faderift | [open] nothing can break

WHO: Benedict and yoooou
WHAT: The princess is dealing with a lot right now. Help him (or make it worse)
WHEN: Kingsway
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: will add warnings as needed

I. Around and About

Things are strange these days, but at least Benedict has a job. Being the chamberlain means it's his responsibility to see that guests are comfortable, which means suddenly a goodly portion of the rooms in the Gallows towers are under his care.
As few expected, he takes the job seriously. With his board and his quill he moves from room to room on a daily basis, glancing over those unoccupied and ringing for service in those that have borne guests, making sure their sheets are turned down and their curtains arranged at the most pleasing angle for their return.

He can be found pacing the halls at these times, his step brisk and his brow furrowed in concentration.

II. The Library

And then there are the times he sets aside each day to do research alone; what he's studying isn't obvious, and he's not especially forthcoming about it, but it's a fair number of medical and magical texts that he seems to pull from the stacks.
When not actively reading, sometimes he's just sitting by one of the big windows, cup of tea in hand and gaze distant.

III. Sloppy Bitch O'Clock

Perhaps the reason Bene is keeping so busy, or at least one of them, is that there have been a lot of recent events giving him feelings and problems he doesn't know how to handle. Being aloof means there isn't a lot of opportunity to work things out with friends he doesn't have, and one night something just crumbles.

He's in the Hanged Man (if you're going to do it, why not do it right), already several drinks in and draped over a chair by the fireplace, waxing poetic about how important he is in Tevinter, how he'll be a Magister someday, maybe once all this madness is worked out.
It's frankly a miracle he hasn't been shivved yet.

For Kitty

It's time to pick out new curtains for some of the guest rooms, and Benedict is in Hightown Market wearing his fancy important person clothes while inspecting the goods at a textile stand. He looks up for a moment and, catching sight of Kitty, gives a smirk and a roll of his eyes. Oh hey.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This merits a scowl, but Benedict settles in and sips from his drink, brow furrowed and shoulders hunched. She couldn't be further from his mother, but at least she admits it.
"No," he grumpily answers, the cup still at his mouth. Now he's just tired, still dizzy, and... well. Sad.

She lets him stay there for the time being. Not fussing over him too much as she changes some of her clothes for cleaner, warmer ones, mercifully free of vomit. But her instructions are simple in the meantime.

"Have another mouthful of both before you sleep. I am glad you like it." A little, lopsided smile. Private, just for the moment. The mean time spent as she sits in a chair, taking off her leather greaves around her legs, dropping them neatly beside where she sat. "It was my boy's favourite when I used to make it for a banquet. He would sook and ask if that even when was married and King, if I would still make it for him."

Without fighting the command, Benedict does so, taking a slow sip and letting his mind drift-- until something Lakshmi says strikes him as quite important.
"...King?" he asks, his eyebrows raising.

She laughs, her shoulders rolling back. "Did you not know? I was a Queen. That is what Rani means." She hasn't made much of a secret of it when asked, but nor does she make much of a fuss of it. Something she figures is a self-evident truth given everything that had just passed.

"My husband was - Raj. King. Or Maharaja, Maharani, if we were to be... particular in the length of it."

He obviously had not known this, and Benedict is flabbergasted. A queen? But that-- that means--

He just stares at her for several long moments, clearly having trouble processing this information while in his drunken state. That technically means she's not only way more important than him, but, Maker forbid, more important than his mother.

She doesn't make much of a note of his concern presently - she's busy folding the material of her jacket. Smoothing it between her fingers, neatening everything up. Lining edge to edge and flipping it in half over her fingers to hang loose, then again.

With it stacked she cants her head across to him briefly - "If you're finished, let me know. I'll want to clean up."

No, what? What??

"But you--" he stammers, looking her over. Where he comes from, important people don't make their own food, fold their own clothes-- "...you raised him?"
It's a sticking point that his drunk mind suddenly can't let go.

Lakshmi chuckles, looking over at him with one raised brow. "Don't all parents?" She shakes her head, no, they don't, do they? "Did he have servants to look after him, is that what you mean? Tutors to teach him many things? If so, yes, he did."

The item in her hand folded over, she leans over to the small cupboard to place it away. "He lived a life that was golden, compared to many, that is true. I still had a kingdom to run." She didn't have as much time as she would always like, it's true. But then, if she had, she would not have been Queen and all that had passed the way it did might not have happened as it had.

Too many ifs in that sentence, to bother lingering on it. "But I took pride in cooking his meals and my husband's when I could. It was I, that taught him to ride his first horse, in the evenings I would help him through his prayers to learn them properly, and when he did not want to eat anything but sweets and play, I took him by the hand and walked him through my days so he might understand all men and women had responsibilities and discipline is required by all. I do not like to lead by anything but by example, why would I raise my own child any other way?"

The more Lakshmi tells him, the more Benedict's face seems to fall, drunk and sick and tired but now deeply sad in a way he can't define. A person can be a ruler and also a parent? That niggling pain in his chest each time a highborn friend mentioned spending time with family was indicative of... something being wrong, perhaps, instead of just a silly and selfish longing?
"...and you loved him?" he asks, before he can stop himself, afraid of the answer.

That - actually makes her pause. What sort of question - ?

She looks up, hovering a moment. Wondering if she should laugh in the incredulous nature of the question or - she doesn't know. Reassure the unspoken question in that voice that she doesn't quite understand, but hears the worry all the same.

So she puts away what she's doing, striding back across that room to sit beside him once more. Curious, looking at him perhaps too intently. That should be a truth known to every child of their parents. Careful, as she takes his hand, smoothing her thumb against his knuckles.

"He was my son, it was not that I loved him, it is that he as my love, running free of my body."

This has been a lot of information to take in-- never mind that Lakshmi apparently has a fully grown son yet she only appears a few years older than Benedict, that's something he'll ponder later-- but that she's a Queen, that she raised her own child, that... perhaps things haven't been as perfect as Bene was always led to believe they were. Still mopey from his earlier outburst, he's finding it a bit too much to handle.

He looks down at Lakshmi's hand over his, and has no idea what to do with it. So he yawns, using a stretch as an excuse to pull his hand away, closing his eyes to avoid looking at her face. "I'm exhausted," he says, with a measured, practiced carelessness. He's lying, but needs to not be called on it right now.

And mercifully, she doesn't. Another time perhaps, but whatever it is crossing behind his gaze, is not hers to pry into this moment.

Only the very surety that all of this is far too new to him than it should be, and wasn't the trend she'd gotten used to since she'd come here? Children growing up in all the wrong ways, dressed up in the armour of their forebears like that was enough. Because in truth, for what they faced, it had to be enough.

So she says nothing, only leans down as he has his eyes closed and kisses his forehead the once, a firm peck.

And with it, she rises, and lets him sleep.

[open] nothing can break

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