were easy. Friends could die in this world as easily as they could at home. The rose? Less so; the Blackthorns didn't exist here. But perhaps he could tell her what it symbolized rather than the faction for which he'd taken it. That wasn't an untruth.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
(And he might have one more commemorating his wife)
"What do your tattoos mean?" She pointed first to the rose, then to the dove and raven. "I've never seen these symbols before."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
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