(2024-12-09) Blackmail

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Author:	Aly
Summary:	Lloyd is called upon by Count Lester Amerith. Their acquaintance is renewed… forever.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

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Blackmail, brief description of injury, shirtless Count

The letter came on a stationary adorned with black ink roses, the font directly from the hand of the Count himself.

Mr. Lloyd Lowynn,

Perhaps you recall our previous meeting? As you know, I was rather fond of your late grandfather, and most grieved to learn of his passing. If you would spare some time, I would like to renew our acquaintance at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Count Lester Amerith

Lloyd stared at the letter. If you would spare some time. No. From that man, there was no if. Wealth and power earned him that much. He swallowed hard. At your earliest convenience. His earliest convenience would be now, but surely… He looked up nervously from the letter and found himself staring into the clever green eyes of the Count’s maid, Ilanya.

“So,” she asked. “Are you ready to go?”

And that was how the hapless antiques dealer found himself standing in the foyer of Count Amerith’s manor, a room that smelled a mixture of rotting fish and heavy perfumes, of wood oil and metal. A barrage of scents so foul it made his head hurt, but he wouldn’t dare say it. The room itself was spotless; meticulously cleaned so that the white marble floors sparkled, and the red and gold rugs decoratively laid out over it looked brand new. Even the chandelier high above showed no signs of the typical dust or cobwebs, so where was that jumble of scents coming from?

He never found out.

“Mr. Lowynn. How glad I am to see you well.” Count Amerith appeared on the staircase, making his way down into the room to meet them. He held an expensive-looking vase in his hands; one decorated with extremely intricate carvings, and images, possibly words, in an ancient language. The grey suit he wore was identical to the one Lloyd had seen him in years ago, when he’d visited Gilneas in person. Lloyd had still been a child then, and his grandfather the owner of the shop.

Ilanya leaned against the wall near the door, wearing a pink and dark green dress with embroidered flowers up the side. It was meant to make her look harmless, but Lloyd knew better. She had been a child too, the last time he’d seen her, but age had only sharpened her instincts.

“M-my lord,” Lloyd stammered, bowing.

“I was devastated to learn the state of Gilneas,” the Count continued, stepping off the staircase to join them. “Did you happen to discover what became of your shop before you left?”

Small talk. They both knew the real reason Lloyd was there, and it had to do with that vase in his hands. Lloyd strained to see it closer, to perhaps catch a whiff, but the moment he inhaled, his head pounded in protest. The scents were just too much.

“I… did not, no. At best it’s been left untouched, but it’s possible — even likely — that it fell victim to Forsaken looters.” The very thought made his blood boil with rage. He fought the urge to howl, to embrace what was wild within him and show how he really felt. Instead, he smiled. That form wasn’t for polite company. “If I may ask, Lord Amerith, is that vase perhaps the reason you called me here?”

Count Amerith looked at the vase in his hands as though he had forgotten it was there — a fact that sent a spark of irritation jolting through Lloyd’s spine. The artifact was clearly priceless, how could he just forget about it?

“Ah,” the Count said. “I called you here for the reason stated in the letter; to renew our acquaintance. But, since you’re here, let’s play a little game, shall we?”

There was a faint smile on the Count’s face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It never reached his eyes. Those twin voids of hazel were cold and calculating as always.

“A game?” Lloyd asked, as a feeling of dread seeped into his chest. “I’m not really here to play —”

“Identify the vase,” Count Amerith said. “Tell me who made it, and how. But do it from where you’re standing now. If you are wrong… I will destroy it.”

Lloyd’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t help himself. “Ex… excuse me, you’ll what? That could very well be a one-of-a-kind object from ancient times, and you’re saying you’ll…” But of course. What did the Count care for priceless objects, when money could buy him whatever he wanted? Lloyd felt a snarl rise in his throat. He forced it down.

“If you don’t choose to participate, of course, I will simply destroy it now,” said the Count.

“NO!” cried Lloyd, one hand reaching towards it, panic gripping him. “That is, no, I will… identify the vase. From here. Without… touching it.”

Even as he said the words, Lloyd realized it was impossible — but he had to try. If he didn’t, the vase was doomed.

It wasn’t troll. Lloyd had seen a fair amount of troll pottery, given the ubiquitous nature of the ancient empire. The intricacy of the carvings suggested a gentle, peaceful hand, and the theme, some sort of plant or herb, was meant perhaps as a reverence for the natural world. In fact, this vase could have contained a living plant at one point, but from his distance, he couldn’t see if there were holes at the bottom for drainage or determine if it had ever been used.

It was definitely ancient. At least several hundred years old, given the style and technique. Lloyd was surprised at how well it had been maintained by this man who had just threatened to destroy it.

The one thing that confused him was the sense of magic he felt from it. It was a harsher magic than that of the harvest witches or Light priests; arcane in nature, it seemed. Lloyd supposed it could have been enchanted, but the tauren — the culture he suspected was responsible for its creation — were not known to use such magic. Still, it was the only answer he had. He swallowed hard.

“Ancient tauren constructed and carved it by hand, at least several hundred years ago, but…” Lloyd lifted his eyes from the vase to assess Count Amerith. “I sense some sort of arcane magic from it.”

There was an almost imperceptible twitch of surprise, the slightest lifting of the eyebrows at his words. The Count, now holding the vase with only one hand, stroked his beard.

“You did better than I anticipated,” he said thoughtfully. “Your father, Light rest him, never showed any real promise, but you. I had such hopes for you. You inherited your grandfather’s talents.”

“So you won’t destroy it?” Lloyd asked, feeling the slightest air of relief.

The Count seemed to snap out of his own thoughts, then. “Hm? No, I will. After all… you were wrong.”

Lloyd’s eyes widened as the vase teetered on the edge of the Count’s fingertips. There would be no replacing it. Was this man even aware of the damage he was doing? Why did it have to end up in his hands?

Why?

Why?

The vase fell. He lunged.

When Lloyd regained his composure, he was on his knees on the floor. His hands were covered in blood, but there were no cuts, and when he looked up, Ilanya was offering him a towel. He took it, frowning as his mind struggled to catch up.

“I… What happ —” Lloyd gasped and turned around.

Behind him, hunched forward and clutching his shoulder, was Count Amerith.

Ilanya trotted over to the Count with another towel, bidding him press it to the bleeding wound. Lloyd couldn’t tell how deep it was, but when the Count turned back to him, his face was several shades paler. Based on their current positions, they seemed to have traded places somehow.

“I-I didn’t…” Lloyd brought the towel to his mouth. It came away clean. No blood. “I’m sorry,” he whined, clutching the towel as if it could somehow erase everything. “I didn’t mean… I lost…”

“We will need to work on that temper,” the Count said through his teeth.

“W-we?” Lloyd whimpered, staring at him incredulously. He remembered the vase and looked around, but there was no sign of it anywhere. Not even the shards it should have been in after hitting the floor.

“I expect you will want to keep this incident between us,” said the Count, “considering your pack’s future with Cobalt Company depends on it.”

Lloyd felt a sudden wave of dizziness strike him. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. “You’re blackmailing me.” The words tumbled from numb lips. He stared at his bloodied hands. “Renew our acquaintance… you meant… This was your plan all along!”

He could tell Rhenardt. He should tell Rhenardt. Wait, what was he thinking? No he shouldn’t! He would be kicked from the pack at best! Over a vase? The others wouldn’t understand. Lloyd bit his lip.

“Call it blackmail if you like,” Count Amerith said. “But regardless, your actions would not so easily be forgiven, even in this circumstance.”

The Count’s arm began to quiver on its own. It was more painful than his face made it look. Lloyd’s claws must have struck deep enough to do some damage.

“What… do you want from me?” Lloyd asked, resigned.

“To start, shall we do… monthly visits, to look after my collections? I will pay you, of course.”

Lloyd sat in stunned silence. Count Amerith had antiques from many ancient cultures — he’d had extensive conversations with Lloyd’s grandfather about the care and maintenance of various pieces. Looking after them was something Lloyd wanted to do.

"What happened to the vase?" he asked, mouth dry.

“It is safely in its place. The one you saw was merely a mirror image."

That explained the sense of magic.

"When you come by, we will also work on taming your…” the Count gestured at him with his good arm. “Worgen habits. Imagine what would have happened if a child knocked over one of your displays, or an unappreciative customer decided to goad you.”

“If I might say so, Lord Amerith, if you did all this for my benefit, there were other ways you could have gone about it,” Lloyd said, baffled.

“None so effective, I imagine,” the Count replied. “Do remember, I am blackmailing you. Come again tomorrow, and we will get started. Ilanya, have someone help Mr. Lowynn get cleaned up, then come to my chambers.”

“Sure,” Ilanya said, though she looked hesitant to leave him.

Later, in the Count’s Chambers…

“You do realize,” Ilanya said, holding a warm, wet cloth to Lester’s bare, injured shoulder, “that if you had been even a half a second later on that Blink, he would have shredded you? At least we know the scent bomb seemed to have worked.”

He sat on his bed, shirtless, while she cleaned his wound as well as she could. It was a pair of long, jagged gashes, where two of Lloyd’s claws had snagged him before he blinked forward and away. He was lucky Lloyd hadn’t hit his neck. The healing potion she’d given him had already done as much as it was going to; it had stopped the worst of the bleeding, at least.

“I believe he did, in fact, shred me,” Lester said, his mustache twitching in the mimicry of a smile, even as his eyes glinted with pain. "And you are correct, though I never expected he would sense the magic."

“Shred you worse, I mean,” she said. “Maybe fatally? That would have been hard to explain away. And it’s not like you have any heirs.”

Lester made a noncommittal noise. “Call call for Adrien. Have her bring her sewing kit.”

“Seriously? You should see a healer for this, not…” Ilanya made a face. This man could be so difficult.

“The contract between Mr. Lowynn and myself is a private one,” Lester said. “It will be handled privately.”

“And the House? They’re going to notice if suddenly you can’t use your right arm,” Ilanya protested.

Lester shrugged his good shoulder. “I have a reputation for being eccentric. Should anyone happen to ask, I will simply tell them I had an accident while juggling knives.”

“Might as well have,” Ilanya sighed. “Alright. I’ll get Adrien.”