Ceci n'est pas un Chevalier

[coeurdulyon]

WHO: Lucien Amour Lyon du Lyon (The Lionheart) and YOU!
WHAT: The arrival of a famed Chevalier (and catch-all)
WHEN: mid to late Drakonis
WHERE: Kirkwall & The Gallows etc
NOTES: Feel free to make up stories you've heard about this legendary knight, he casts a looooong shadow.

i. reporting for duty [closed to div heads]

ia. flint
[ Diligence is due when Lucien returns with Marcoulf and Ellis, and because diligence is a virtue of chivalry, its due must be paid. ]

Commander James Flint? [ His announcement is preceded by a rapping of knuckles on the door jamb and he stands in the doorway until admitted. ]

ib. yseult
[ It's well after Lucien has had the chance to bathe and dress himself as a member of society when he pays a visit to the Scoutmaster in her office. He knocks, waits to be admitted, and kisses the back of her hand at the crux of his courtly bow. ]

Chevalier du Lyon, à votre service.

ic. byerly
[ Once again, the polite knock-knock and waiting at the door to be admitted, very proper and polite and very much unlike a Chevalier, all-told. ]

Ambassador Rutyer, I presume?

id. thranduil and gwen
[ Lucien knocks on the door jamb to the Research Division Head office, folding his hands behind his back. ]

Provost Baudin?

ii. some things to clear up [closed to salvio]

[ The Seneschal's office is the last stop on Lucien's unofficial tour of the Gallows, but perhaps one of the most important, overall. Yes, it's important to introduce himself to the leadership here, but getting himself declared alive again is also rather important. ]

Seneschal Salvio Pizzicagnolo? I wonder if I might beg your assistance in an administrative matter.

iii. il n'y a pas de feu

[ Wildcard, come one, come all! ]

Comments

iii

[maidit]

The winds are troublesome when one is attempting to dry laundry. Despite finding the perfect position for her line and despite firmly securing all of the cloth, there's very little one can do when a powerful gust happens to slam into the whole lot, sending the empty basket tumbling and tearing the last wet sheet out of her hands.

"Oh!" It's an almost comical sight if one were to pass by: the rogue sheet whipping through the courtyard, pursued by a maid with skirts flying. It is undoubtedly less comical when sheet, maid and basket crash into some impediment that is distressingly human shaped.

[coeurdulyon]

It's some reassurance to find that, despite his frame being thinner than had he not spent the last year and a half as a prisoner of war, he's still able to resist getting bowled over by wind, basket, sheet, or maid. In fact, he manages to catch the basket with one hand and absorb the momentum of the maid with a steadying arm hooked around her lest she fall back away from him.

The same hypothetical passers-by would note a sudden shift from comical to romantic, the tableau looking like something from the cover of a love story.

"Are you alright, mademoiselle?"

[maidit]

It is terribly romantic, if a bit windswept. The problem is Ashey is not an innocent passer-by and is, in fact, involved in the scene itself.

"Oh my goodness!" She might have leapt away if it weren't for the arm around her, instead she is busily scrabbling for an appropriate accent landing to the right of Antivan, "I'm terribly sorry! I-" Oh dear, he's very handsome now that she's looking at him, "I'm quite alright. I do beg your pardon."

[coeurdulyon]

"No need to apologize," he assures her, and once it's clear that she won't blow away, he releases her to deftly wrangle the sheet into the basket he caught. "It would appear I was in the right place at the right time."

[bouchonne]

That's what they call me.

[ Byerly's answer is a little absent. Still, he looks up a moment later, and gestures Lucien in. ]

Please, have a seat. Unless your sole desire was confirming my identity.

[coeurdulyon]

Not sole, just preliminary.

[ Lucien seats himself across from the Ambassador after offering some perfect courtly acknowledgement--a bow, a nod, whatever. The very vision of Orlesian sensibility, despite looking ethnically Tevinter. ]

I am Chevalier Lucien du Lyon. I owe a debt of honor to one of your agents; to the organization, by extension. Alors, I am at your service.

[bouchonne]

I think I'm insulted.

[ Byerly does not appear insulted. His manner is easy and light. ]

Do you think so little of me that you assume that you must introduce yourself?

[coeurdulyon]

On the contrary, Ambassador.

[ Lucien appears unfazed by the disconnect between word and demeanor. ]

I think little enough of myself to need introduction.

[assistente]

Hm?

[Absently, Salvio looks up from the piece of parchment that he has been laboring over. And then he looks. Often rendered speechless, but not, usually, by beauty--then again, how often does a person like this turn up--Salvio tries to say something and finds he has nothing to say.

Who is this? And how has he found a place to stand where even the light in Salvio's windowless office might strike him just so?

He recovers, not very admirably.]

I-- What? My, um-- I mean, yes? Um, that is-- of course, I-- your service. I am in your service. Please.

elbows in here

[heirring]

[Which is punctuated by a resounding cry of triumph from near the floor.]

And here they are at last. I told you I had filed these last month—

[That definitive thump! is the sound of a large file being dropped from height as Wysteria swings up unto view from behind another desk, marks the gentleman in the doorway, and evidently forgets she is holding anything.]

[coeurdulyon]

Allow me. [ Lucien doesn't react with surprise, but rather sweeps into the room to collect the file Wysteria just dropped and return it to her, covering her hands in his to support the file until she has recovered from whatever shock she's just suffered. ]

I apologize for the abrupt intrusion, but under the circumstances--

[ He pauses, then introduces himself by way of explanation. ]

I am Ser Lucien Lyon du Lyon.

[ Back from the dead, as it were. ]

[assistente]

[Poor Poppell must suffer the full force of the man's attention for a moment. Salvio pities her, and envies her, a little, but there is nothing that he can do. He takes the moment to collect himself, gets in a big breath, steadied--only to be rocked off kilter when that introduction comes.]

You are?

[Wait, no. It isn't a question.]

That is, you--are. [Wait, no, it is a question--] You are... Ser Lucien Lyon du Lyon. And you are. Here.

iii.

[cozen]

[ Bastien would not recognize him by his face, but having heard already that he's here, it's easy enough to pick the newcomer out of the Gallows' tiny population and think ah-ha. That is a Lionheart if he ever saw one.

So he slides into a seat across from him in the dining hall. (Wonderful place, the Gallows, where he can sit down with a Chevalier without asking permission.) If Lucien had arrived a few months earlier or a few months later, Bastien's interest might have been a little keener and his smile a little more flirtatious—but even relatively subdued, he looks perfectly friendly. ]

You are in much better condition than the dead men we usually deal with, Ser.

[coeurdulyon]

[ Lucien's own perfectly friendly expression is tinged with that of relief upon hearing Bastien speak. A familiar accent after a year imprisoned can make even a perfect stranger feel like home. ]

Don't let my ability to stay upright fool you, [ A smirk, beneath the mustache. ] I can shamble quite convincingly if you find me early enough in the morning.

[cozen]

[ Bastien smiles—the wide reflexive kind that stands in for a laugh. ]

I am sure I will, sooner or later. We do a lot of camping.

[ With someone else he might offer a hand. With a Chevalier, he's already exhausted his capacity for public displays of presumption by sitting down uninvited, so he ducks his head and gestures in a more casual echo of a bow. ]

Bastien. It is an honor to meet you.

[coeurdulyon]

[ Lucien echoes the echo, perhaps a tad playfully. ]

The honor is mine, Bastien. A formal introduction would take far too long so if you like, you can simply call me Lucien.

id.

[rowancrowned]

Enter, ( thranduil says, not ominously at all.

the office is decidedly elfy- look at those wall hangings! the actual elf! but also curated to feel cozy, in the way a gentleman’s library might feel intimate by way of overstuffed chairs and the lingering aroma of wine and beeswax.

the provost sits at his desk, and his wife and her very large dog, by the fire.)

[elegiaque]

( gwenaëlle doesn't look precisely the way she did the last time that lucien had seen her, years ago, in orlais; a severe miniature of the morrigan in her deep jewel-toned gowns, elaborate hairstyles and her mouth beneath the half-mask she'd worn a thin line. she is bare-faced, now, and her hair loose but for the braids pulling it out of her way, and the dress she wears is laced but not corseted, muted earth-tone pastel. in orlais, aloof and antisocial, she had stood out in her particular dress and her disinterest in most of her companions; in her husband's office, she looks rather of a piece with everything around her, including her husband.

the unfriendly look is much the same, though, and now far more particular. she knows who he is, and she lowers the sewing in her lap down, appraising him frankly and without bothering to greet him. )

[coeurdulyon]

[ Despite the unfriendly look she's giving him, Gwen is a welcome little slice of recognition, and Lucien bows to her. ]

Ah, Lady Vauquelin, what a pleasant surprise. I'm glad to see you are well. [ Niceties, yes, but he also means it. Slight pivot: ] Provost Baudin, I am Ser Lucien Lyon du Lyon. I find myself indebted to agents of this organization and as such, am here to offer my services.

[ If knocking politely and waiting to be admitted before entering an office is very unlike a Chevalier, then addressing an elf so politely is doubly-- no, triply so. ]

ia.

[katabasis]

Evidently.

[Which is from the man standing near the fire, working his way out of a sturdy, well lined coat and a pair of thick gloves, all of which are dripping. Evidently Lucien narrowly missed being greeted by a locked door and an empty office; Flint's clearly only just arrived himself.

His half turn from the hearth is as much to warm his back as it is to evaluate the interloper there in the doorway.]

How can I help you?

[coeurdulyon]

[ He enters and offers a bow of the appropriate depth for a man of Flint's station. ]

Ser Lucien Lyon du Lyon. I owe my life to your agents, and am here to pledge my services.

[katabasis]

[The man before the fire looks at him. His study is keen and unabashed and lasts a solid two beats before he says:]

All right.

[(Have any of these introductions gone to plan?)]

ib.

[hassaran]

[ The Scoutmaster has evidently been working at the map table opposite her desk, just setting a palm-sized chunk of pale blue seaglass to pin down one corner of a scroll as Lucien enters. She permits the courtly greeting, and though she's of course already been informed of his arrival, she still arches both brows as if in mild surprise and polite skepticism at this introduction. ]

You will forgive me for asking you to prove your identity? That is a title many would like to claim.

[coeurdulyon]

[ His brows bob slightly as he weighs his options. ]

An understandable request, but I must have misplaced my patents of nobility on the battlefield. I don't suppose the insignia on my sword and shield might suffice?

[hassaran]

[ She smiles politely, as if a bit apologetic. ]

If only it were so easy. Is there anyone in Riftwatch or the Inquisition that might vouch for your identity?