Over twenty-five years ago...
“Make certain nothing is left behind. I do not ever wish to return here again.â€
Maids and valets alike hurried about with nervous energy, eager to not catch the notice of the lady of the house. She stood still and statuesque--an ice queen in all but title at the top of the stairway. Her violet eyes were half lidded as they surveyed the servants scurrying about below, like frantic little ants across the marble floor of the foyer. She gave her orders; her sharp, glassy voice always echoing sharply beneath the vaulted ceilings, her words perfectly pronounced--always with an air of authority that would brook no argument from any who stood before her. The pale white hair that flowed like a ghostly waterfall down her back lent the woman an otherworldly quality, as if she never quite belonged amongst those she was with.
Such was Lady Juliana Brooks’ repute within her household. When she demanded haste, all the retainers took notice and responded without question.
Lysa Grieve was the one exception. She had been the lady’s personal attendant for years, and she could sense that there was an unease about her mistress. A hint of skittishness had clipped the usually fluid and elegant mannerisms of the midlander noblewoman for the past moon, and Lysa had spied a wariness to the woman’s glance more than once as she looked about her manse.
But Juliana Brooks never gave voice to what cast the shadows over her usual unwavering serene expression. Juliana was the mother of two, and the wife to an ambitious nobleman. Lysa had never seen her falter in her composure. But when she spotted the slight tremble to the noblewoman’s delicate fingers as Juliana handed the hairbrush to Lysa two nights ago, the handmaiden realized that the worries that plagued her mistress were more than mere politics and finances.
It was after Lord Lyndon Brooks left this morn, endeavoring for a two-day trip, that Lady Brooks ordered all her possessions be packed with haste.
“Are you certain about this, my lady?†Lysa approached the noblewoman, her hands clasped deferentially in front of her abdomen. She kept her voice a quiet murmur, as to not be heard by the rest of the household as she peered up at her mistress imploringly.
“I know what you will say, Lysa.†Lady Brooks did not meet her handmaiden’s gaze. “But you do not know what I know, and it is for your sake that I do not share my reasons.†Her perfectly manicured hands curled just slightly tighter around the stair railing.
“Should I... then prepare for a long journey? Or…â€
She was instantly answered with a sharp look, Juliana's violet gaze unwavering. “No. You will not be coming with me. You are to stay here.â€
That robbed Lysa of her breath. She had never been apart from her mistress for as long as she had been in this profession. Serving Lady Brooks and her children had been her sole occupation and livelihood for years; it was something that she took great pride in. She loved the woman who stood in front of her, much as she would her own kin. The Brooks were her family. Lysa felt the blood drain away from her face as she stared eyes wide in shock at the noblewoman.
“Am… I being dismissed… my lady?â€
Juliana turned from the view of the foyer to face her, dipping her head slightly to level her gaze upon the handmaiden. The noblewoman’s expression had softened, as did her voice. “Would that I could take you with me, Lysa. As well as my children. But I cannot. If I am to completely cut my ties with my lord and husband, it has to be only me.â€
Lysa’s eyes widened even more when she realized what her mistress was implying. “You are… leaving the children behind as well?†She felt her fingers tighten painfully in their grip around each other. She took a step forward, although her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “But what of Lady Rissa? And Master Lewan…â€
When Lady Brooks’ hand came to lay upon her shoulder, Lysa quieted. “I need you to look after them, Lysa.†Juliana’s quiet yet firm tone would brook no argument. “In my stead.â€
“But… what will I tell them?†Lysa shook her head vehemently, trying to impress upon her mistress the absurdity in all this. “They cannot do without their mother… I am a poor substitute. My lady, please reconsider…â€
Juliana exhaled and for a moment, there was a flitting shadow of doubt that crossed the woman’s face. “He loves them too much to harm them.†Those words were spoken forcibly, without conviction, as if she was trying to convince herself. “As long as they all abide by the ordinance set by the Holy See…â€
“What do you mean, my lady?! Of- of course they… we all abide by the rule of the Holy See!†Lysa knew that to even consider anything even remotely less could bring about the suspicion of heresy--that utmost dreaded word that struck fear in any heart who resided within the Gates.
Lady Brooks quickly shook her head, a nervous glance given over her shoulder to the foyer below. She exhaled after a moment, when none seemed to notice their conversation. She turned away from her handmaiden, her focus remaining on the luggage that were quickly piling up in front of the main door. “The children will have to adjust. Change. Adapt. They will be fine.†Her fingers gripped at the edge of the railing again.
“But my lady…â€
“That will be all, Lysa.†Juliana drew herself up and her manicured fingers straightened the hem of her dress. Her violet eyes adapted a cooler hue, and her countenance became porcelain perfect once more. “Take care of the children and serve your lord.†The noblewoman strode by the handmaiden and descended the stairs with quick fluid steps, the long fall of her dress whispering over the carpet.
Lysa had naught another word to offer her mistress, to try and plead for her to stay. Within moments the lady of the house was gone through the doors, three retainers in tow lugging her bags and boxes. It was only a few breaths later that Lysa turned, spotting something in the corner of her eye.
Rissalyn Brooks sat behind the stairway railing on the third floor, her hands clutching at the wooden bars. She said nothing, and her expression was difficult to discern as the light from the chandelier above reflected off her glasses, hiding her eyes behind the glare. But Lysa knew that she had heard everything. The sullen child was staring out at the door that remained ajar, as the frigid winds began rolling into the house.
Two months ago…
"So. Y'all were askin'..." Edmund grunted from beneath his helm. “‘About names ye shouldn't be askin' about."
The winds were whistling loudly beneath the Black Iron Bridge, tossing the Highlands snow into a chaotic spin around all the occupants gathered there.
Lysa tugged on the thick woolen cloak around her form to try and ward off the chill. But her old bones ached and her joints had stiffened, as it always did in the cold. She leaned closer to the thick metal pillar to use it as a partial shield against the gale, even as the voices of the conversation on the other side drifted to her ears.
"Ye brought more gil? This only goin' ta happen if there are rewards to be had." She heard Edmund call out to those whom they had come to meet.
Lysa moved slightly to her side to peek around the pillar at the people they had come to bargain with. She could see a tall, dark-skinned Highlander woman step forward, her hand spread out in front of her.
"The universal motivator, is it not?†the Highlander woman answered languidly. “And there is more to be had, of course. This could be the easiest job you and your friend have ever had. If, of course, the information is sound."
Why were they inquiring about her? Lysa frowned. It had been years. She had nearly forgotten about the house she had served. About her mistress who had left the fate of two children in her hands. And the youngest... the one Lysa had failed the worst. It was Rissalyn that these outsiders were asking after.
Was it a mere coincidence that she had seen the ghost of her only a fortnight past? Deprived of wealth and opportunity, Lysa had made a humble home in the crumbling areas of The Brume. And once a sennight, she, along with many other residents of Brume, came out to greet those who often brought donations of food and firewood. Such benevolence was not often seen, but Lysa had come to know at least one of them with some familiarity. A soft spoken man who smiled to her when she prayed to Saint Reinette. He had given her an extra woolen blanket and clasped her hands in his in joined prayer.
It was with this same man that Lysa had expected to meet when she saw the vision of Juliana Brooks.
There she was with her silvery hair straight and sleek down her back, cold violet eyes deep as the darkest amethyst, and the perfect porcelain complexion that seemed untouched by nature. Lysa thought it was the spectre of her mistress who had come to visit her in the darkest depths of Brume.
But it was not. The woman had been shorter in stature than the noblewoman Lysa had served over two decades past. And this phantom who resembled her wore a pair of spectacles, something that Juliana Brooks never needed.
It had to have been Juliana’s daughter that accompanied the charitable man. Lady Rissalyn Brooks always did bear the strongest resemblance to her mother, though her hair had been black in her youth. At least, when her mother had left.
The last memories of Rissalyn’s fate--the horrible memories Lysa had kept hidden away for so long--had made the old woman cringe and flee from the man who brought her food and firewood. The white haired woman did not seem to notice her.
"Lysa! Tell them something useful!"
Edmund’s gruff voice broke Lysa from her reverie. She found herself staring at a group of strangers--the dark skinned Highlander woman standing the closest to her, with an armored Lalafell bearing an axe next to her. They were accompanied by a Highlander man and an armored Miqo’te bearing a lance. Lysa found herself at a loss for words for a few breaths.
It had to be the Spinner’s work. Or Halone’s will, Lysa told herself. It could not be mere happenstance that these outsiders were asking about the young lady she had served so many years ago.
"You speak of Rissa,†Lysa said after a long moment's pause. Her voice was hoarse. “How... how do you all know her? I had not seen the girl for many years."
"I once knew her,†the Miqo’te answered first. “I talked to her several times in Gridania. I once... protected her before..." She paused and there was clear regret in her face and her downward ears.
Lysa craned her neck from her woolen cloak to get a better look at the Miqo’te. She could hear the same remorse in the Miqo’te’s voice that she herself felt in her heart. "Gridania. Ah, yes, she always did love green things. Anything alive really." Some small warmth filled her chest as she recalled their unmarred childhood, the life Rissalyn had led before the Mistress departed.
"She needed protection you say." Lysa closed her eyes, her tone growing forlorn. "She needed it here too. Then. I wasn't enough though. None of us were..."
"All I knew at the time was that she was an Ishgard exile who may have been hunted by the same assassins after my mentor.†The Miqo’te stepped forward, her words grim. “It was a short alliance born of ignorance."
Lysa did not look back up, she just nodded. "Aye. She would have been an exile, then."
"Alright, enough." Edmund cut her off. "Any actual useful information is goin' ta cost ya more."
"And just what do you plan to do with so much gil?" The other Highlander man drawled.
"Ye outsider, eh?†The scorn in Edmund’s tone was obvious for all to hear. “Have ye seen The Brume? What ye think we goin' ta do with gil? Hang it up on the wall?"
Lysa paid no attention to the haggling. That was not why she had agreed to come. She had ran away from the vision of her past, and then these outsiders came asking about a name she had long tucked away in the darkest corners of her mind. It could only mean one thing. That the girl she had failed, the daughter she had thought long dead, had returned.
"Praise Saint Reinette,†she said with a shudder. Lysa raised her hand to the sky. “That Lady Rissa still lives. And now has brought deliverance upon us!"
Lysa hoped that perhaps this would be her second chance to redeem herself, to atone for her failures. To ask for forgiveness from the child she had allowed so much suffering to be visited upon. Her eyes began to well with warm tears despite the icy touch of Coerthas Highlands.
She did not hear the subtle crunch of snow behind her, nor the slick sound of metal piecing leather. Lysa did turn at the dull thudding sound as Denston fell to the ground next to her, his body limp. A crimson stain was slowly growing beneath him.
Then she felt the cold, cold touch of metal pressed against her throat. "Old one should be a Quiet one,†a growling voice hissed next to her ear.
Lysa was never given an opportunity to answer, for the metal blade pressed further into her throat then slid to the side, opening the arteries there. She felt the warmth of her lifeblood as it began to spurt forth, and her breaths quickly turned into desperate gurgles.
The surprised cries of the Lalafell warrior and the armored Miqo’te were distant muted echoes to her ears as Lysa fell to the snow. She died before she could draw another breath.
“Make certain nothing is left behind. I do not ever wish to return here again.â€
Maids and valets alike hurried about with nervous energy, eager to not catch the notice of the lady of the house. She stood still and statuesque--an ice queen in all but title at the top of the stairway. Her violet eyes were half lidded as they surveyed the servants scurrying about below, like frantic little ants across the marble floor of the foyer. She gave her orders; her sharp, glassy voice always echoing sharply beneath the vaulted ceilings, her words perfectly pronounced--always with an air of authority that would brook no argument from any who stood before her. The pale white hair that flowed like a ghostly waterfall down her back lent the woman an otherworldly quality, as if she never quite belonged amongst those she was with.
Such was Lady Juliana Brooks’ repute within her household. When she demanded haste, all the retainers took notice and responded without question.
Lysa Grieve was the one exception. She had been the lady’s personal attendant for years, and she could sense that there was an unease about her mistress. A hint of skittishness had clipped the usually fluid and elegant mannerisms of the midlander noblewoman for the past moon, and Lysa had spied a wariness to the woman’s glance more than once as she looked about her manse.
But Juliana Brooks never gave voice to what cast the shadows over her usual unwavering serene expression. Juliana was the mother of two, and the wife to an ambitious nobleman. Lysa had never seen her falter in her composure. But when she spotted the slight tremble to the noblewoman’s delicate fingers as Juliana handed the hairbrush to Lysa two nights ago, the handmaiden realized that the worries that plagued her mistress were more than mere politics and finances.
It was after Lord Lyndon Brooks left this morn, endeavoring for a two-day trip, that Lady Brooks ordered all her possessions be packed with haste.
“Are you certain about this, my lady?†Lysa approached the noblewoman, her hands clasped deferentially in front of her abdomen. She kept her voice a quiet murmur, as to not be heard by the rest of the household as she peered up at her mistress imploringly.
“I know what you will say, Lysa.†Lady Brooks did not meet her handmaiden’s gaze. “But you do not know what I know, and it is for your sake that I do not share my reasons.†Her perfectly manicured hands curled just slightly tighter around the stair railing.
“Should I... then prepare for a long journey? Or…â€
She was instantly answered with a sharp look, Juliana's violet gaze unwavering. “No. You will not be coming with me. You are to stay here.â€
That robbed Lysa of her breath. She had never been apart from her mistress for as long as she had been in this profession. Serving Lady Brooks and her children had been her sole occupation and livelihood for years; it was something that she took great pride in. She loved the woman who stood in front of her, much as she would her own kin. The Brooks were her family. Lysa felt the blood drain away from her face as she stared eyes wide in shock at the noblewoman.
“Am… I being dismissed… my lady?â€
Juliana turned from the view of the foyer to face her, dipping her head slightly to level her gaze upon the handmaiden. The noblewoman’s expression had softened, as did her voice. “Would that I could take you with me, Lysa. As well as my children. But I cannot. If I am to completely cut my ties with my lord and husband, it has to be only me.â€
Lysa’s eyes widened even more when she realized what her mistress was implying. “You are… leaving the children behind as well?†She felt her fingers tighten painfully in their grip around each other. She took a step forward, although her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “But what of Lady Rissa? And Master Lewan…â€
When Lady Brooks’ hand came to lay upon her shoulder, Lysa quieted. “I need you to look after them, Lysa.†Juliana’s quiet yet firm tone would brook no argument. “In my stead.â€
“But… what will I tell them?†Lysa shook her head vehemently, trying to impress upon her mistress the absurdity in all this. “They cannot do without their mother… I am a poor substitute. My lady, please reconsider…â€
Juliana exhaled and for a moment, there was a flitting shadow of doubt that crossed the woman’s face. “He loves them too much to harm them.†Those words were spoken forcibly, without conviction, as if she was trying to convince herself. “As long as they all abide by the ordinance set by the Holy See…â€
“What do you mean, my lady?! Of- of course they… we all abide by the rule of the Holy See!†Lysa knew that to even consider anything even remotely less could bring about the suspicion of heresy--that utmost dreaded word that struck fear in any heart who resided within the Gates.
Lady Brooks quickly shook her head, a nervous glance given over her shoulder to the foyer below. She exhaled after a moment, when none seemed to notice their conversation. She turned away from her handmaiden, her focus remaining on the luggage that were quickly piling up in front of the main door. “The children will have to adjust. Change. Adapt. They will be fine.†Her fingers gripped at the edge of the railing again.
“But my lady…â€
“That will be all, Lysa.†Juliana drew herself up and her manicured fingers straightened the hem of her dress. Her violet eyes adapted a cooler hue, and her countenance became porcelain perfect once more. “Take care of the children and serve your lord.†The noblewoman strode by the handmaiden and descended the stairs with quick fluid steps, the long fall of her dress whispering over the carpet.
Lysa had naught another word to offer her mistress, to try and plead for her to stay. Within moments the lady of the house was gone through the doors, three retainers in tow lugging her bags and boxes. It was only a few breaths later that Lysa turned, spotting something in the corner of her eye.
Rissalyn Brooks sat behind the stairway railing on the third floor, her hands clutching at the wooden bars. She said nothing, and her expression was difficult to discern as the light from the chandelier above reflected off her glasses, hiding her eyes behind the glare. But Lysa knew that she had heard everything. The sullen child was staring out at the door that remained ajar, as the frigid winds began rolling into the house.
Two months ago…
"So. Y'all were askin'..." Edmund grunted from beneath his helm. “‘About names ye shouldn't be askin' about."
The winds were whistling loudly beneath the Black Iron Bridge, tossing the Highlands snow into a chaotic spin around all the occupants gathered there.
Lysa tugged on the thick woolen cloak around her form to try and ward off the chill. But her old bones ached and her joints had stiffened, as it always did in the cold. She leaned closer to the thick metal pillar to use it as a partial shield against the gale, even as the voices of the conversation on the other side drifted to her ears.
"Ye brought more gil? This only goin' ta happen if there are rewards to be had." She heard Edmund call out to those whom they had come to meet.
Lysa moved slightly to her side to peek around the pillar at the people they had come to bargain with. She could see a tall, dark-skinned Highlander woman step forward, her hand spread out in front of her.
"The universal motivator, is it not?†the Highlander woman answered languidly. “And there is more to be had, of course. This could be the easiest job you and your friend have ever had. If, of course, the information is sound."
Why were they inquiring about her? Lysa frowned. It had been years. She had nearly forgotten about the house she had served. About her mistress who had left the fate of two children in her hands. And the youngest... the one Lysa had failed the worst. It was Rissalyn that these outsiders were asking after.
Was it a mere coincidence that she had seen the ghost of her only a fortnight past? Deprived of wealth and opportunity, Lysa had made a humble home in the crumbling areas of The Brume. And once a sennight, she, along with many other residents of Brume, came out to greet those who often brought donations of food and firewood. Such benevolence was not often seen, but Lysa had come to know at least one of them with some familiarity. A soft spoken man who smiled to her when she prayed to Saint Reinette. He had given her an extra woolen blanket and clasped her hands in his in joined prayer.
It was with this same man that Lysa had expected to meet when she saw the vision of Juliana Brooks.
There she was with her silvery hair straight and sleek down her back, cold violet eyes deep as the darkest amethyst, and the perfect porcelain complexion that seemed untouched by nature. Lysa thought it was the spectre of her mistress who had come to visit her in the darkest depths of Brume.
But it was not. The woman had been shorter in stature than the noblewoman Lysa had served over two decades past. And this phantom who resembled her wore a pair of spectacles, something that Juliana Brooks never needed.
It had to have been Juliana’s daughter that accompanied the charitable man. Lady Rissalyn Brooks always did bear the strongest resemblance to her mother, though her hair had been black in her youth. At least, when her mother had left.
The last memories of Rissalyn’s fate--the horrible memories Lysa had kept hidden away for so long--had made the old woman cringe and flee from the man who brought her food and firewood. The white haired woman did not seem to notice her.
"Lysa! Tell them something useful!"
Edmund’s gruff voice broke Lysa from her reverie. She found herself staring at a group of strangers--the dark skinned Highlander woman standing the closest to her, with an armored Lalafell bearing an axe next to her. They were accompanied by a Highlander man and an armored Miqo’te bearing a lance. Lysa found herself at a loss for words for a few breaths.
It had to be the Spinner’s work. Or Halone’s will, Lysa told herself. It could not be mere happenstance that these outsiders were asking about the young lady she had served so many years ago.
"You speak of Rissa,†Lysa said after a long moment's pause. Her voice was hoarse. “How... how do you all know her? I had not seen the girl for many years."
"I once knew her,†the Miqo’te answered first. “I talked to her several times in Gridania. I once... protected her before..." She paused and there was clear regret in her face and her downward ears.
Lysa craned her neck from her woolen cloak to get a better look at the Miqo’te. She could hear the same remorse in the Miqo’te’s voice that she herself felt in her heart. "Gridania. Ah, yes, she always did love green things. Anything alive really." Some small warmth filled her chest as she recalled their unmarred childhood, the life Rissalyn had led before the Mistress departed.
"She needed protection you say." Lysa closed her eyes, her tone growing forlorn. "She needed it here too. Then. I wasn't enough though. None of us were..."
"All I knew at the time was that she was an Ishgard exile who may have been hunted by the same assassins after my mentor.†The Miqo’te stepped forward, her words grim. “It was a short alliance born of ignorance."
Lysa did not look back up, she just nodded. "Aye. She would have been an exile, then."
"Alright, enough." Edmund cut her off. "Any actual useful information is goin' ta cost ya more."
"And just what do you plan to do with so much gil?" The other Highlander man drawled.
"Ye outsider, eh?†The scorn in Edmund’s tone was obvious for all to hear. “Have ye seen The Brume? What ye think we goin' ta do with gil? Hang it up on the wall?"
Lysa paid no attention to the haggling. That was not why she had agreed to come. She had ran away from the vision of her past, and then these outsiders came asking about a name she had long tucked away in the darkest corners of her mind. It could only mean one thing. That the girl she had failed, the daughter she had thought long dead, had returned.
"Praise Saint Reinette,†she said with a shudder. Lysa raised her hand to the sky. “That Lady Rissa still lives. And now has brought deliverance upon us!"
Lysa hoped that perhaps this would be her second chance to redeem herself, to atone for her failures. To ask for forgiveness from the child she had allowed so much suffering to be visited upon. Her eyes began to well with warm tears despite the icy touch of Coerthas Highlands.
She did not hear the subtle crunch of snow behind her, nor the slick sound of metal piecing leather. Lysa did turn at the dull thudding sound as Denston fell to the ground next to her, his body limp. A crimson stain was slowly growing beneath him.
Then she felt the cold, cold touch of metal pressed against her throat. "Old one should be a Quiet one,†a growling voice hissed next to her ear.
Lysa was never given an opportunity to answer, for the metal blade pressed further into her throat then slid to the side, opening the arteries there. She felt the warmth of her lifeblood as it began to spurt forth, and her breaths quickly turned into desperate gurgles.
The surprised cries of the Lalafell warrior and the armored Miqo’te were distant muted echoes to her ears as Lysa fell to the snow. She died before she could draw another breath.
