[h2][center][i] [color=azure]Artemis Fleur[/color][/i][/center][/h2]

[b]Ashkevron Residence in Askavi:[/b]

Artemis could feel the tension in the room increase as another male entered the room. Clearly, he was a stranger to the two Warlord Princes who viscerally took defensive positions upon hearing him speak. She could not help but instinctively move closer to Vaclav as a result of their actions, in case anything was to happen. Artemis could sense as the two Eyriens rose close to a killing edge and while she wanted to caste a calming spell to quell the palpable tension, she refrained. She herself didn’t like it when those she did not know caste spells in her house and she assumed that whomever this Faeril was the same. Also, she did not want to tip the precarious balance in the room by using any magic. 

With the room in such an antagonistic state, Artemis hoped that Fatima would stop cooking to address it since it seemed like the warriors still had a modicum amount of control to wait for a decision from her as to how to proceed. When the Queen finally did turn around, the words she spoke were not at all what Artemis was expecting. Nonetheless, Artemis breathed a sigh of relief as Fatima diffused the situation. 

The woman did have a point. Being a healer herself, Artemis understood how much energy it took to heal others. If Faeril was working herself too hard, then it wouldn’t surprise Artemis that the black widow had feinted. Artemis had had dizzy spells after healing for too long, but Vaclav would always stop her before she could completely pass out from exhaustion. 

When Fatima asked the stranger to lead her to the healer, Artemis got up to follow, avoiding Vaclav’s hand as he went to stop her. She wanted to meet this woman, whom Vaclav briefly spoke about, as well as see if she could be of any help. Upon entering the room, Artemis looked around, intrigued by the healing room before laying her eyes on the unconscious healer. “I can help if you would like…” she said hesitantly to Fatima as she watched the Queen heal. 


[h2][center][i][color=Peru]Vaclav Domonkos [/color][/i][/center][/h2]

[b]Ashkevron Residence in Askavi:[/b]

Vaclav was beginning to relax in his seat until a new person entered the room. He glanced at the stranger’s appearance. He was tall with light skin and blue eyes which made Vaclav wonder where he was from. His first thought was the man could be a Challiot but his pointed ears made Vaclav wonder if he was a Dea al Mon, “children of the woods” as they were called. 

He would have love to continue his analysis, but the newcomer’s words seemed to alarm the two Eyriens enough that they were quickly rising to a killing edge. Anxious, Vaclav slid his hand towards his dagger, anticipating the worst. He sat up a bit straighter, eyes darting back and forth between the three men, especially the one who was covering the exit out of the kitchen. Thankfully, it seemed like the Eyriens were waiting for Fatima before reacting. 

When Fatima turned around to address the situation, Vaclav had to hold in a smile as she scolded the two for overreacting to the news that the Black Widow would be tired after extensively healing people. After being with Artemis for so long, he had witness a few of these feinting spells himself, despite trying to stop his friend from healing before she could reach that point.  

Vaclav then thought back to the first sentence the Queen had uttered: [i]"He is mine and he will speak to me as he likes until I say it is wrong,"[/i] It quite surprised him when Fatima said those words since that was not what he was expecting her to say to diffuse the situation. It confused him even more as to what the relationships in this house were. Lost in thought, Vaclav failed to notice Artemis getting up from where she sat to follow the group. When he did notice the movement out of the corner of his eye, he tried to stop her to no avail. 

Sighing, Vaclav abstained from following her, feeling that his presence might cause another scene. Instead, he stood to pick up the skillet housing the now burnt pancake. Vaclav dumped the pancake into the trash; its smell was making his nose crinkle.