Patina

Tomas responds quickly. If he questions the disuse of the futon and the clear signs of Osthryn’s occupation of the second half of the bed, he doesn’t mention it. Silovar is strident and energetic in his instructions to him. Tomas mimics his energy. They work like a well-oiled machine.

At first Osthryn fears Tomas might resent this sudden onslaught of instructions, but she soon notices the clear joy and relief in his responses to Silovar’s barrage. "Master Silovar" is back to normal, and Tomas is glad for it.

It's quickly established that the outcome of the king’s guard investigation revealed nothing to indicate a targeted threat of life. The silver powder in Silovar’s wine was apparently undetected, and none of the king’s tasters found any traces of any poison in the king’s or any other delegates’ wine. Tomas tells them that Silovar’s sudden collapse into a convulsive fit was put down to an illness. This was based on the testimony of the evaluation given by a certain court healer.

A convenient turn of events, Osthryn muses. If that is the case, there is no reason for the king's guard to investigate anyone. Meaning that her and Silovar are free to leave without suspicion, but also that Frederick and Levitia have escaped any potential for scrutiny they might have had.

Tomas returns with a parcel, fresh from Silovar’s battery of errands. Silovar immediately snatches up some face powder that Tomas brought, and begins dabbing his face. Osthryn joyfully notices the familiar green of her kirtle, enclosed with a well-wishing note from Martina.

She disappears into a side room, and re-emerges, far more comfortable in her usual clothing and with her familiar braid hanging loosely to her waist. Osthryn gives a start when she sees Silovar.

Silovar had very fair skin to begin with, but the powder manages to bring a sickly pallor to his face. He stands waiting for her, both hands squarely placed on the head of a cane which he taps disinterestedly on the floor. Osthryn feels that in his hands, it would be as much a disguise of enfeeblement as a weapon. He motions for her to come closer, and she obliges. He snakes his arm through hers, seemingly transforming into the picture of feeble health, leaning heavily on the cane.

"Osthryn, good companion and difficult nurse of mine, will you be so kind as to take your poor, ill patient on a walk for his health?"

Osthryn laughs, giving his hand that grips her elbow a good tap, "Some sunlight will surely do you good."

Leaving the Keep is a simple affair with Silovar at her arm. Osthryn is impressed with the skill at which Silovar filters his usual humour and sarcasm through a layer of genuine and believable exhaustion at each encounter with an acquaintance.

He is well known and well liked, it is reflected in the near-constant well wishes of each court mage or scribe that passes their way through the maze-like hallways. Osthryn begins to suspect that he enjoys the attention somewhat.

That suspicion quickly turns to include the speculation that it is, in fact, her attention that he is enjoying. As the walk progresses, his act of helplessness grows slightly more prominent, and his grip around her arm snakes him just a little tighter against her.

She doesn't mind.

Silovar guides Osthryn to one of the many exits to the inner courtyard. Osthryn is relieved to finally be outside of the labyrinthian building. "Silovar! Good to see you on your feet!" a voice calls. A young mage hurries over to them, and clasps Silovar firmly on the shoulder, "You gave us all a right scare."

"From my perspective all that happened was an unplanned nap," Silovar shrugs. Osthryn rolls her eyes. The young mage laughs, "It was a very violent one, Silovar. Oh! My apologies. I am Petr."

Osthryn clasps Petr's extended hand, "Osthryn. Silovar's companion."

Silovar scoffs, "You undersell yourself. Petr, this is a very good friend of mine from the North that I practically had to drag to last night's meeting. A talented mage who likes to believe herself as a rustic country witch and herb-gardener, and so keeps herself purpetually hidden away among the tomes of the Library."

Petr's eyes light up with recognition, "Oh! I thought you looked familiar. You are always so quick with the query cards -- I barely recognised you last night. Though I think no one was really hunting for new or old faces with all the commotion. Silovar is very lucky to happen to have such a powerful healer as his friend. Many mages slack behind in the healing arts, unfortunately. Perhaps we can all learn a thing or two from you."

Silovar winks at Osthryn, fully knowing what he has done in introducing her this way. She seethes at him briefly beneath her sociable smile to Petr. "I do prefer to hang in the background, but it is good to be prepared to act quickly."

"You are from the North, right? How far north?" Petr politely inquires.

 "Further north than Sunderland," Silovar offers.

Petr chuckles, "Oh yes. Does the stereotype that the disparate collection of hamlets known as Bettramon despises magic hold water?"

Osthryn shifts her feet, "They don't despise magic as much as they distrust it. They benefit from it, how much they benefit from it is something any good witch strives to keep obscure. It keeps her head on her shoulders."

Petr shakes his head, "Such an archaic mindset. And the use of the word 'witch' too. I am sorry if I am treading lightly on your terms, but to call someone a witch is just so backward. Oh yes! That reminds me. Silovar, since your friend's good head is still on her shoulders, and so you are still with us, do you think you will be well enough to join us this evening here in the courtyard?"

"Join you, for what?" Silovar asks.

"Oh! We had a reconvened meeting earlier this morning when it was confirmed that there was no foul play last night," Petr explains. "The mages were acquitted of wrongdoing, it is really a phenomenon noted consistently by almost everyone that magic blackouts happen more frequently as of late. Some of the mages said they had an interim solution they would like to demonstrate in the courtyard, and requested a private audience with the king to secure the proper permission. That is still ongoing. I am really curious about what it could be."

"Any discussion about the missing wyverns at any point?"

"Now that you mention it," Petr replies, stroking his chin, "There was none. We should really have better alignment with meeting agendas. No matter, will you make it?" He asks Silovar hopefully. Silovar shakes his head, tightening his grip around Osthryn's arm, "I think this walk will be excitement enough for one day, Petr. I am on my feet, but barely so, and I doubt Osthryn will be letting me near anything more exciting than a mug of tea once we are back."

Petr nods in understanding, "Then, I shall bring my own mug of tea and relay that excitement to you after the fact. Take care," Petr looks at Osthryn, "But I doubt that I need to tell you that."

"It was lovely to meet you Petr," Osthryn smiles. "Come, Silovar, let's at least get some fresh air while you can."

They leave the courtyard, Petr happily picking up chatter with a new conversation partner nearly as soon as they are gone.

"... she's pretty, right? That Silovar, he has all the luck..." Osthryn hears Petr's voice carry before they have even left earshot. Osthryn shakes her head and chuckles to herself. Rumours of entanglement are far better than rumours of Draconic heritage in her mind.

The gate of the Keep that leads to the city proper still stands fully raised. Once they leave the Keep District, Silovar loosens his grip on her arm. Osthryn withdraws it, her arm suddenly feeling cold in the absence of his grip. They pick up speed, Silovar using his cane more like an accessory than any semblance of support.

Osthryn moves toward their usual path to the Western Gate, but Silovar grabs her elbow to stop her. He holds out his own arm for her to link with. Osthryn takes it, slightly annoyed at the feeling of correctness when she does. Silovar strides in the other direction, "We are taking the Eastern Gate today."

"Where are we going? I thought your 'informant' would be the one you helped all those years ago. Wouldn't they be at the Henge? Or at least near it?"

Silovar laughs, "Osthryn, darling, you remember how I told you that Dragons are supposed to be terribly aloof, territorial creatures? He will be nowhere near the Henge."

A cold, apprehensive feeling spreads through Osthryn's limbs from her chest. She suspected as much that Silovar's target for answers would be the Elder Dragon that he helped resurrect all those years ago, but it is a foreboding confirmation. She glances at his face. His expression is steeled, belying the mirth in his tone. He is nervous too.

If Silovar, the confident and powerful Silver Dragon of Mountainkeep is nervous to meet this elder, then what recourse does Osthryn have?