General Garaith the Bloodless
(still need to work out where Tintauri stands on opinions of raising the dead - too cold for malice but too cold for excessive sympathy either - 'better than nothing' approach?)
The winterknight didn't seem to care that Garaith had gone into the tent to wait for him - partially because the wind outside was truly bitter, and partially because Garaith wanted to make it clear that he wasn't a servant.
"Oh, hello," was all Sir Tintauri said, rather vaguely in passing, and went straight to sit down in his chair with a sigh.
Garaith nodded, cool.
The knight spent some time wrestling one of his boots off, tossing it in a corner, and then paused to look up at Garaith. "Are you the new general, a very polite assassin, or just dead?"
"The new general," said Garaith, though it was almost as unwelcome as the latter option. He couldn't say he'd have minded the second, but his lord had thrown in with the Queen for nostalgia's sake, and she was certainly infinitely better than the King after last year's turmoil. "Garaith the Bloodless."
"Bloodless?" Tintauri gave a laugh that was only a man's pitch below a giggle.
"Exaggeration in the ranks," Garaith said. "They don't see me bleed often."
"Well, I do hope you carry on that fine tradition of not bleeding," replied Tintauri. "It sounds to me like there are going to be a lot of Bronzes who'll try to break it for you soon. Arundall -"
"I have been apprised of the situation. The surviving lieutenants saw to that soon after I arrived. I've only come to make my introductions."
"In half a dozen sentences," the winterknight agreed with a little smile. "I'm impressed. Now that is efficiency."
Garaith looked down coolly again. "I will be blunt. I've no desire to be here and certainly little desire to have dealings with winterknights, but the situation is what it is. I'll take charge of the forces here and do my duty, and obey any direct orders you see fit to give me if they don't conflict with my lord's orders, but apart from that I'd be most appreciative if we have little to do with each other."
"Hells, don't be so circumspect," said Tintauri with another thin little chuckle. "I understand, Garaith the Bloodless. I'll leave you alone to stand on the hill and wave your hands without bothering you. Still, you never know; I might grow on you before the end."
"I'd be happier to find a boil growing on my arse," replied Garaith.
This time Tintauri burst out laughing, sagging a little in his chair until the last hyena-like whoops had passed.
"You are officially my favourite general ever to lead a Queenly host," he pronounced, faintly breathless. "How sad we'll never be friends."
Garaith wondered how anything like laughter had a right to leave a necromancer's lips. "It's a wonder the Queen keeps any of hers with you wolves about," he said coldly, turning to leave. "If you fought smarter wars you might have made an end of all this years ago."
"How lucky we are to have you to fight cleverly for us now," replied Tintauri.
"You'd better not get in my way here," Garaith answered, unfazed by the smile he heard in the voice behind him. "I'm tired of seeing what you and yours do to the Queen's cause. Bronzes aside, I can likely see us through to a surrender in Arundall if you don't play your usual snowdevil-games."
"Hm?"
Garaith turned away from the tent-flap again, though not with any fantasies of saying anything that would be heeded. "When you have to wage a war, honour - very essential, very basic honour - demands that you keep it clean. You attack men's bodies, not their hearts."
"Men do die fairly quickly if you stab them in the heart, though, Garaith," remarked Tintauri. "I'm not entirely following you here. You'll have to be more specific."
"They say there's not a single child's corpse you'll leave behind where you find it," Garaith said, mouth twisted. "Even paupers, dead of disease in the slums - can't leave them lie."
"I don't know who 'they' are, but they're more or less right, yes," the winterknight replied.
The general felt his lip curl again at the reply. "The more gleefully you indulge in these little torments, Queen's Hound, the more pointless surrender starts to look, and the more stubbornly people try to resist your Queen."
Tintauri looked at him with a snort. "I do it because they tend to deserve it."
"Deserve it? What do wretches like those do to deserve it? Die too young? Too miserable?"
"Yes, that's generally my reasoning."
The winterknight finally bent forward in his chair to try and pull off his other boot, radiating that cheerful, unruffled indifference again. Garaith wondered if that expression would so much as flicker on the day the King's assassins finally managed to still that keening laugh - or one of his own soldiers did.
"They do say winterknights don't have a lot to do with reason," the general said.
"My word, 'they' again," said Tintauri. "They talk a lot, these They. Like you. Unfortunately you and They won't understand until you die, and when you die it'll be far too late - unless I'm around, of course. You'll thank me then."
Garaith, who had smiled and spat in the face of the warborn Narraine's charge on Icemantle, felt his heart skip. "If you come anywhere near my body, Corpseraker -"
"You'll what? Lie menacingly prone at me?" The winterknight rolled his eyes. "Here, I'll make you a promise, general. I won't do anything that your spirit doesn't ask - well, doesn't beg me to. Deal?"
Tintauri left off wrestling with his boot to proffer a hand. Garaith strode back and took it, clenching it hard like a warning.
"I do not fear death or what comes after," he said.
"And I think I'd quite enjoy living out of the snows down by the Eversummer Strait," replied Tintauri. "Of course, I haven't been there either."
The winterknight didn't seem to care that Garaith had gone into the tent to wait for him - partially because the wind outside was truly bitter, and partially because Garaith wanted to make it clear that he wasn't a servant.
"Oh, hello," was all Sir Tintauri said, rather vaguely in passing, and went straight to sit down in his chair with a sigh.
Garaith nodded, cool.
The knight spent some time wrestling one of his boots off, tossing it in a corner, and then paused to look up at Garaith. "Are you the new general, a very polite assassin, or just dead?"
"The new general," said Garaith, though it was almost as unwelcome as the latter option. He couldn't say he'd have minded the second, but his lord had thrown in with the Queen for nostalgia's sake, and she was certainly infinitely better than the King after last year's turmoil. "Garaith the Bloodless."
"Bloodless?" Tintauri gave a laugh that was only a man's pitch below a giggle.
"Exaggeration in the ranks," Garaith said. "They don't see me bleed often."
"Well, I do hope you carry on that fine tradition of not bleeding," replied Tintauri. "It sounds to me like there are going to be a lot of Bronzes who'll try to break it for you soon. Arundall -"
"I have been apprised of the situation. The surviving lieutenants saw to that soon after I arrived. I've only come to make my introductions."
"In half a dozen sentences," the winterknight agreed with a little smile. "I'm impressed. Now that is efficiency."
Garaith looked down coolly again. "I will be blunt. I've no desire to be here and certainly little desire to have dealings with winterknights, but the situation is what it is. I'll take charge of the forces here and do my duty, and obey any direct orders you see fit to give me if they don't conflict with my lord's orders, but apart from that I'd be most appreciative if we have little to do with each other."
"Hells, don't be so circumspect," said Tintauri with another thin little chuckle. "I understand, Garaith the Bloodless. I'll leave you alone to stand on the hill and wave your hands without bothering you. Still, you never know; I might grow on you before the end."
"I'd be happier to find a boil growing on my arse," replied Garaith.
This time Tintauri burst out laughing, sagging a little in his chair until the last hyena-like whoops had passed.
"You are officially my favourite general ever to lead a Queenly host," he pronounced, faintly breathless. "How sad we'll never be friends."
Garaith wondered how anything like laughter had a right to leave a necromancer's lips. "It's a wonder the Queen keeps any of hers with you wolves about," he said coldly, turning to leave. "If you fought smarter wars you might have made an end of all this years ago."
"How lucky we are to have you to fight cleverly for us now," replied Tintauri.
"You'd better not get in my way here," Garaith answered, unfazed by the smile he heard in the voice behind him. "I'm tired of seeing what you and yours do to the Queen's cause. Bronzes aside, I can likely see us through to a surrender in Arundall if you don't play your usual snowdevil-games."
"Hm?"
Garaith turned away from the tent-flap again, though not with any fantasies of saying anything that would be heeded. "When you have to wage a war, honour - very essential, very basic honour - demands that you keep it clean. You attack men's bodies, not their hearts."
"Men do die fairly quickly if you stab them in the heart, though, Garaith," remarked Tintauri. "I'm not entirely following you here. You'll have to be more specific."
"They say there's not a single child's corpse you'll leave behind where you find it," Garaith said, mouth twisted. "Even paupers, dead of disease in the slums - can't leave them lie."
"I don't know who 'they' are, but they're more or less right, yes," the winterknight replied.
The general felt his lip curl again at the reply. "The more gleefully you indulge in these little torments, Queen's Hound, the more pointless surrender starts to look, and the more stubbornly people try to resist your Queen."
Tintauri looked at him with a snort. "I do it because they tend to deserve it."
"Deserve it? What do wretches like those do to deserve it? Die too young? Too miserable?"
"Yes, that's generally my reasoning."
The winterknight finally bent forward in his chair to try and pull off his other boot, radiating that cheerful, unruffled indifference again. Garaith wondered if that expression would so much as flicker on the day the King's assassins finally managed to still that keening laugh - or one of his own soldiers did.
"They do say winterknights don't have a lot to do with reason," the general said.
"My word, 'they' again," said Tintauri. "They talk a lot, these They. Like you. Unfortunately you and They won't understand until you die, and when you die it'll be far too late - unless I'm around, of course. You'll thank me then."
Garaith, who had smiled and spat in the face of the warborn Narraine's charge on Icemantle, felt his heart skip. "If you come anywhere near my body, Corpseraker -"
"You'll what? Lie menacingly prone at me?" The winterknight rolled his eyes. "Here, I'll make you a promise, general. I won't do anything that your spirit doesn't ask - well, doesn't beg me to. Deal?"
Tintauri left off wrestling with his boot to proffer a hand. Garaith strode back and took it, clenching it hard like a warning.
"I do not fear death or what comes after," he said.
"And I think I'd quite enjoy living out of the snows down by the Eversummer Strait," replied Tintauri. "Of course, I haven't been there either."