Hide and Go Seek

On the fifth morning after the Coronation Debacle, Brennan rouses himself from the long, deep, dreamless, motionless sleep that had covered him like a thick blanket for the past fourteen hours or so.

He comes awake with a thrash, then shakes the sleep from his head wondering what it was that was so urgent.

Ah. Yes. That.

The servants no doubt know him well enough by now to have placed a tray of fruit or cheese (or both) for him, along side his clothes for the day, to tide him over until breakfast. Whatever it was they placed out, he wolfs down, amidst grumbling and growling to himself, and dressing for the day.

He briefly considers sending a page, then quickly decides against it.

He goes in search of Aisling.

No one answers a knock of the door at Aisling's quarters. That's not uncommon, though; most people don't spend too much time in their room when they're not sleeping.

Brennn hears someone walking through the corridor and then stopping, maybe six meters away. It's Ossian, who just stands there, looking at Brennan.

Brennan turns around at the sound of it, sees, Ossian, and closes his eyes briefly. Ossian less than two hours after waking up is becoming a bad omen for Brennan.

Ossian being a perceptive sort, he can probably tell when Brennan opens his eyes that he's already annoyed and mentally occupied, althought not (yet) annoyed by Ossian.

"Ossian," he says by greeting.

"Brennan." Ossian answers, moving his head slightly to the right, then he shrugs.

"We seem to search the same person once more. I haven't seen her for a few days now."

"Our egregious little Chaosian seems to be on the verging of becoming surprisingly popular," drawls a languid voice from behind them in the corridor.

Ossian turns around with a lifted eyebrow and a wry smile.

It is Lucas, leaning nonchalantly against a door-frame, dressed in the black of a Renaissance prince with puritanical tendencies, a soft velvet cap concealing his disfigured ear, and a pearl drop ear-ring swaying from the other - the pearl a rich, lustrous black.

"So it has vanished clean away, has it? Or has it merely transformed itself into a comfortable looking armchair? I always knew that the day would come when we'd regret our five years without my mother organising inventories on the contents of each room."

Lucas' appearance and Brennan's motion-- turning to see, address him, and include him in the conversation-- breaks the lines of tension between Brennan and Ossian, it would seem. Brennan, at least, loses at least some of that associated stress.

Though he's looking at Lucas, Brennan addresses Ossian's comment, first: "I haven't looked for her for a few days," and then Lucas': "What makes you think she's gone hiding?"

"We had an appointment," responds Lucas with a shrug, removing a infinitesimal piece of lint from his sleeve. "It was meant to call in for a convivial meeting with my wife and me ... Not a hard-line interrogation session." The dark eyes flick to Brennan briefly and then back to his sleeve. "When it visited me, it was wary. As though it expected to be poisoned. I thought that ... interesting."

"Heh. Did she expect you to poison her?" Ossian furrows his brow "I don't understand."

Lucas shrugs again. "Generally when people refuse my wine unless I've tasted it from the same glass first, I tend to assume that either they have a culture constructed around a single paucity of drinking vessels or they suspect I might be trying to poison them."

Ossian smiles a sad smile. That wasn't what I didn't understand.

[Lucas]
"As though I'd adulterate a decent vintage. One does, after all, have standards."

Ossian chuckles at this.

"It doesn't make sense to make an appointment and then go into hiding without telling anyone, Lucas. Unless you want to frame someone." Ossian says with a grin. "When did you make that appointment?"

As Ossian just made more or less the observation that Brennan would have, and asked a question at the top of Brennan's mind, he waits for Lucas to answer.

The day after my ... ah ... little misfortune," Lucas responds, almost involuntarily lifting a hand to his ear. "A very kind visit to enliven my convalesence. In the course of conversation, the Chaosian happened to remark that it felt it was lacking in certain social skills, and I suggested m'wife would be an excellent person to offer advice on such matters. We have been waiting - if not entirely breathlessly - for another visit. The time and date had not been rigidly vcast in stone - but the continued absence of any communication did rather surprise us. I would have said that people just die for an invitation to one of our little thrashes, but in view of the unfortunate happenings at the masquerade, perhaps that would not be wholly tactful."

"Social skills," Brennan mouths silently to himself, then shakes his head. "I trust you started by pointing out that, in most company, acting as though you expect to be murdered is considered a faux pas."

"I believe I did allude to it," returns Lucas, "but glancingly.

"I think the fact that the incident occurred at all indicates either how the customs that obtain in Chaos are so very different from our own dear Amber, or perhaps a certain ... jitteriness in natural disposition or because something had spooked it ... or her, if you prefer."

[Brennan] pauses. "Really-- poison? Perhaps some flat joke?"

"I don't think it was joking," says Lucas flatly.

"...You might want to do more than glance the subject, when next you meet," Brennan says, shaking his head.

[Lucas] smiles, briefly. "And what brings my cousins to this salubrious spot?"

"Dame Aisling seems very popular, today," Brennan says, by reply. "I wanted to continue a conversation we were having a few days ago."

"I want to paint a Trump sketch of her." Ossian says.

"For the kings collection." he adds, maybe a bit too quickly.

Lucas' dark eyebrows lift. "A whim?" he asks. "Or an arrangement? I'm beginning to wonder when the Chaosian was last seen - and by whom ..."

"Actually I wanted to make an arrangement. I don't need to paint her today." Ossian says.

"I saw her two days ago with the Admirals," Brennan says.

"And also," [Lucas] adds, in a detatched tone, "if any of us possess the skills to open that door."

"I'm sure we can all turn the latch, cousin. I was under the impression that castle etiquette dictated doors to be left open for the servants. Did you expect to find something in particular within?" he asks.

Brennan is neutral on the topic of entering her room-- more curious than anything else.

"I thought," returns Lucas, a trifle drily, "that we had just agreed that the Chaosian could be ajudged to be rather lacking in the department of conventional social skills. That being the case, I think it should not be ruled out that the door may be booby-trapped. And while I fully accept the fact that my injuries are in no way to be compared with the miserable suffering of the wounded veterans of the late conflict, nevertheless, I was recently nearly killed by a unexpected weapon of Chaos. That sort of experience tends rather to enhance a sense of self-preservation that has always been remarked upon with awe by those who know me best.

"I don't know what we might find within the room. Some evidence of recent occupation would be a good starting point.

"But ... ah ... after you, cousin."

"Curiosity fighting caution, Lucas?" Ossian asks, takes the few steps to the door and attempts to open it.

"Like it was a world title fight, Ossian," returns Lucas cheerfully.

Brennan, rather, gives a just-so ostentatious look around the doorway, noting the absence of dead chambermaids, and takes the other possible direct approach-- if there is a chambermaid hanging nervously in the background, he beckons her over and asks the question: When was the last time Dame Aisling's chambers showed evidence of use?

Surprisingly, there's never a servant around when you need one. You could summon one.

Receiving that answer (if he does) [Brennan] turns his attention back to Lucas and Ossian. He'll be very surprised, but not altogether repentant, if Ossian is laid out on the floor, victim of a booby-trap.

The door opens easily for Ossian, and inside the room is somewhat dark. The light from the hall illuminates a rather spartan room, with a bedframe, a clothes press, and a desk. Other than the desk, the room is very tidy.

"You explore," says Lucas. "I'll have someone find the chambermaid for the rooms."

"Aye, aye." Ossian says, making a mock salute.

[Lucas] suits the action to the word, disappearing for as long as it takes to find a page, instruct him to find the relevant chambermaids, and then return to see how his cousins are getting on.

Ossian enters the room carefully, admiring the tidiness. He walks over to the desk and examines what's on it.

"Nothing has exploded yet." he says cheerfully to Brennan.

"Pity," Brennan doesn't say, "It would have made life so much simpler."

After a moment of being profoundly unsurprised, Brennan continues adding to the surreality of the morning by stepping into Aisling's room as well, and looking around.

...and Ossian smiles crookedly.

Signs of a struggle-- especially followed by Aisling's bootscuffs as she was dragged out of the room against her will-- would probably be too much to hope for, given the tidiness, but one never knows what might turn up.

"The chambermaid is on her way," reports Lucas from the doorway. "Or their way ... there may be a team of them for all I know."

He looks around the room.

"Was the Chaosian particularly abstemious in its habits?" he asks Brennan. "Or are we to assume it's packed its trunk and said goodbye to the circus?"

Ossian is quiet, and waits for Brennan to answer.

Brennan shrugs.

"Remember, Lucas, none of the Knights have lived in Amber long enough to acquire much in the way of bric-a-brac, yet."

"True," agrees Lucas. "But most of us have a few bibelots that accompany us on our travels."

The room is, indeed, undisturbed. There are no signs of a struggle.

"We don't expect her to have much here anyway, I guess?" Ossian says "Being suspicous she wouldn't hide important things in her own room I think."

Lucas sighs. "Well, after the fuss it was kicking up over some of its property being disturbed last time it took a vacation, I suspect you're right."

Brennan raises an eyebrow.

"Are we talking about the same incident? Her previous quarters were comprehensively ransacked. Whatever she may have had there is long gone-- there was dust on the debris."

[Lucas heads for the closet - and is heard muttering disparaging remarks over anything he finds there. If it's bare, he just mutters]

There are some clothes hung neatly in the armoire, some of which are fitted with rather interesting slits in the back and shoulder area. If Lucas has paid close attention to Aisling, he will know that they are for her streamers.

Some of the clothes are surprisingly chic. Lucas senses the fine hand of his dear maman in them. This should not prevent him from making disparaging comments.

Nor does it.

"Green," he mutters. "With those streamers. I suspect my mother of satire - it surely cannot be attributed to a loss of taste. Oh, I don't know though. Don't those shoes just scream 'nouveau' at you? She must have had a hangover."

[Ossian agrees with Lucas' statements.]

Brennan supervises. (And points out anywhere they might have missed, like in or under the bed, say.)

[Ossian starts to search the room, starting with the desk.]

Nothing useful in the desk, after a thorough ransacking. Looking behind the desk, Ossian sees a sealed letter that has fallen behind it. It is a bit dusty and apparently has been there for a while. The unsealed side of the letter says "Prince Martin".

Recalling the last exchange between Martin and Aisling, Brennan mutters, "I'm not even sure I want to know. Some gesture making amends to Martin would out of the question, I'm sure, unless Lucas' advice was that inspiring."

"Well, then I guess I'm more curious than you, cousin Brennan." Ossian says, pocketing the letter.

Brennan makes no immediate comment, but when Ossian pockets the letter he crosses his arms across his chest, and leans against the doorframe through which Ossian must pass to exit the room. His companions may notice-- because Brennan is not being subtle-- that he glances to see how many people in the room are bearing steel, as Brennan always does.

He [will step] aside to admit [the chambermaid, when she arrives] and to allow her departure, of course.

Let it be stated here and now that, barring some extremely unforeseen future event such as another castle-damaging earthquake, the appearance of Oberon whole and hale, or Ossian being a whole hell of a lot tougher than he looks, Ossian is not likely to slip out of the room in possession of property not his own.

At least, not through the door.

Lucas has a rapier at his belt; it goes with his current costume (and the grip is nicely colour-co-ordinated to go with the rest of his outfit. Somewhere is Lucas's rooms there is either a very large sword rack that no-one kows about, or his rapiers are specially designed to have interchangeable grips - possibly on a snap-in model).

[The above is one of the reasons Ossian stil has some respect for Lucas.]

However, [Lucas] shows no disposition to interfere. Indeed, once he has been diverted from the inquities of the closet, he watches events between his cousins unfold with a slightly malicious pleasure.

Ossian is only armed with a small dagger. He acknowledges Brennan's surly disposition with a nod and continues searching the room.

After about a quarter of an hour, during which the trio may inspect the room more closely, a young woman shows up and curtseys. She is the chambermaid, Pointelle. "The Chief Maid said your lordships had questions for me. How may I help you?"

[Ossian]
"When did Dame Aisling use this room last time?"

Lucas listens attentively to the response.

As does Brennan, with very much of a, "Don't mind us ransacking the room. All is well," vibe, if Ossian and Lucas are still in the middle of their own ransacking operations.

Hopefully, they are done by the time she comes around.

[OOC: Are they?]

[Lucas is.]

[Ossian will take the time it needs to search the room, but since there is so little there he might be finished.]

Pointelle looks at each of the three lords, aware she's stumbled into something far over her head. "Her bed wasn't disturbed last night, or the night before," the maid says a bit hesitantly. "I don't know for sure when on the previous day she was last in, though."

Brennan nods, not actually surprised.

To Brennan, Pointelle adds, "Begging your lordships' pardon, but the cleaning staff don't like to come here much. They say the lady who lives in this room has a man's pa--well, it's not clear whether it's a he or a she. And sometimes she has purple skin and hair, and sometimes a, a tail, and, and there's that fellow that comes round here, with Master Crane, and it doesn't look like a man at all."

Pointelle lowers her voice. "On the butler's staff, someone said she was from the far end of the Black Road. She seemed nice enough, but they say them Black Road people eat the dead, and suck out your mind by looking at you, like happened to Whistle."

"Do they indeed?" says Lucas cheerfully. "Well, I daresay they have the right of it. But Lord Brennan here is far more knowledgable about these matter than I am."

Brennan pauses very briefly before replying.

"I won't lie to you, Pointelle. There is some truth in what you say. I did meet Dame Aisling during the war, on the other end of the Black Road, where she fought with us and served well with us. But she saved many of our lives, actually-- without her help, I'm not sure we could have gotten home.

"Right now, though, she might be in trouble," and surely both Lucas and Ossian can recognize a careful choice of words, "And so I am looking for her. Apparently, she has not been seen in several days, and it's very important that I speak with her."

He's long since mastered the fierce irritation he started the day with, and forced it back under the surface.... for the servants, if nothing else. But a small note of worry comes through.

Then an evil grin comes up: "And when the time is right, we're going to get the ones who hurt Whistle."

Ossian stays quiet.

Pointelle looks a little abashed after the first bit of Brennan's speech, and moreso after the middle. At the end, when he promises vengeance for Whistle, she looks reassured and pleased.

Excellent. A little abashed is how she should feel. He takes her abashedness as a appropriate act of contrition, and will not hold it against her.

"I come in here at night to turn down the bed, and in the morning to clean up a bit, take her clothes to the laundry, and the like. The lady had been here three nights ago, or someone had, because I made up her bed that morning. I turned down her bed that night like normal, but when I came back in the morning, no one had been in it. And there were no clothes taken from the armoire. The same was true last night and this morning. I didn't see anything out of place either time. It was like she'd never come back after she left two mornings ago."

Brennan nods. "Thank you, Pointelle. If you or the anyone else should remember anything else, then you would have the Knights' gratitude."

[Brennan: that would be the morning she met with you and the Admirals.]

[Gosh. You think?]

[OOC - if word of this has got around ... You can assume Lucas' servants tip him off on interesting gossip.]

"Wasn't that the same morning she was meeting with the Admirals?" asks Lucas with an air of polite interest. "You were there, weren't you, cos?"

Ossian tilts his head slightly to he side, looking expectantly at Brennan.

Brennan looks as though he is likely to answer that, but waits until Pointelle leaves-- which should be directly, because his last words to her were a dismissal. He will not address this topic with servants hovering around, and since he is parked in the doorframe, it's pretty easy for him (I would think) to make sure Pointelle or any other servants are not lingering around, gathering gossip.

Pointelle offers the Knight and the two lords a curtsey as Lucas asks his question. To Brennan, she adds, "If I think of anything, I'll be sure to let the Chief Maid know, and to ask her to send me to speak with you."

Then she is gone, and from his vantage point in the doorway, Brennan can see that she's pleased to shake the dust of the room from her feet, as it were.

"Yes, yes I was."

Ossian seats himself on the corner of the desk, obviously waiting for Brennan to continue.

"Do you think that meeting could have made her leave?"

Lucas watches from the other side of the room without speaking, clearly also awaiting Brennan's answer.

Brennan decides to play it straight, and after reviewing the meeting in his mind for a moment, he says, "It's hard to say absolutely that, no, it didn't. But there also didn't come out of the meeting anything that I thought was a show-stopper."

He holds up a hand before his cousins get the impression that he's an Aisling apologist, and continues, "She gave a lot of information about how she gathered information, and what information she gathered, and how it was sent back, and to whom. Nothing she said struck me as earth-shattering in itself. What was more troubling was the volume of otherwise non-critical information she sent back. She had been here for quite a while before she turned."

He pauses to think a moment, and phrases carefully: "Now we know what damage has been done, and we know how it was done. At least some of it. There's a long way to go, but an optimist would be encouraged."

Ossian nods. "That's a good start. Now, what if she didn't leave by her own will? What if...eh...Who would have interest in her not telling more? Her contact in chaos?"

"Or someone close to home?" adds Lucas almost softly.

Ossian nods, smiling slightly.

[Brennan]
"Her contact in Chaos was her sire, as we would call it."

"Well, home is where the heart is," murmurs Lucas. "If, indeed, Chaosians possess hearts ... have anyone ever dissected one?

This renders a disgusted look from Ossian.

Brennan doesn't comment, but Lucas and Ossian might recall that Brennan has done battlefield dissections on more Chaosi than either of them are likely to have seen, combined.

Comments on battlefield physiology can wait until later.

"Apparently, she - if we must use a gender-biased pronoun - communicated with her father through a bird of blood - or so she told me. She claimed not to have seen the bird for some time. Personally, I'd be delighted if such a thing left me alone - the joy of not having to explain those strange little red bird footprints all over the chintz - but its absence did seem to trouble her."

He moves slightly in the room - he could almost be seen as clearing space between Ossian and Brennan.

Brennan notes this and allows it to happen.

"Actually, 'by closer to home', I was speculating that she may have had other contacts, here in Amber, who might have a vested interest in seeing that her volubility was somewhat abruptly curtailed."

Ossian nods. "We don't have many leads to who that could be, have we?" he takes the letter from his pocket. He is obviously on his way to open the letter. "We can always hope she wrote something in this."

Brennan's only nodding comment to Ossian is, "Read it out loud."

Then, giving Ossian time to comply, if he wishes, Brennan addresses Lucas' previous comments: "She made no mention of any contacts she had in Amber. I would have considered that to be a show-stopper-- anything other than passive observation. I would in fact be on my way to take possession of such an additional contact." He pauses. "Are you just brainstorming, or do you know something I don't?"

"Brainstorming," returns Lucas languidly. "It sounds so ... aggressive, doesn't it? I prefer to see myself as indulging in idle speculation, don't you know?

"You were present at her interrogation by our uncles, weren't you? And served with her in the field? Then I would be vastly surprised to learn that I had discovered more in the duration of a cosy little chat over a glass of wine that lasted little more than an hour than you know of her, unless you are astoundingly unobservant, or our uncles are sadly slipping.

"Neither of which," he adds politely, "do I believe.

"However, I am sure that however co-operative she was being, she kept something back. A bargaining chip that she might need later. Mere prudence suggests it."

Brennan snorts. "That may be. I understand the natural tendency of our great Family is to politicize as much as possible. But I don't think anyone else in that room was interested in the political aspects. The point was to grasp the damage done and move to counter it."

"You saw Caine," queries Lucas, with just a touch of incredulity, "without an interest in the political aspects? I do hope someone was frantically scribbling notes to record the moment for posterity."

Ossian has opened the letter and read a bit quietly, while listening to his cousins. "This is what the letter says...."

Brennan waits to hear the letter.

As does Lucas.

Prince Martin,

When first we met some 5 years ago (for you), I left some papers behind in the room where you found me. They are not there now. It occurs to me that you or your companion Dara might know where they have been placed. They are of no value to anyone except me, and that only sentimental value. It would be a kindness if you arranged for whoever had them to return them to me, or told me who I should ask for them.

Regards,
Sir Aisling, KCOR

"Well, she's correct on at least point," Brennan says, drily. "There are no papers left there that I could discover. Gone, it would seem, with whoever committed ransackery."

"Interesting," murmurs Lucas. "Interesting. And ... inaccurate - in two respects.

"Or perhaps, in one particular, rather out of date. She speaks of Dara as Martin's 'companion'. Unless she really wanted to provoke a duel, that is an ... unfortunate turn of phrase. Describing Dara in such terms recently would be rather worse than throwing a glove into Martin's face and yelling, 'Have at thee, sirrah!'

"And methinks the lady doth protest too much. Either she is lying in this letter - or she was lying to me when she told me the uses that could be made of these letters."

Brennan's eyes narrow when hears about uses of letters, but he lets Ossian and Lucas continue their conversation while he puts his thoughts in order.

[Ossian]
"I don't know her all that well, but I have a feeling she wouldn't fuss this much over something that was purely of sentimental value. Unless her goal was to create a major disturbance, which I doubt it was."

[Lucas]
"Both lead me to suspect that this letter was composed a little while ago and - for some reason - never sent."

"She couldn't have written it before she came back here, could she?" Ossian asks "It's not like Dara has been regarded as an ally here since the army came back, so the letter was insulting even when it was written.

"Or someone else wrote the letter."

"Playing advocate," Brennan says absently, for he's been following this conversation but it's not what he's really concentrating on, "I can see that letter having been written after we came back and before the Masque. I can see 'companion' as an attempt at a neutral term, because by her tellings, Dara did accompany him at Oberon's command when she was apprehended. An opportunity for Martin to clarify the relationship without pushing him either direction."

Brennan glances at the letter to see that it is indeed her handwriting, and whether or not she put a date on it.

"All in all, though," Brennan continues, "an infelicitous turn of phrase by what we know now." He looks at Ossian and manages not to say out loud: So put the damn thing back where you found it.

Ossian nods: "Yeah, you might be right.

"I think I shall give this letter to the Queen. Even if I can't see what damage it can do here, it doesn't feel right to leave it here."

Brennan neither acknowledges nor refutes the claim that Ossian is going anywhere with that letter. Yet.

Then Brennan's mind turns back to something Lucas said, and Lucas finds himself on the other end of Brennan's more complete attention. Not hostile, simply intense: "What uses did she tell you could be made of those letters, cousin? As much detail as you can remember?" He relaxes just slightly, and says, "And here you thought you wouldn't have any information that would be useful."

"Well, of course, I do live to serve," murmurs Lucas, "although it all too often conflicts with my equally pressing desire to be an indolent drone ..."

His gaze seems to fix and focus on the letter.

"It was actually very simple. She said a sorceror could use her letters to get in touch with her father - who seemed to have been operating as a slightly loose cannon - I wonder if they have tight cannons in Chaos?

"She appeared to be very concerned about him - that she has not heard from him, nor had contact with him, for some time. When I pressed her - quite hard, I think - she used that concern as her justification for her behaviour towards Martin. I let that pass ... although I have serious doubts as to whether Martin would see it as a suitable reason for healing the breach. I was in hopes that it was more the start of a dalogue between us."

He pauses to remove a scrap of lint from his sleeve. "That appears not to be the case."

"Concern for her sire does jibe with what she had said to me earlier. And it is not unimportant. Her sire, as she told it to me, spends his time far from the centers of Chaos. And yet, if Aisling was one of only a few spies, he may find himself the local expert," Brennan says.

Brennan pauses a beat, then adds, "Sorcery and shapeshifting are both typically Chaosi talents. If one used those papers to seek out her sire, one could also very likely try to absorb her sire once found-- and with it, the knowledge she sent back."

[Ossian]
"I wonder. If someone could use the letters to communicate with her sire... Her sire might say something that could hurt her position here.

[Lucas]
"Of course, I also have doubts as to her story. I think there might be quite another reason why she panicked at the loss of those letters."

"What is your theory, cousin?" Ossian asks.

Brennan waits to hear this with the same attention as before.

"I think it might well be the obvious one," says Lucas. "Doubtless they were protected with spells, wards and probably enigmatic codes ...

"But I think she panicked because of what was said in those letters."

"If Martin had proof that we couldn't trust her I think he would have used it. But then I'm no expert on Martin.

"Her largest fear might be that Dara got hold of those letters. That is more speculation of course.

"If the letters ever existed, that is."

Brennan addresses several points at once, after hearing Lucas and Ossian talk: "If those letters never existed, then Aisling is either too brilliant for me to follow at all, or just plain stupid. I don't believe either of those to be the case."

Lucas nods his agreement of this point, smiling faintly.

Ossian shrugs.

Brennan continues:

"Fear that Dara took those letters is probably justified, because they are a pointed back to her sire. As for saying something that would damage her position here... yes, I'm certain he could, but why would he? Her sire did not appear to be a stupid creature. And as for spells, wards, and codes-- codes, certainly, I would think. She made no mention of being able to put any sort of magic on anything. I would be disappointed if she left out anything so important in her debrief."

"Well ... yes," agrees Lucas. "Up to a point. Yet - she need not have been the one to enspell them. They were after all, allegedly, letters to her. It might be that her father was reponsible to any sorcery involved."

Brennan nods. This is conceivable.

"And it might be that they underestimated Amber and our capabilities. Her motives for changing sides were a little ... ambiguous. Did she ever give you any reason for that?" [Lucas] glances at both cousins.

Ossian just shakes his head. "Nope."

"Yes, but nothing you'd be inclined to accept. She thinks we're a nicer group of people than the houses of Chaos." Brennan can estimate Lucas' expression on hearing that, but he reports it anyway.

[To wind this thread down faster: Ossian hasn't more to say. He still wants to give the letter to Vialle, though, mostly because he doesn't want the letter lying around. Will Brennan stop him?]

Barring any showstopping revelations, the only issue left is the disposition of that letter. Since it concerns a fellow Knight Commander, Brennan expresses a strong preference-- as he leans against the doorframe-- to deliver it himself.

I don't think the GMs ever commented on whether Brennan thought it was legitimate, when he looked at it to see if it was her handwriting, either.

Lucas, still to one side of the room, will be quietly amused and, in a tone more usually employed by a kindergarten teacher adjudicating a feud between three year olds over a disputed toy, will say, "Why don't you take it to her together?"

Ossian is already handing the letter over to Brennan "Oh. I am quite content with Brennan running the errands."