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?"

[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.

[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]

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.

[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]

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.

[bouchonne]

[ An arched eyebrow. ]

Oh, surely you know your reputation. That modesty cannot possibly be true.

[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.

[coeurdulyon]

Oh yes I am well aware of my reputation.

[ And of the rumors surrounding his death, of course. ]

As it turns out, death can be very humbling.

[bouchonne]

But it doesn't eliminate one's reputation. So attempts at modesty, even post-death, remain rather silly, no?

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]

[ He has a point there. ]

Touché. Perhaps my reputation doesn't mention my silliness enough.

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]

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. ]

[maidit]

A little bit of dry humor manages to break through the general fluttery alarm at such a poised man folding up a sheet and placing it in a basket. "Yes, I imagine I would be half across Hightown otherwise. Thank you."

She'll reach to take the basket, but there's something uncomfortably familiar about his striking good looks. He looks a great deal like the Chevalier that was so popular... But surely that's impossible. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I haven't seen you before. Are you a new member of Riftwatch?"

[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.

[coeurdulyon]

Lucien chuckles, a rich and warm sound that is unreasonably charming and charmed.

"I am," He says, and after the briefest brush of his hand against hers when the basket is returned, he offers a courtly bow. "Chevalier du Lyon, à votre service."

[maidit]

Ashey's body makes a good effort at going hot and cold all at once. At the very least feeling the blood rushing from her face should help with not blushing too terribly.

"Cheva- Oh! But I thought you were-?!" Well, he was clearly not either dead or in a Teveinter dungeon. But he did just have the laundress use him as a wall to catch herself and a sheet, oh no. "Oh dear." She returns his bow with a elegant curtsy for someone still holding a basket. "I'm very glad to see you're hale and hearty, sir. There were quite a lot of stories about. Ah. Well."

Is it inappropriate to talk about a man's POW status, no one ever covered this in etiquette classes!

[heirring]

[The look on Wysteria's face doesn't change - that bewildered half smile is perfectly composed, thank you -, but the color goes from exceptionally pale to exceptionally red over the span of a few seconds.]

Do you two— know one another?

[She squeaks.]

[coeurdulyon]

[ Oh bless, a single person for whom Lucien's reputation doesn't precede him. His smile, shared between the Seneschal and the woman, is warm, if sheepish. ]

Non, I believe the Seneschal is, however, familiar with the rumor of my death. Which, actually, is the matter I came to address.

[coeurdulyon]

"Yes, I am happy to say that reports of my death were rather premature."

He gestures that they should begin walking back to wherever Ashey started before the wind brought her to him. "I had the good fortune to be rescued by Riftwatch agents, it seemed only right to offer my services."

[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.

[assistente]

I-- no. I mean, that is, yes. This is how, or what, I know, and-- and of course by reputation. The, um. The songs and--all. Yes.

[No wonder the lion was so kind to Ser Lucien. It was likely as overcome as Salvio feels now. He tries to recover, and reaches for a fresh sheet of parchment--if only for the distraction.]

Um, how-- how is it that you-- Or, well, what might, what can, we, or I, do to-- to assist you, in this? I-- I am pleased that this, er, that your death--that it was only a rumor.