Work Text:
Rain harshly pattered against the pristine panes in the window, sending streaks and streams cascading in massive rivulets downwards, the sound of which snapped the knight out of his reverie. Leaning back against the uncomfortable wooden chair upon which he sat, he cast his gaze upon the dimmed room, hours seeming to have flown by in the blink of an eye. Setting down the quill which had by this point been thoroughly crushed by his daydream grip, the lone knight rolled his shoulders to relieve some tension. The cold day had given way to an even colder night, and the rain certainly hadn’t helped with that.
A small smile crept to his face as his gaze widened, spotting his stalwart companion during this time, a juvenile skypouncer. Curled up upon the magical heater in the room to sleep, its wings were folded neatly over its body, obscuring some of the beautiful striping for which their species were known. He reached a gloved hand out to stroke the kitten’s mane, to which he received a soft purr in response.
“Saradomin preserve, if you are not one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.” he murmured to the darling little beast. The skypouncer cracked one eye open at the sound of his masters’ voice, and promptly turned over onto his back, exposing their downy stomach for stroking. Shaking his head, the knight happily obliged, as his eyes slowly wandered back towards the book he’d set in front of him.
Originally, he had sat down to draft a letter to a friend, one he’d not seen in many years at this point. “My Dearest Kara-Meir…”, “My Dear Friend”, and even simply “Kara-Meir”, all written down, and then promptly scratched out. He found himself wondering if it had been too long, if too much time and too many events had put space between them that could no longer be bridged.
He’d heard stories of her exploits and escapades since then. Not that they surprised him, she’d always been one to charge headfirst and headlong, before thought or reason could be applied. He wondered if she’d heard of his, things had been… complicated, to put it mildly.
He had to admit, the retellings of his life-story where he was suddenly “fair-haired” always gave him a hearty chuckle. He was Asgarnian, born and bred, why on Gielinor would he be blonde haired and blue-eyed? Revisionists abounded, it seemed.
“Sir Theodore the Fair of Falador, could you imagine?” he asked, to nobody in particular.
The candle sat upon his desk had nearly burned down by now, and he carefully picked up the holder as he rose from his chair. It wouldn’t do to let it burn out now, especially considering the dark of night. Walking towards a small chest he kept by the door, he opened the lid and rummaged around for a moment until he found an unspent candle.
It occurred to him, when had been the last time he’d seen another person outside his liege?
Progress on the cure for Sir Owen’s “condition” had been slow – almost maddeningly so, and it felt like an age had passed since Saradomin had last called upon him… Still, his faith was strong, and he knew that Saradomin would call upon him when the time was right.
As he returned to his seat, a glance out his window alerted him to a figure moving through the square, past the statue of Saradomin that he had so carefully memorized lest anything happen to it, it could be rebuilt.
Eyebrow arched, he watched as the figure seemed to dash and dive between the sheets of rain, the sound of their footsteps echoing upon the walls of all nearby buildings, though none seemed to care much.
Something didn’t quite seem right to the knight, who reached for his commorb perched upon his desk. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t exactly supposed to have one of these, he was not a Temple Knight… However, strictly speaking, desperate times had called for desperate measures, and it was decided by the powers that be it was better for him to have one and not need it, than to need one and not have it.
“Savant, come in?” he asked, rubbing his palm against the shined glass, which he had meticulously polished since the day he received it.
Though it took a moment, poor reception due to the rain, Theodore presumed, she replied with a pop and a fizz.
“Savant here, how may I help you, Sir Theodore?” came the woman’s cheerful voice, though it sounded a bit distorted. She’d been a powerful ally and resource on many of Theodore’s previous adventures, and he was hoping she could once again lend her aid.
“Have there been any suspicious comings and goings tonight around the northern gate?” he asked, the figure having disappeared out of his sight for the time being.
“I have no reports of any individuals we’re tracking coming or going, Sir Theodore.”
“What about – “
“No, there have not been any magical disturbances, either.” She cut across. “All seems to be well.”
Glancing out the window again, he sighed.
“Thank you, Savant. That will be all.”
“Savant out.”
Even with her reassurances that all was well, he still couldn’t shake the feeling. Who would be out at this time of night, in this type of weather, during this season of the year? It didn’t add up, there was nobody particularly important in this end of the city, and they were moving away from the castle. He glanced at his sword, which he had spent the better part of yesterday sharpening and maintaining. It sat among mementos of his adventures, along-side his helmet, which he kept pristine. It would never do for a knight to set forth any foot but their very best, and his kit reflected that.
He shouldn’t really go out in weather like this, but… his gut very rarely led him astray before… right?
Running his gauntleted hand over the blade, he nearly jumped out of his skin as a series of rapid-yet-light knocks came at his door. Quickly grabbing the sword by its hilt, he approached the door cautiously, ready to brace it with his body if need be.
“Who’s there?” he called through the door, desperately wishing he’d put his helmet on at this point. He dug his fingers into the leather wraps on his hilt, ready to swing at a moments’ notice.
“Theodore, open this door right now, it’s bleeding freezing out here!” a familiar voice snapped, causing Theodore to falter. Was it really…?
Still apprehensive, he unlatched the door and pulled it open just a crack, just enough to see into the inky blackness outside. All he needed was one glance at the golden-hair to know who stood outside.
“Kara-Meir?” he stated questioningly, pulling the door open fully. She didn’t proffer a response, breezing past him and into the room, the rain rapidly dripping off of her clothes and onto the floor.
“We need to speak, privately.” She said, indicating the commorb on the table.