Chapter Text
Lord Ariks Eshteross closed the door after the Bell's Hells, pressed one of the ornaments on the wall, then pulled a lever hidden behind a picture frame, waited for a few seconds until something in the wall made a click , and then walked back into his study with carefully placed steps.
He came to his desk and poured himself a glass of brandy, looking at the place where a matching glass was still missing. "I'm always forgetting to replace the one that Bertrand broke," he muttered and took a sip. He took another, sighed, and then finally looked at the body lying on the table, wrapped in yellow cloth.
"First Bertrand, and now you…" he sighed and sat down in the comfortable chair behind his desk. "I'm sorry it came to this. It’s my fault for getting you entangled in things that are much bigger than I thought. It's rare to find people who share my views. I guess I got too eager with being able to act again, even if indirectly, through your group. I should have protected you better, shouldn't have allowed you to get involved too deeply… especially because of how rare it is to find people like you. Bertrand's death should have been a warning to me, but I didn’t heed it and now it's already too late. I'm really sorry."
He got quiet for a moment and listened intently. There was no sound in the house. He nodded to himself and then looked at his companion again. She was as quiet as the empty house.
"You know, maybe I’ll join you soon," he said without a shade of regret. "You might think I'm afraid, with all the traps and precautions. But I'm not. I'm like a spider stuck in the middle of its own web. It's not really a life that would be worth living for myself. I could just go out and be murdered within a few hours. It's not paranoia if they're really after you, you know? But it's worth living like this for the good I can still accomplish, even from the middle of my web. Just getting rid of those who come to try to get rid of me is a bit of good that's worth living for."
He finished the glass, then stood up and walked to the table. He leant on it and watched the stiff form of his silent companion.
"It was Otohan Thull who killed you, right?" he muttered. "I didn't get to meet her in person yet, but I suspect I'll have the honors soon. I hope I can get some justice for you when that happens. I'll need to make some adjustments to my defenses tomorrow, but overall I'm ready. It will be fun to use the house's full potential. I would be really disappointed if I died of old age without getting to try it at least once after I put so much work into it. And honestly, I would rather like to die fighting. I just hope I can take Otohan with me. Wish me luck, if you can."
He leant over the body and unwrapped the cloth hiding her face carefully, reverently. She didn’t look much different from when he last saw her. Her body looked the same: slightly creepy, but he knew it used to hide a joyful soul. She just wasn’t there now.
"Don’t worry, Laudna," he said. "They will come for you. I always thought you were a strange bunch, but charming in your own way, with your heart in the right place. I don’t doubt that they will do everything they can to bring you back, and I'm almost sure that they'll succeed. All of you have proved very resourceful if you put your mind into a task, and there's no more important task for them than to help you. So I think we will meet again… well, if I am still around."
He smiled faintly. "I can bake a fresh batch of cookies for you then. You really brought me joy by how much you enjoyed my baking. It's much better to bake for someone than just for myself. Everything's better when you do it for someone, and you were always so appreciative of it. Even if we don't meet again, I'll always remember you when I bake. And speaking about cookies… I promised your friend to bake a batch of gingersnaps for you. In case you wake up hungry… They were your favourite ones, weren’t they? I should do that, so I'll go to the kitchen now."
He watched her for a moment longer, then covered her face again and left the room.
A moment later, he returned.
"I feel strange leaving you alone here. I know it doesn't matter to you, you are dead. But I trust your friends that they'll manage to bring you back, so you're just taking a break, right? And it's rude to leave my guest alone… Would you like to go to the kitchen with me?"
He gently lifted her body as if it weighed nothing, and carried her to the kitchen. He put a tablecloth on a bench and placed her there.
"That's better," he said gently and went to wash his hands. "Let’s make the cookies, then. First we need to measure and sift the flour. We'll also add the spices to it, so we need to decide what to use. Ginger and cinnamon are a must, but I also like to add some cardamom and clover. Maybe I'll also use some orange rind, what do you think? I want the taste to be comforting. Your friends really could use something comforting right now. I'll make enough for all of you, don’t worry. Now where is my measuring bowl?"
He opened a closet and rummaged through it. Something fell out and clattered on the floor.
"Here it is!" he muttered and withdrew from the closet, holding the bowl victoriously. Then he opened another closet and started looking for ingredients.
"Your friends care for you deeply, you know? I can see that," he said a while later, as he was sifting the flour, wearing a big frilly apron over his burgundy robe. "They were so shaken by what happened to you, but determined to amend it. I miss the time when I had a friend like that. If I had died, I'm sure she would try to bring me back, too. But it was her who died, not to a killer but to old age, and there is no way back from there. She left me this house and since then I've been trying to uphold her legacy. I am so sorry that my good intentions cost you your life…"
He sighed and put spices and a bit of salt into the sifted flour.
"I think it smells good. Now butter and sugar…"
He was mostly quiet as he worked further, only occasionally sharing what he found a useful baking tip or his own twist of the recipe.
He made himself a cup of tea while he waited for the cookies to bake, and drank it in silence. Then he opened the oven and took out the baking sheet.
"I think this batch is my best so far," he said proudly, looking at the golden-brown cookies. "It may also be my last, so I'm glad I didn’t burn them, that would be a bit embarassing..."
Despite it still being hot, he took one and blew on it, then took a little bite.
"Ouch, hot… but mhm, really good... I think you will really like them. They are best fresh, but I'm afraid they won't be when you get to taste them. You better come back to taste them though, because I'm making them for you. So when they call you, you come back, deal? Not just for the cookies, of course. You come back for your friends. One of them may be even more than a friend, am I right? You come back for her and for the rest of them, and then you can have the cookies. No need to take me into consideration, but I would be really glad if you came back, too. You brought joy into my kitchen, so baking these is the least I can do for you."
Lord Ariks Eshteross left the cookies to cool and sat down in his kitchen, next to the body of the woman whose enthusiasm for them brought a spark of joy into his paranoid life.
He knew there were things in the world more important than life, and things stronger than death. He knew cookies weren’t one of them. But maybe, just maybe, they could help just a little. As the faun said, Laudna may be hungry when she wakes up.