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Jan. 24th, 2022 12:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
goldtoes[ Lucky wasn't exactly the word Janryk would have used to describe himself, if you asked.
He had ascended to the throne at fourteen by no choice of his own, an unfortunate witness to his parents' poisonings and a lucky picky eater who had escaped it; by some stroke of the universe all coming together in a plan to fuck over him, specifically, he had narrowly edged away from a more direct attempt on his own life. The attack was clumsy, Janryk was smaller and flightier in person than they had predicted, more well-protected. The evidence of it now was an angry red scar on his throat where they had managed to plunge in the knife, and he swore he still woke up in the dark tasting copper.
The unrest had grown, a whisper at first that had built into a roar, since he had stepped into a crown too big for him. The truth of it was that Janryk was a poor leader, but children often are, and to expect anything else was ludicrous; the choices he made were never particularly egregious, but he was both reactionary and weak - he had never ordered an execution nor had he started any wars, but his attempt to diplomatically end one had instead made his rule look exactly as fragile as it was, and they had lost several miles of border territory to contest as the northern border was pushed inward. He had failed to finish a war that was started before he had even been a thought in his parents' minds, but people are people, and they were done with giving him chances: he had burned through all of them before he existed.
And so it's just the two of them, now. Holed up somewhere secret, because they rode until the horses tired and Janryk didn't even... complain, which was rare, since he complains about everything. Picky, petty. Pretty, too - brown, freckled skin, yellow-gold eyes and waves of dark hair with sunny highlights from living on the Southern sea, but with a face pulled into sharp features that screamed leave me alone.
It's just the two of them, and fundamentally Janryk is just an exhausted, grieving, frightened boy who has just lost everything familiar to him, but it doesn't mean it's okay that he slips out the door of their little hideout in the dark. All the grief in the world doesn't mean that he can just slink off, and he doesn't go far, no - just a walk, just to clear his head because he wakes up clawing at the pillows and his mouth open in a silent scream - but the fact is that he could end up dead. He has a cloak draped loosely over his shoulders - it doesn't belong to him - and his head down, standing some hundred yards away and standing, barefoot, on the rocks of a little creek. For all he knows they could have been followed.
There could be bowmen in trees, a rogue in any nearby shadow, a capture party out for the bounty on his head, and here he is: stood on the rocks like an absolute walnut, hair pulled into a loose braid that fell over his right shoulder, dipping his toes into the water. If assassins don't get him, him falling in and getting hurt is the next most likely possibility. ]
He had ascended to the throne at fourteen by no choice of his own, an unfortunate witness to his parents' poisonings and a lucky picky eater who had escaped it; by some stroke of the universe all coming together in a plan to fuck over him, specifically, he had narrowly edged away from a more direct attempt on his own life. The attack was clumsy, Janryk was smaller and flightier in person than they had predicted, more well-protected. The evidence of it now was an angry red scar on his throat where they had managed to plunge in the knife, and he swore he still woke up in the dark tasting copper.
The unrest had grown, a whisper at first that had built into a roar, since he had stepped into a crown too big for him. The truth of it was that Janryk was a poor leader, but children often are, and to expect anything else was ludicrous; the choices he made were never particularly egregious, but he was both reactionary and weak - he had never ordered an execution nor had he started any wars, but his attempt to diplomatically end one had instead made his rule look exactly as fragile as it was, and they had lost several miles of border territory to contest as the northern border was pushed inward. He had failed to finish a war that was started before he had even been a thought in his parents' minds, but people are people, and they were done with giving him chances: he had burned through all of them before he existed.
And so it's just the two of them, now. Holed up somewhere secret, because they rode until the horses tired and Janryk didn't even... complain, which was rare, since he complains about everything. Picky, petty. Pretty, too - brown, freckled skin, yellow-gold eyes and waves of dark hair with sunny highlights from living on the Southern sea, but with a face pulled into sharp features that screamed leave me alone.
It's just the two of them, and fundamentally Janryk is just an exhausted, grieving, frightened boy who has just lost everything familiar to him, but it doesn't mean it's okay that he slips out the door of their little hideout in the dark. All the grief in the world doesn't mean that he can just slink off, and he doesn't go far, no - just a walk, just to clear his head because he wakes up clawing at the pillows and his mouth open in a silent scream - but the fact is that he could end up dead. He has a cloak draped loosely over his shoulders - it doesn't belong to him - and his head down, standing some hundred yards away and standing, barefoot, on the rocks of a little creek. For all he knows they could have been followed.
There could be bowmen in trees, a rogue in any nearby shadow, a capture party out for the bounty on his head, and here he is: stood on the rocks like an absolute walnut, hair pulled into a loose braid that fell over his right shoulder, dipping his toes into the water. If assassins don't get him, him falling in and getting hurt is the next most likely possibility. ]
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Date: 2022-01-24 07:50 pm (UTC)[The voice, husky from sleep or the attempt at such, comes low and brusque from some feet behind. It's blessedly familiar and not a portent of doom, a voice Janryk has heard all throughout his life and which spoke similarly deferent warnings to his bloodline long before he was born.
Captain Rabikov stands with a hand draped on the pommel of his sword, his chemise knotted up but failing to conceal the greying dark fuzz on his chest that matches his face, unshaven for at least a week and grumpier for it.]
Come back from there, boy.
[The admonishment is weary, and as gentle as he's capable of being.]
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Date: 2022-01-24 07:59 pm (UTC)Rabikov talks. He follows. Mostly. Half the time. Sometimes. ]
When do we get to go home. [ What he really means is do we ever? and he turns and steps, cautiously, back onto solid ground, mouth pulled to one side in an angry scrunch of stubbornness. ]
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Date: 2022-01-24 08:20 pm (UTC)Is this what it's like to have children? He and Mila had wanted them, before the grippe had taken her. It seemed an impossibility after that-- he hadn't touched another woman since-- yet here he is, saddled with a young buck so full of 'whys' and 'whens' that it makes him want to pull his own hair out.]
As soon as you'd like to lose your head, my lord, [he answers drily, and immediately regrets it. His own men had turned against their sovereign; Rabikov had barely escaped with his own life from insurrectionists he'd been training since they were little more than whelps.]
May as well get moving, seeing as we're both awake.
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Date: 2022-01-25 03:39 am (UTC)But he means what he says, and he moves past Rabikov, boiling with frustration as he does. Much of him wishes that they had aimed better. Been more skilled. But they weren't, so here he is. ]
Are we just going to keep moving til... when? Forever?
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Date: 2022-01-25 07:51 am (UTC)It's wearing on the Captain, being unable to toss him over his shoulder and go to ground properly. But Janryk is, after all, his king.
Some of the tension drains when the boy acquiesces, and Rabikov offers a weary nod of acknowledgment as he turns to go with him, glad for at least one disagreement ending quickly.]
We've got to get you out of the country, my lord.
[He trails just behind him as they pick their way back toward the shelter, which bears what little belongings they have: a rusted tin cup, extra cloaks, and a pathetic, threadbare bedroll for the king, all bought off a village-bound trapper for his silence and far too much coinage.]
The mountain pass and the border is several weeks off on foot, if we hurry. [Because hurrying seems so likely, in their current state.]
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Date: 2022-01-25 12:44 pm (UTC)[ Janryk cuts himself off and sighs. It doesn't matter. Nothing does, in fairness, but he also knows that Rabikov's entire job is to ensure he won't end up dead, as he'd been about to say, so he bites his tongue and stays quiet, arms folded over his narrow chest and head bowed.
The fact is, if Janryk dies, they'd have gotten through Rabikov first. He knows this. Trusts him, too.
When they reach the shelter he sits to pull his boots back on, still silent. There is at least one small blessing in that he isn't asking how much farther or whinging that he's tired of walking every thirteen minutes - he isn't the type. Difficult, yes. But his parents had both been warriors, and neither of them raised a child so pampered and delicate that he would have fussed about having to travel by foot.
He still hated it, but mostly quietly. It was... maybe better that way. ]
Does it snow in the mountains.
[ Janryk is tying the last of his boot laces when he speaks again, his question deadpan like a statement, without looking up. ]
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Date: 2022-01-25 08:12 pm (UTC)[Is that a glimmer of wry amusement in the Captain's eye? He angles his head toward the lad as he shrugs on his leather surcoat, the bulk of his body turned away so he can fasten the belt; it's a habit brought on in the last ten years or so, concealing the process of dressing from the men who look up to him, who will have noticed the gradual softening of his midsection.
It's not that he's grown complacent. Or at least, if he had, those days are officially over.]
Keep your eyes sharp for mushrooms. They'll fetch enough for a decent meal in the next town, if we can gather enough.
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Date: 2022-01-25 08:35 pm (UTC)All right.
[ He unfolds himself from the floor, straightening cloak around his shoulders. It doesn't scream royalty - maroon, with a simple gold clasp at his right collarbone. He watches Rabikov with tired eyes, but fond, too. ]
I'm going to freeze once we reach the mountains.
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Date: 2022-01-25 08:48 pm (UTC)[Fastening his own cloak, Rabikov leads the way out and gestures loosely to the forest floor: Look For Mushrooms is the implication, while he does the busier work of finding their way to a path.
The sun is beginning to rise, thin grey light peeking through the branches as the pair's crunching footfalls are gradually accompanied by the calling of birds. It's spring, at least-- the morning may be chilly, Rabikov's joints stiff from sleeping on hard ground, but their journey will only grow warmer with each passing day.
At least, until they reach the mountains, but that's far enough ahead that he's forcing himself into optimism.
As the sun climbs and they draw nearer to a hamlet, smoke from its houses rising above the treetops, Rabikov is torn between readiness for potential conflict and desperation for any kind of food. They'll have to figure out hunting, eventually.]
Who are we, lad, [he asks quietly, glancing over his shoulder at Janryk. It's time to go over their alibi, their false names, their business wandering into a town from the woods looking like filthy vagabonds.]
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Date: 2022-01-25 08:59 pm (UTC)[ Janryk walks close to his side. Closer than he did before, before the angry red mark on his neck that screams assassination - one that, as they reach the tiny village, he brings his cloak further up, closer, to hide the wound. He strays only to collect mushrooms as he spots them, tucking them into a worn leather satchel he was gifted some years ago. One of the only things he has from home, anyway. ]
Merchants, maybe. Ransacked by bandits, left with nothing, trying to re-establish ourselves. [ He says it easy as anything, an artifact of dozens on dozens of childhood lies. Hunting - well, maybe they can manage that. Janryk is a talented marksman, if given a bow and a quiver to work with, though he's rarely had the chance and is a poor arm with a sword. ]
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Date: 2022-01-25 09:11 pm (UTC)If only either of them were a proper forager or hunter, they could avoid civilization entirely.]
If we were robbed, they'll wonder at no bandits, [he mutters to himself as they walk,] ...no. Father and son, fishermen. A hungry bear drove us away from our stores and supplies. We're returning home to Silfheim. [A larger city, still a full day's journey away.
Rather than wait to make sure Jan agrees, the Captain nods to himself and guides the boy toward the road visible through the brush. If they get on it now, any sentries will have no reason to think they've used any other path.]
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Date: 2022-01-26 07:00 pm (UTC)Almost self-consciously, he reaches up as they walk to free his hair from its tie and ruffles it with his fingers to let it fall over his ears, masking holes where gold jewelry ran up the shell of each of them. Delicate filigree cuffs, rings that are tucked away into his satchel for trade later on. Something that'll have to be faked. Maybe scuff them up in the dirt, bartered as strays and not as pairs, found and not gained. ]
I need a new name.
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Date: 2022-01-26 11:34 pm (UTC)[It's the first thing that comes to mind, and the sort of name an everyman would have. No one should think twice about it, if they have to use it at all. He might have named a son Tomasz, if he'd ever had one.
And Rabikov pauses to look over the lad, realizing he's right: there isn't much resemblance between them, apart from the darkness of their hair. His own skin is more on the olive side, his bone structure pronounced with a heavy brow, dark circles around his grey eyes, and the sort of rough, wiry facial hair that needs only a few days to go from clean-shaven to scratchy beard.]
Keep your eyes lowered, [he muses-- the color will stand out, especially to bounty hunters.] ...here.
[He stoops to collect a handful of dirt, extending it to Janryk.]
Dirty your face, my lord. Like you've been sleeping outside for a week. [And to disguise the freckles.]
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Date: 2022-01-26 11:42 pm (UTC)Alright. Tomasz.
[ Look. He's difficult, and he can be sharp tongued and petulant, but he knows that Rabikov won't let him get killed, so he keeps his eyes down and his head bowed. ]
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Date: 2022-01-27 12:13 am (UTC)I'm sorry, my lord. We'll be expedient.
[A gentle pat on Janryk's shoulder, and before too long, they've made it through the town gates. Being recognizably foreign himself, Rabikov knows what sort of treatment to expect-- but he also knows that being looked down on likely means not being closely regarded, which in this case will work in their favor.
The village is poor, moreso than he'd anticipated, and there's very little coin making its way around. He finds to his increasing frustration that a system of barter is in place, but with little that they need in the way of produce or fencing, the pair are eventually directed to the public house.
The innkeeper is no different, in having no coin to trade, but offers an night's reprieve in exchange for the use of the mushrooms in the day's stew.
It's not an ideal situation, for people doing their best to avoid staying in one place for long.]
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Date: 2022-01-27 12:23 am (UTC)But he's playing things riskier than he should. He can't help but lift his eyes here and there, tucks his hair behind an ear. He watches, observant, studying a village poorer than anything he's ever considered existing (he knows, obviously, that they exist - but that's it.) ]
Does this mean we don't have to sleep on the ground.
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Date: 2022-01-27 12:49 am (UTC)One moment, [he mutters to the innkeeper, then turns to guide Janryk away from the counter, to consult with him more privately.]
We shouldn't, my lord, [he cautions in a low tone, hopefully inaudible to the rest of the establishment,] it'll take but one soul looking askance at you and our luck will run out.
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Date: 2022-01-27 12:58 am (UTC)And when do you suspect the chance for a bed will come up again, Sir?
[ He has the earrings, but they can't trade them here. It's so blazingly obvious that it'll have them killed for bounty the second anyone sees it. ]
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Date: 2022-01-27 01:06 am (UTC)...I wouldn't presume to suspect any such thing, my lord.
[The statement is grim with defeat.]
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Date: 2022-01-27 01:14 am (UTC)So, [ his eyes turn pleading, bright and wild, and it'd take half a second's glance to pick them out of the room as distinct, new. ] Just the once. We have a lot of walking to do.
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Date: 2022-01-27 01:22 am (UTC)It's mercy that drives the Captain to nod, relenting. Then he looks to the innkeeper, nodding to him as well before proffering the sack of mushrooms and setting it on the counter to seal the deal.
The arrangement is cut and dry: for providing the night's sustenance, the pair are put up in a small room with a single bed (why should a peasant father and son take issue with such) and promised a helping of the stew and bread when it's ready.
It feels almost too good to be true, having a door to close behind them. Rabikov shuffles into the room, taking point so as to give it the customary once-over for traps or assassins, and when he's satisfied by what he sees, he sinks onto a worn wooden chair by the window with a weary sigh.]
We can take it easy today, [he resolves, gesturing to the bed in a way that implies it's for Janryk's use alone.] Get some proper sleep. Figure out our next steps.
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Date: 2022-01-27 02:27 am (UTC)Does he want to be here having bartered scrounged mushrooms - no, absolutely fucking not. But he also doesn't want to be dead, so he plunks himself a little too heavily on the edge of the bed and rubs his face with dirty palms, making a vague noise of distress into them. ]
You can't possibly intend to sit in that chair all night. We have to walk. Probably forever.
[ Jan gives him a serious look, and shakes his head. He also doesn't want stew from an inn, but he doesn't want to starve, so it's an easy call. ]
I thought that was our next step. We walk, probably forever, and then find someplace I won't die.
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Date: 2022-01-28 10:04 pm (UTC)[He's not looking forward to it, per se, but there's a sense of pride and relief in having a proper bed to offer his king, even if it's just for one night.]
It won't be forever, my lord. But we ought to provision ourselves as best we can, to get us to the border.