Gerard Segremors

"Of course it's a shard." Gerard breathed, feeling a knot grow somewhere on the side of his temple between the revelation that they were dealing with yet another rogue fragment of the voidblade and Gertrude's indiscretion. "What else would it be, out by Brennan?"

Well, at the very least blowing the lid off of their benefactor's anonymity hadn't resulted in total disaster, so with the Moonlit Queen's recognizance that her sister wasn't likely to be the culprit in this new twist, there was no real reason left to stay quiet about the details— with a Shard of Angoron in play, all the more reason to speed through their ever-growing list of tasks where they could.

He cleared his throat.

"You have the right of it, your highness. As recompense for her aid in helping us gain this audience with you, so we might win back Duke Thedric's sanity, your sister tasked us with winning her a token of your power as part of that same wager. All fairly, all as you have seen here."

Don't press it too much. Already, you've been reprimanded for overstepping. Don't go home with a glowing head because you convince her you're trying to strongarm.

"We've promises that bear keeping, and wouldn't rightly be able to turn a Shard over to her, for fear of how it would despoil the forest." He explained. "Best these matters be settled one at a time, and making liars of nobody."

It seemed a little naive to Gertrude to so easily rule the sister out. After all, envy could take you places you never thought you could go. But perhaps the Moonlit Queen did not understand envy. The facts were that the sister was most likely to know how to subvert the queen's realm, had every motive to steal her stuff, and knew ahead of time that the knights would be present to distract her. Divorced of feelings, she was quite frankly the perfect candidate.

So why wasn't anyone backing her up? Instead, Fionn and Gerard downright admitted that they met with the bint when Gertrude had been certain to gloss over the exact circumstances of her knowledge. What did honesty help?

Gertrude's cheeks puffed out in a petulant pout, and she rose to her feet, looking down at the Moonlit Queen.

What else was there to say? Gertrude's fingers ran across the shaft of her broom, and magically ripped a thin piece of paper from it. She folded it a couple of times, burned some words into it, and handed it to the Moonlit Queen to accept at her leisure. It informed her, in no uncertain terms, that Gertrude was apprentice to a Witch. If that didn't pique her interest, Gertrude didn't know what might. The others could haggle over the shard.

Oh, Goddesses damn it. Another one of these blasted shards of Angoron?! Renar allowed himself an incredulous expression of disbelief beneath the visor of his helm. One was a coincidence. Two was...not necessarily a plot yet, but certainly something was going on behind the scenes.

The Bastard of Brias folded his arms, giving the situation no small amount of consideration. There wasn't a chance in hell that Captain Fanilly would leave the matter alone now that a Shard was a factor, to say nothing of Dame Tyaethe. Fine. They were locked in. Fionn beat him to the conclusion of his thoughts; as expected when dealing with fae. That was fine. Renar had never wanted to take center stage in this sylvan debacle, regardless.

Fortunate they hadn't sworn anything regarding the shard yet, though it seemed only a matter of time, if he was reading the Captain correctly. Regardless, best to wrap everything up here in a neat little bow before moving onward.

"Majesty, my brother knights speak truly." Renar stepped forward in support of Fionn and Gerard. "Our current quest takes priority: we are still oath-bound to return Duke Thedric's wits to him, and are unable to move forward past that till the matter is resolved." Don't swear anything directly to her. Don't make a single actual promise. He knew just enough of fae to abide by such when speaking to them. Shockingly, and depressingly, similar to speaking with barristers, though with more unpredictable results. "It would be deeply appreciated that we are not made liars of before we can give our word for any other endeavors."

Fleuri Jodeau

The Moonlit Queen's answer was not something that Fleuri anticipated, nor was it one that he wanted to hear. Another shard of Angroron stolen, no doubt by the same thief that stole the one at the fort. Just one of these shards was incredibly dangerous- the theft of a second one suggested that somebody was gathering them.

Even with how little he knew of the arcane, Fleuri could recognize that turning an entire garrison of Thaln's soldiers against one another in a murderous frenzy, and now slipping into a fae realm, stealing from the fae ruler's treasury or reliquary, then escaping unnoticed, suggested that the culprit was an incredibly powerful wielder of magic. At the same time, however, his ignorance of magic meant that he would not be able to offer any useful advice on picking up the thief's trail.

"Your majesty," he finally spoke up, "When was the last time you or your servants saw the shard?" They would need to narrow down when the theft took place. If it were pinpointed as happening while the mortals were in the fae realm, they may have far more to worry about.

He wasn't going to be the one to press the Moonlit Queen on her end of the bargain. Others had already done so, and bringing it up too much might anger the already upset Moonlit Queen even further.

"... Hmph. You shouldn't doubt the words of the Moonlit Queen. I've already made my agreement with you, Children of Man," the fae ruler declared with a wave of one black hand, one of her bare feet crunching in the chill-less snow as she stomped irritably, "My little sister will have her prize. You won, fairly."

Indeed, the fae in the transluscent dress faded away moments later, appearing, now, with three small boxes drifting through the air in front of her. Each one opened in turn, revealing an unadorned golden ring, a green glass frog that could sit in the palm of a young child's hand, and a black dagger.

"... Pick whichever two you like," she continued with a huff, "I am far more fair then my little sister and won't ask you to give up your own prize."

She seemed to care little about elaborating on what each item did, but it was unlikely that they were ordinary.

Fanilly took a deep breath. She hadn't expected a prize, but before that---

"And the duke's wits?"

"I'll return those personally," responded the Moonlit Queen, still looking away, though her black eyes glanced towards the paper that Lady Gertrude had offered to her, "If I can't keep his wits, then at least I can make him feel rightfully guilty for how much he's ignored me."

At this point, there was no reason to doubt the Moonlit Queen. She'd been more than fair, and Fanilly suspected she believed that giving them something extra would make them more likely to help when it came to the retrieval of the shard of Angroron.

Who could possibly have penetrated a Fae realm and stolen something from a Fae Queen's treasury?

The Knight-Captain took a deep breath. Whoever was collecting shards of the Hole in the World couldn't possibly have good intentions. While she had no idea how many shards of the blade could possibly be within Thaln's borders, there was no question that they had to do everything in their power in order to retrieve them.

"In that case---"

---

It was a grey, overcast day. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, and though Reon's warmth would still be felt, her light was dampened by the potential for a rainstorm.

Still, the rain too was a blessing, though one more associated with Mayon then her lover.

The duke's wits had been returned to him, as promised. They had been able to retrieve a prize for the Moonlit Queen's sister and return with a prize of their own. In all respects, the mission had been an overwhelming success.

And yet Fanilly could not take solace in that outcome.

The Moonlit Queen, seeking the return of something stolen from her, had been happy to offer whatever information she could. There had been an intruder, apparently, one she had initially sought to destroy, but who had stopped her, and told her of the Duke's neglect. It had been something she already felt, so when the figure suggested she do something about it, and offered their assistance in the matter, she'd felt no reason to refuse.

It was after she departed from her Fae realm to steal Duke Thedric's wits that the shard must have been stolen.

But all of that information was, while concerning, far from the worst of it.

The figure had mostly obscured their form in dark cloth. But one trait was fully visible, clearly. One identifying item.

A blank white mask that bore the image of an eye. Just the same as the image that had appeared from the mind of the dying, cursed Golden Boar commander.

There was no doubt in Fanilly's mind that such things had to be connected.

She couldn't rest. She couldn't relax. Despite their success, she had to do something. It was her duty to do something.

It was for this reason that she found herself in the library, mere days after the events of their mission to restore Duke Thedric's wits, in hopes of searching out any little scrap of information that she could on the potential whereabouts of the shard of Angroron.

Of course, surely the Knight-Captain was not the only one preoccupied with important matters. There was the matter of the prize that had been granted by the Moonlit Queen for one.

Lady Gertrude had received a black branch from the Moonlit Queen as well, after the reveal of her nature as a Witch to the fae monarch, without much further explanation. Lord Arken had given her a message requesting a meeting as well.

The knights had potentially gained another long-term guest.

And there was word of the approach of special event hosted by the crown.

For Gertrude's honesty in regards to her status as apprentice to a Witch, which she'd surmised would catch the Moonlit Queen's interest but still agonized over speaking for the repercussions it might have, she had received... a stick. The Moonlit Queen was not forthcoming in telling her what it meant, and while Gertrude wasn't so dull as to think it could be an ordinary stick, it wasn't exactly a covenant. Or was it? She would have to look into it.

She supposed it was never going to be as easy as a simple question and response.

After casting her vote for keeping the cute frog, and not much caring what was given to the Queen's sister, Gertrude spent the rest of her time in the domain examining the stick. She had heard about the masked figure in question, but only second hand from the rest of the knights. Still, the shards of Angroron posed something of an existentially horrifying threat, even to her. Anyone collecting them was most likely up to some wicked bullshite, but had to be smart and well-connected enough to know of and locate them.

And, perplexingly enough, they had to know of the Duke's history with the Moonlit Queen in order to take advantage of it. Something even the knights hadn't been able to find out from the man's closest confidants. It was a strange intersection of knowledge, to say the least.

---

Once Gertrude returned, she had decided to go back to napping around Candaeln until something bothered her. Gretchen was in the library, doing research in regards to what the stick she had been gifted might be. Gretchen had become somewhat comfortable there, having practically made the place her residence while Gertrude was away. Without her other half's influence, she'd actually become somewhat cordial with the rest of the staff.

Though Gertrude had gotten the message that Arken wanted to speak with her, she didn't want to meet with him at the moment. The man wasn't stupid. He'd probably been able to pick out some weirdness in her magic, and now that he was at Candaeln and knew of Gretchen, his suspicions were probably complete. It wasn't a conversation she particularly wanted to have, but it was probably more dangerous for her to leave it unaddressed. Still...

Was it too much to ask to be left alone?

Gertrude and Merilia

Evening faded into twilight, twilight started to fade into a pleasantly still night – and then, from a higher tree branch than Gertrude's current resting spot where nothing had any business being without climbing up past her first, there was a question: "Have you still not been assigned a room, or do you just find this tree comfortable? It does look tampered with…"

Gertrude sat up quickly, a small branch whipping her face as she gazed upwards. No one should have been there, but Gertrude recognized the voice. It was someone who, by all rights, should have no problem surprising her.

So in a sense, it was no surprise at all. Still, what did the old hag need from her? Gertrude imagined that geas did all the talking required between them.

“They got me a bleeding room, I just like to nap here,” Gertrude grumbled, “but what do you care about my sleeping arrangements? Surely that’s not what you came here to talk about, though I can’t imagine what you might have to say to me.”

"Can't I just want to pay my favourite apprentice a visit?" Merilia wondered, toying with a strand of hair, "If nobody had arranged for a room, I would have to make sure that the Roses still knew how to treat guests. But since they have… how would you like it if I fetch all your things from Lexie? I would just swap the rooms, but that might make her mad. And the windows are such a pain~"

Gertrude frowned and crossed her arms for a few moments, just watching Merilia. Her angle. Her game. Gertrude didn’t know what it was, but…

“I was more Aleksiya’s apprentice than yours, and I’m… perfectly sodding happy with my room unadorned,” she lied.

She was being cautious. She didn’t want to owe the Witch anything. If Merilia was anything like Aleksiya, Gertrude was just a piece of entertainment picked up on a whim. That’s what it amounted to, right?

Besides, if she saw all her old stuff… she didn’t know how she’d feel. Nostalgic? Angry? Sad?

Was happiness one of those possibilities?

It could hurt to find out.

"Hmm…" the older witch gave a slight frown and then was gone – or so it seemed for a moment, the branch beneath Gertrude adjusting to the new weight on her other side, the short woman leaning into her. "You don't sound happy about it. Resigned, a little?"

"If you truly don't want anything old, then…" It was just a sleight of hand, an elaborately-patterned playing card weaving through her fingers, adorned with some sort of bird, but it was hard to tell. She had always been good at this sort of thing, blurring the line between trickery and her actual magic.

Gertrude’s cheeks colored slightly as Merilia leaned into her. There was a time in her life when she would have smiled and wrapped an arm around the woman without even thinking about it, but the uncertainties crept up and froze her, her arm hovering trepidatiously behind Merilia’s back.

“...I just wish things were less complicated,” she mumbled, “I want my shite, but I also don’t want my shite and it’s bleeding infuriating.”

Gertrude sighed as she watched Merilia twirl a playing card between her fingers.

“Sometimes hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t, I suppose.”

Did either Witch ever really care about her? Was she crazy? Why did Aleksiya ask her to do that awful thing? Was it just entertainment? Did she think it would help? What was Gertrude supposed to think?

It was all too sodding confusing, so she’d done the only thing she could have at the time and left, only for Merilia to pick her back up again. For a job? Because she was worried?

"How about I move it in and if you don't want it after, just ask and I can move it back?" the black-haired woman suggested, playing card stopping between her fingers and smoothly being slid back into the deck that definitely hadn't been in her other hand until now, which in turn was encased in an elaborate wooden box. A box that promptly vanished from sight.

It was easy to ignore the sudden added weight in a pocket, or the way the witch surreptitiously straightened into the hovering arm.

"But for that, I do need to know which room it is. I don't want to start snooping around when everyone's sleeping."

“I… I suppose that works,” Gertrude grumbled, shooting a glare at Merilia, “but you’d better come when I call for you, or I’ll be bleeding livid like you’ve never seen.”

Gertrude went to reach for her broom, before noticing that her arm had made its way around the Witch regardless. Well, as long as it was there…

Gertrude slid her hand up the woman’s shoulder, and went to pat her head. The last time she did this, Merilia seemed to be unhappy with her. It might have been because she was angry and went far rougher than she otherwise might have, but this one would be gentle.

“...I’ll show you where I’m sleeping. Blighters have no idea how to treat a lady, so it’s just the bare essentials.”

"Well, they do tend to accommodate a lot of meatheads and career soldiers," the witch pointed out, smirking at something but not objecting to the patting, "You could always pester Yaya if the furnishings aren't up to snuff; she was always one of the keenest to get the nice things. Her time in training really didn't blunt her upbringing."

"Speaking of…" the witch stiffened minutely, fingers dipping inside the sleeves of her foreign garments, "I suppose you're wondering why the geasa? On everyone else, as well as yourself?"

“Yaya,” Gertrude repeated, smirking, “didn’t know she was such a spoiled little princess.”

She remembered this being Merilia’s nickname for Tyaethe, and would have to remember to address the vampire as such moving forward. Any new avenue by which to tease Tyaethe was a welcome one.

Then, her smirk faded as Merilia brought up the geas.

“...Do you really not trust me? I’m sure it’s important, but you know I wouldn’t… at least you should, right? What was I supposed to think? Guess that should teach me a lesson for thinking you actually cared about me.”

Gertrude could feel the anger start to boil back up again. She’d felt betrayed. She didn’t care a whit if Merilia trusted the rest of the Knights or not, but Gertrude should have been exempt at least!

"It wasn't because I don't trust you, or even some of the knights," Merilia shook her head, eyes flicking up to meet the maid-dressed witch apprentice, "This was to make sure that nobody can slip up. Even if someone is drunk, angry, and boastful, they can't let the secret out. More secure and less for anyone to worry about than without the binding.

"If this information gets out, then it would find its way to Tyaethe sooner or later. And I still know her well enough to tell that she would immediately hunt me down, for one reason or another. If that happens…" the witch trailed off, disappearing again and reappearing seated in the air ahead, still under the canopy of the tree – just. The wooden board floating in front of her was an odd touch.

"Did Lexie ever teach you anything about divination?"

Gertrude was still angry. Merilia explained her reasoning well enough, but it didn’t make her feel less betrayed. Less controlled. Less like a thing rather than a person. Gertrude growled.

“No, I never had much patience for it. I don’t much like the idea of some thing telling me what I can and can’t do. Fate can piss right off,” Gertrude said, laying down on her side as she watched Merilia, “but I suppose you’re going to make a point. Bloody well hope it’s a good one.”

"There's no such thing as Fate, but there is probability," the witch continued, spreading her fingers to show off a rather impressive number of flat stone discs between them, inscribed with softy glowing runes, "If Yaya stays put…"

Well, that was… a pattern, on the board. Some of the runes active, some of them not. It didn't, without explanation, mean much, especially after she shoved it aside and repeated the procedure. "If she doesn't…"

Once pushed together, the picture was… broadly similar. The colours were a little different, the patterns shifted slightly. What had been a cool blue in places was an orange, or one tight bundle had scattered a little. "It's hard to read, so I'll just point out the more… concerning changes."

She pointed at one diminished-looking heap. "Aimlenn. The city is probably getting through everything that happens in either case, but things are shakier in general. She has some role coming up and it gets surprisingly bad if it isn't – but she is quite experienced, so now the Iron Roses are involved, is it surprising?"

"And this stone marks you," She tapped one where the rune was a funny-looking squiggle. Yellow, not blue, on the second one, "Unless I forced you out of the country entirely, it generally seems like you'd find some way to be involved before the end. So, I put you into the knights… but once Yaya goes, it seems like you're in line for… something. I doubt it's the lack of her sword skills that matter."

She leant back, finger on her lips, "Unless you want to fight a dragon. That might explain it too; broad questions like 'how much danger are these things in because of current events' are hard to narrow down."

Gertrude’s eyes glazed over a little as Merilia arranged some stones on a board. Despite her protests about not wanting to be told what she’s supposed to do, she got a little more excited when Merilia pointed her piece out, before frowning again. Well, if anything, it meant the Witch was thinking about her.

“So… you have a broad picture of at least a couple of different outcomes, and you’re trying to make the more favorable one come up.”

Well, seeing herself as a little glowing rock didn’t make her feel any less like an object, but at least the Witch was being honest. Or so it seemed.

“The better outcome doesn’t happen if Yaya is away, so she can’t learn about you-know-what because she’ll run off like the thick-headed boar she is.”

Gertrude sighed, and sat back up.

“And I was going to be part of it either way, so you stuck me… what, where I’d be safest? Where I’d be most useful? Am I supposed to be a tool? I don’t know what you want.”

"I want you to be safe, but if I made sure… it would be no better than sticking you in a cage. If I put you here… well, it's better than running around alone, the food is good… maybe you'll even make a few friends. Or better, fufufu~"

As was annoying habit, the witch once again disappeared, reappearing… oh, that was a hug, the small woman draped over her from behind, voice a whisper in Gertrude's ear, "I should have explained first, but… I am sorry.

"My little sister's going to be so mad at me again. 'Being an ancient witch doesn't mean you know better than everyone else'."

Gertrude grumbled. Making all these decisions for her, keeping secrets, sneaking around… she didn’t like it, but if it really was because Merilia cared for her, then what was she to do? It almost made her more angry that there was a good reason. A reason predicated on affection for her. That fact made her anger less justified, which pissed her off.

Still, without even really thinking about it, she placed her hand on top of Merilia’s and interlocked her fingers with the Witch’s. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“What, you think I can make friends? And what’s this shite about something ‘better’? Have you seen this wurstfest? The only women of note are Yaya and Fanny, and I’m still sore at the former. The latter is married to her sodding job, and it can’t be healthy. She really should take a break.”

She turned her head to look at Merilia behind her.

“If you’re talking about Aleksiya, she’s right, though I’m still seriously pissed at her. I think when you’re that long-lived, you must end up missing a lot of the smaller things for the big picture. I suppose feelings sometimes go by the wayside, which would explain why you’re both so terrible at communicating,” said Gertrude, who was perhaps even worse at communicating.

The witch let out a surprisingly honest laugh, "No, no, not Lexie. My birth sister, she's much more… level-headed than any of us."

She loosened the hug slightly, humming. "Well, there are other options than the knights. Candaeln has more than enough staff, girls in the city might be interested in anyone from up here…"

“Hmph… I thought it didn’t sound like Aleksiya. Well, it’s nice to know that some immortal still has her head.”

Gertrude smirked, and shrugged.

“Anyways, those are the only two that really talk to me, and I don’t have much interest in those too cowardly to approach me,” Gertrude concluded, hiding how woefully inexperienced she was at initiating any sort of romantic dialogue with people who aren’t essentially forced to talk to her.

“Oh… maybe Fanny would relax a bit if a woman as amazing as I was asked her on a date.”

She’d just need to pick which insult to open with…

“Oh, sod it. That can wait. Did you want to see my room?”

"That would help, certainly~"

---

Rolan had kept his silence and focused on learning what he could from what was shared and spoken about, barring one thing in regards to when they were offered trinkets, two of three, to take with them. One for the sister, one for themselves. A ring, rather plain and unassuming at first glance but first glances were never wise to take as truth when dealing with the Fae. Or much else for that matter, but that was neither here nor there at the moment. The second was a glass frog, green, small enough to look big in a child's hand. Cute, but he had to admit to himself that he saw the least potential in that, either as payment to the sister or as the order's prize. Last was the black dagger, which caught his eye immediately, though he did not speak out of turn. It was not his place to decide what was taken, though he did lean over to quietly offer his opinion after Gertrude cast a vote. The Captain had final say regardless of the vote, the most any of them could do was offer advice and work from there.

"My recommendation is the dagger for ourselves and the ring as tribute, given the danger's we are facing a possible weapon beyond normal means could prove useful once puzzled out."

With that Rolan returned to his position in the group, still as on edge as he had been the moment they set foot in the Queen's domain proper. He was spending more time than he cared to admit beyond the world he knew, in more ways than one as of late, and would be quite pleased to be back where he knew the rules and how they worked without needing to guess at the intentions of beings that commanded them fully. Gertrude got herself a stick for all her troubles, blackened and no doubt something of either grand importance, or a complete ruse to leave her chasing her own metaphorical tail over what it could possibly be or mean. Anything was possible there, given the Moonlit Queen had stolen the Duke's wits due to feeling neglected, as if she had monopoly over the man's attention. The more they learned, the more they could look into once back to Candaeln, and Rolan had a great deal of work to get caught up on. Alchemical, martial, and research as well given these shards were becoming quite the problem. No, not the shards, someone bent on collecting them as if there was some grand prize awaiting them at the end.

---

Rolan was not in high spirits.

The more he had been able to gather and learn while still in the Duke's holdings, both from the Moonlit Queen and beyond, indicated a single individual of power and knowledge, or a group playing at being only one it was hard to say. Cloaked, with a striking white mask with a single stylized eye that apparently matched the description of something pulled from a dying Golden Boar. While he had not been present with the Captain or her retinue for that, he had been briefed on it before being cast into the not quite dreamscape of a world for training. An individual with the skill and knowledge to maneuver the Moonlit Queen into storming off, leaving her vast riches exposed and vulnerable, only to take one singular thing and vanish. Played the Fae effortlessly, using information not even the Duke's own were privy to, from what he had been able to gather. All to gather more of the Shards, gathering even a few of those pieces in one place would not bode well for anyone involved.

Upon returning to Candaeln, Rolan had thrown himself utterly into his studies and training with an intense zeal, not even giving himself the luxury of a day's rest. There was too much to do, too much to catch up on, and too much to puzzle out to rest on his laurels for a 'job well done' as he might have a few years ago. He had to restock his alchemical mixtures, start on his latest recipes so they would be ready for the next pitched fight, and research this cloaked figure. More specifically, the white mask and singular eye, that was specific, something he could latch onto. He would spend every moment between lunch and well into the night in the library, pouring over a mixture of alchemical treatises to refine his recipes, expand what he knew how to make, and dig deeper into what he could learn so he could properly begin twisting and altering recipes to suit him.

One such experiment was coming to fruition in his quarters, a half dozen vials of fluid that had the coloration and consistency of quicksilver, brews intended to amplify the reflexes and speed of anyone who consumed them. Rolan was acutely aware that he would eventually hit the limits of what he could train and condition, so he would turn to alchemy to give him the edge he would need. He was starting with what he knew and was already confident in, his speed and reflexes, to push them even further past what he might be able to muster naturally. The side effects would require trials to discover, but the only way to do that was through use, and he would not, could not, ask anyone else to do that in his stead. Once ready, in another day or two, he would take them to the training yard to begin testing the limits of what the potions could do, and what his body could withstand should they have unforeseen side effects.

In the interim, waiting for the potions to be ready for consumption and testing, Rolan was digging through anything in the library related to the Shards. Not to locate the next one, like the Captain was, but rather looking for references, signs of, or indications of this figure, this white mask and stylized eye. It was easy to miss if you weren't looking for it, he had been musing on the ride back to Candaeln, so if he could begin puzzling out if this masked figure was an individual or, more concerningly, an organization, he could put a name to the face. Once he had a name, he could begin hunting down leads, tracking the individual or group, anything. They wouldn't need to know where the next shard was if they could stop this at the source, and he trusted the Captain to know how to read through a text and put two and two together. If she needed any help she would ask, otherwise he would be intently focused on his own studies, research, and redoubled training regiments each morning.

Final adjustments. One last fitting, and the armor of the knight of the Midnight Hunt would be his to wear. It had taken days for Candaeln’s resident smith to go over the armor to his liking and determine that it wouldn’t have any ill effects should it be donned. Then came the reforging and refitting. And all that was left were a few loose straps.

Or at least, there would have been, if Renar didn’t enter the smithy and see someone ahead of him in line already. A frown came across his face as he beheld who it was. Of course. It seemed the esteemed Sir Fleuri just couldn’t help but keep getting in his way. How typical.

”Ought I return after midday meal, then?” Renar forced civility into his tone, leaning against the doorway. ”I was led to believe the queue was relatively free.”
“I thought so too, but it looks like he’s not ready for me either,” Fleuri replied as he turned to Renar. “You could probably come back later, but I can’t guarantee that some other knight won’t show up and take your spot in the queue.”
Fleuri typically sought to avoid Renar around Candaeln, as the other Iron Rose had made clear his dislike for Fleuri. They had to work together, so it was best to just not risk making things worse, he had reasoned.
”Blasted dwarf.” Renar grumbled, electing to stay where he was with a huff. ”He’d insisted on alterations to the armor once he’d gotten his hands upon it as well. I suspect he just wanted the chance to work with fey iron, for whatever value that has.”

His gaze shifted back towards Fleuri, questioning.

”And what brings you here, then? I’d not seen you take excessive injury during the fracas with the Midnight Hunt, so that rules out necessity. Vanity, then? As I am?” A humorless smile crossed the bastard’s face. ”And here I thought you’d ‘reformed’ to be a man of faith.” Renar goaded, suddenly discovering newfound entertainment value in this conversation.
“This matter of mine goes back further than our run-in with the Midnight Hunt,” Fleuri answered earnestly. “After the mission to Fort Daelantine, I had a feeling that we’d be facing increasingly higher stakes and deadlier foes in the coming days. So, some time before that unexpected business with Merilia, I spoke to Ardor about crafting me some new equipment, something that’d be a step up from the weaponry and armor that I scraped together with my tournament winnings. To my knowledge, he should be nearly finished with it.” He was unsure whether Renar’s aim was just to goad him or if he sought an honest answer.
”You speak as though the purse for winning a tourney isn’t substantial. Unless you frittered most of it away in your earlier years.” Renar needled, that old jealousy of his always managing to make it to the fore whenever he spoke to Fleuri. Not that he tried to suppress it much.

”Regardless, I was doing much the same. That knight of the Midnight Hunt I faced cost me my favorite trophy. It was only fair that I take everything he left behind in turn.” He shifted, still wearing the cloak he’d ripped from said trapper’s body. The flame effect had largely died down after a few days, though sparks and embers still rippled on occasion.

”Ardor hadn’t been pleased until he’d determined the armor was safe to don, though his tone shifted considerably once he did. About time, really. I tire of ill-fitting plate. An Iron Rose’s stipend still isn’t enough for a bespoke set of armor, though I find the spoils of war suit me better.”

“Claiming trophies from the Midnight Hunt. It seems wild that we have reached that point," Fleuri remarked, continuing to ignore Renar’s jabs. Just a few months ago he would never imagine that they’d be where they were today, honed with the aid of a Witch and victorious over the Midnight Hunt.

”Perhaps it does.” Renar allowed himself to agree with Fleuri for once with a shrug. ”I would have called such idle fantasies of the deluded not half a year ago.” He was strong before, to be certain. Everyone in the Iron Rose had to be, to even be recruited. But now? The captain’s personal retinue seemed on the path to becoming legend in their own right. A shame he had to share it with such personalities as Fleuri.

”You were a tourney champion before, o Flower.” Renar gave a mocking bow. ”Imagine how much less strenuous the task would be now, after all this training and experience we’ve been granted. Ah, but you’ve sworn off such things, I’d forgotten~” Of course he hadn’t forgotten.

"Not...entirely," Fleuri admitted. "Haizea, head of the Reonite Church, has a habit of jumping into tournaments when the opportunity presents itself, and I reckon she would have some stern words for me if I were to suggest that complete abstinence from tourneys is the Reonite way. Nothing wrong with an Iron Rose taking part in festivities as long as it doesn't interfere with their duties, but such an opportunity has not yet arisen since I joined."

In theory, Fleuri could probably request leave to travel to and from a tournament, but with how things were escalating with the thefts of the Shards of Angroron, it wouldn't feel right to potentially not be on call the next time the Roses were needed.

"What about you, Sir Renar?" he asked. "If we're in Candaeln the next time there's a tournament in Aimlenn, would you be participating, as unexciting as it might be compared to battling the Midnight Hunt?"
”You do recall my entire spiel I had regarding such privileges when last we spoke in any great detail?” Renar fixed Fleuri with the sort of incredulous look one gave to a particularly dimwitted child that had just asked the most obvious of questions.

”Of course I will be, so long as the tourney warrants the time. The only reason I’ve not done so thus far is thanks to how middling the opportunities have been when we’ve not been on deployment. What, were you intending on doing the same?”

Fleuri raised an eyebrow at Renar's frustrated response- he had wondered since their last conversation if Renar hated what tournaments represented- opportunities for prestige and upward mobility restricted to those already of high social class- enough to forgo taking part in them, or if he truly wished to compete.

"Certainly, it wouldn't be very Reonite of me to not follow in the example of her representative, would it?" he joked. "In all seriousness though, there are old associates and rivals I haven't seen in a while, and I'd like to face off against them again, find out just how far I've come since joining the Roses. I wonder how much stronger they've gotten since I last saw them. What about you, Sir Renar? Any rivals you're looking to face off against while all of Aimlenn is watching? With the way you pretended to play nice with me to goad Felix into a duel at the ball, I'm guessing you're not finished with your half-brothers."

There was no reason not to inform him.

”You.” Renar said simply, maintaining the exact same tone implying that Fleuri was an utter simpleton.

”My half-brothers would be a feather in my cap, to be certain. Though Felix is worthless, as you and half of Thaln’s collective aristocracy have seen now. But the Flower of the North?” Renar gave a crooked smirk.

”I daresay defeating you would be more than enough to catapult my name into the higher echelons of power. So do keep yourself in good condition, yes? I want nothing to mar our inevitable duel whenever we should have another tourney.”

Renar's answer made Fleuri realize just how differently they viewed the tournaments. With all the time he had spent near or at the top, his tournament aspirations fulfilled or cast aside, Fleuri had come to focus more on the personal side of rivalries. Sometimes even winning the tournament would sometimes be secondary to the goal of obtaining a rematch against a specific foe. For an up-and-comer like Renar, however, ambitions of championship yet unfulfilled, his eyes would be firmly on the prize- the prize in this case being the reputational boon of defeating a past tournament champion. Whether or not Renar’s dislike for Fleuri further fueled this aspiration, he couldn't say.

"I'll do my best, but when the day comes I hope they put us on the furthest brackets apart," Fleuri replied. "I've got a few rematches to fight, a tiebreaker or two to resolve, before I'll be ready to be eliminated."

”Tch.” Renar refrained from expressing any more disdain past that, his eyes narrowing. ”Do as you wish before that. Then face me with all you have, nothing held in reserve. I will match you, surpass you, and throw my victory into the face of all who ever denied me my due.”

A call from inside the forge. Renar raised an eyebrow.

”But enough of that. Seems it’s to be your turn with Ardor. Go, get on with it.”

Midday meal. After morning training, Renar found himself without his usual luncheon companions, busy as they were with other matters. So instead, he chose a seat in the great hall at random. And by random, he meant the first target he could see that could be needled for entertainment.

”I see you’re still with our company, Lady Gertrude.” Renar deliberately took a seat next to the little witchling, piling his plate with today’s roast and vegetables.

”And here I was under the impression you wished to rid yourself of your obligation to us as soon as possible. Or did the mess cooks win you over?” Of course he knew that Gertrude’s situation wasn’t quite so simplistic. But he wouldn’t get any lunch entertainment from the truth, now would he?

Over the past few days, Gertrude had busied herself with sleeping and eating while Gretchen continued gaining mastery of the Candaeln library. This roughly evened out work and relaxation while she benefitted from doing both full-time. Gertrude, currently occupied with the ‘eating’ portion of her lazing, had heaped mounds of meat and sweets upon her plate. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like the dinner of the most spoiled child alive. She was about to dig in when Renar sat down next to her, and her eager expression immediately soured.

How does one eat when sat next to a person-shaped pile of stinking refuse?

“Ah, the scoundrel,” Gertrude sneered, “to what do I owe the displeasure? Are you really so concerned about my state of affairs?”

She pushed her plate away for the moment, and looked the man in the eyes.

“I’m here until I get what I need. You, of all people, should understand. Only you’d likely use too many bloody words to say as much.”

”Using an excess of words tends to weed out the simpletons. Which surely wouldn’t be a problem for yourself, I assume.” Renar said while buttering up a roll, one eye raised at Gertrude’s choice of luncheon.

”But of course I understand. Whether or not I care is a different matter.” He paused to carve up a slice of roast lamb, savoring the herbed meat before continuing on. ”Assume that I’ll humor your being here of your own volition rather than Merilia’s whim.” He clearly wasn’t. ”What is it that you’re looking for among knights rather than wizards? Aside from Dame Tyaethe’s hand in matrimony. I daresay half the order has seen how you leer at her.”

Gertrude scowled. The scoundrel was asking questions and making assertions, but wasn’t offering a single thing of his own. She supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything less from a dastard like him. He was obviously trying to get under her skin, but he seemed to be a natural because Gertrude already kind of wanted to smack him.

“I’ll share if you share,” she concluded finally, forcing the usual smug smile upon her lips, “what about you? Are you here for the honor? To help those who can’t help themselves? To uphold the justice of the Goddesses above?”

She decided to simply leave his assertions about her attraction to Tyaethe in the air for the moment. Likely a distraction from the meat of the conversation, or an irritant. Bait.

Not that Renar wouldn’t take her silence on the subject to mean whatever he wanted, anyway.

“My guess is titles and prestige, though that’s a thoroughly boring answer. Still, if the shoe fits.”

There came a point where it was just too easy. Not that it would necessarily stop him from (successfully) irritating Gertrude, but something of a challenge would have been appreciated.

…Oh, who was he kidding? Half the fun was how poorly she reacted to literally everything. Still, he saw no reason not to indulge her on this. It wasn’t as if his motivations were anything resembling a secret.

”Well, you’re half correct.” He allowed, pouring himself a goblet of wine. Was he just putting space between his sentences to annoy Gertrude further? Probably. ”The other half is rubbing my success thoroughly into those who impeded or doubted me. Because what’s life without enjoying a bit of schadenfreude?”

”Honestly, if someone resembling me ever states that I’m in this for a reason besides myself, kill them. Or better yet, question them as to why someone’s impersonating myself first, then execute the wretch.”

Gertrude tapped her fingers on the table as Renar took his sweet time answering. She wasn’t exactly champing at the bit for his story, but a little sodding respect for her time would have been appreciated.

The forced smile Gertrude emanated, in the middle of Renar’s telling, became genuine as Gretchen wrote ‘Renar is a horse’s arse’ in the margins of a history book in the library. A small pleasure of being able to be in two places at once.

Then, when he was done, Gertrude snorted.

“Schadenfreude? Bit petty for a knight, though you’re hardly a storybook example,” Gertrude sneered, “I don’t know who’d ever want to impersonate a bastard like you, but I’m certain I’d relish the chance to kill them. Don’t suppose I could get that in writing?”

On one hand, Gertrude was pretty sure Renar got a kick out of her insults. On the other, it did feel good to let the venom out. She’d been having too many pleasant interactions lately.

“But… a deal’s a deal. I suppose you could tally my own reasons up to schadenfreude. To teaching a lesson to someone who wronged me. My own employment will likely be a longer commitment, but over the years, I’m certain the Roses will grow more and more accommodating.”

Finally, someone who was willing to play along with some of his worse impulses. Gerard took such things too much in stride, and Fionn enjoyed his lectures. At least this one could play the game when it came to venom and spite.

”Well, I certainly can’t fault that.” Renar shrugged, entirely truthful for once. He’d be a hypocrite if he opposed such a motivation, after all. Just for that, he supposed he’d give her something more concrete. ”I doubt you’d had any reason to look into my lineage, but I’m not merely a metaphorical bastard. It’s all very literal.” A wry smirk.

”I’m told that my honored lord father’s face when he was told that his by-blow that he gave virtually no care to or for became the most prestigious knight of all his sons was something to behold. Would that I could have been there to revel in it. Really, who else would I have been referring to about schadenfreude?”

“You’re right,” Gertrude said, smirking, “I didn’t know a thing about your lineage, every other subject in the library is far more interesting.”

Gertrude, finding her appetite return somewhat, popped a tart into her mouth. She did not eat as if she had learned one whit about manners or etiquette.

“Not that you could even find me in a bloody book. Yet.”

Gertrude sighed. She hated that she was finding common ground with this snake. She was willing to bet that if hating your dad was a game, she’d have everyone else in Candaeln beat. Still, his commitment was admirable.

“Anyways, what’s the point if you can’t see the wretched bastard’s face? Next time you have something to humiliate him with, you need to deliver the news yourself,” Gertrude explained as if she would be the one doing it, “drink the codger’s horror like a fine wine.”

”Now you’re speaking my language. Certainly more preferable to the seething threats and self-aggrandizement.” Renar chortled, taking a bite of his lamb. Exquisite. His compliments to the chef, once more. Though something about Gertrude’s words had him thinking.

”I take it this person who wronged you has longer than a mortal human’s lifespan? Considering how long-lived Witches are and how long you state the time of your indenture ought to be, am I to presume your target to be a fellow of yours?”

It wasn’t as if Gertrude couldn’t see how Renar got from Point A to Point B. Had it been her, she’d probably have made the same connections, though she didn’t know that she’d have ferreted the pertinent information out quite so quickly. Her cheeks became slightly red, and her expression emulated that of a child who had gotten caught sneaking sweets before supper.

She knew that her emotions tended to betray her, and that she was as bad a liar as a secret-keeper. She spoke bluntly and candidly, and didn’t think too much about what she left in between the lines.

Obviously, Renar did.

“Well! My self-aggrandizement is entirely warranted, I assure you,” she coughed, “anyways… if it were anything less than a Witch, I wouldn’t need help, would I? Don’t go spreading it around, though, or I’ll give your father something to bloody celebrate.”

She crossed her arms and looked away.

“...But you can see why such an endeavor is a long-term project.”

How troublesome. Renar resisted the urge to make a face, instead schooling his expression while taking a sip from his goblet of wine. With any luck, this wouldn’t be an issue during the…oh, thirty-some years he had as an active knight, at best. Though with how things were going over the course of the last few months, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was forced to be involved at some point.

”I’ve no reason to gossip about your situation.” Renar shrugged. Well, not yet, anyway. He tucked away the little note of Gertrude’s embarrassment over the situation in the back of his mind, labeled under Blackmail Material. Nothing major for something like this, of course. Perhaps if he simply wanted to annoy her at some point in the future…

”In any case, I genuinely wish you good fortune with your endeavours. Far be it for me to gainsay a revenge plot in the making. Make it worth the Rose’s time to aid you, and I may even be ordered to lend my blade when the time comes. Assuming that I’m both still a member and not decrepit by then, of course.”

Gertrude could already tell that Renar was definitely going to hold this over her head at some point. It was the nature of a scoundrel, after all. She doubted, however, that it would go un-telegraphed given the man’s penchant for schadenfreude. In a way, it was a small relief.

“Oh? I don’t suppose you’re looking forward to lending your blade to my revenge, are you?” Gertrude chided, “well, I doubt it will happen any time soon. Mobilizing the entire order against a being of nigh-unmatched power based on a personal vendetta? I’m not bloody delusional. I’ll need to be a fixture of at least Tyaethe’s level before I have that sort of influence. Well, unless she becomes an issue for the order.”

Even just saying that, Gertrude felt some small ache in her chest. She pushed it away.

“Well. Until then, I’m at the disposal of the Iron Roses. I suppose I wouldn’t hate having my talents misused in order to help piss off someone’s shite father, though.”

While the thought of meeting her own father again still made her sick, Gertrude considered that perhaps messing with someone else’s father would offer some catharsis. She’d probably never find a fondness for Renar, but revenge? That was something she could cosign.

”I only look forward to anything I can extract personal gain from. So, no.” Renar shot back.

”This said, should someone in question help a certain personage enrage a given ‘shite father’ before his inevitable, unnatural demise, he may feel somewhat obligated to offer recompense. Provided, of course, that he’s still of able mind and body by that time. So do try not to take too long, lest you want to work on entrapping multiple people within the order to your aid once more. Imagine having to go through all of this again within…oh, I’ll give it fifty years. Not before this current generation retires or perishes, of course.” His grin meant little in the way of compliments.

”But before you could convince anyone else to aid you.”

Gertrude grinned at Renar’s jabs. In this moment, they were playing very different games. Or perhaps it was the same game, only they were on the same side. It wasn’t impossible, after all. It had happened with their Rozenalt conspiracy, so why shouldn’t their interests and sensibilities align again?

The fact that they did align made Gertrude feel a little gross, but she was still pleased with how Rozenalt turned out. Pleased enough to join in another endeavor.

“Say less. This… I do happily. Merely give me a part when you have one to spare, and I shall act it out.”

Gertrude likely would have done this for free, but she figured she might as well accept some favor from one of the more lauded knights as recompense. She didn’t like the scoundrel, but he had connections, and he wasn’t wrong that he could make Gertrude’s future easier.

“This vengeance belongs to you, after all. If a plan of yours requires magical assistance, my expertise is yours to borrow. I may not like you, but we may be able to help each other.”

”Oh, worry not. Hardly anyone likes you, so we’re in similar straits here.” A chuckle. And so midday meal went on.

You would think finding someone in a place you’ve lived two hundred years is easy, Tyaethe thought, wandering up and down Candaeln to try and find someone she normally had no cause to start a conversation with. Not, for once, carrying a sword, but actually a heavy-looking book. With the glasses, adult figure, and dress, the vampire looked less the paladin and more a bookish noble.

Eventually, eventually, she found her way onto one of the rooftops – one still opening onto ramparts.

“You know, I almost forgot that this roof wasn’t converted into an attic like most of the others. I guess it has the best view over the city,” Tyaethe said, looking out over Aimlenn and as it sloped down towards the riverside, “I was beginning to think you weren’t here after all, but everyone said you hadn’t left Candaeln today.”

Oh, wonderful. And here he’d been hoping for some quiet time to himself. Renar bit back his annoyance and marked the page of the book he’d been reading before he turned to face the less common adult face of Tyaethe, folding his arms.

”It’s not often that you actually call on me for anything.” Which made this somewhat alarming. He could hazard a guess or two as to what this was about. ”This is about the skirmish with the Midnight Hunt, I take it?” He’d been prepared to accept the consequences of defying Tyaethe’s order to allow her to fight alone, but it was still irritating to think that one of either Gertrude or Rolan gave up his name. Oh, who was he kidding? It was almost certainly Gertrude.

“Yes,” she nodded, stepping closer and… still having to crane her head up. He was annoyingly tall, not so huge that it was normal, but still so much taller than herself that it made things awkward for all of them involved. Unfortunately, the ramparts obviously didn’t have seating on them. “I’m curious about your opponent. It was… annoying to fight it in the past when we were constantly on the move, and we were focused more on Rozenalt and not getting overwhelmed. I never got a good chance to look at it, and none of us found the chance to try and defeat it.”

”Oh, that?” Even now, the memory of victory in that duel brought Renar no small amount of satisfaction. ”To be honest, I’m still not certain of all of how he, it, she fought. It was vulnerable to impaired vision, yet could conjure traps and tricks from thin air, it seemed. I’d not managed to get a handle on all of its limitations before I managed to finish the fight.”

“Yes, that’s what I remember. Traps imposed where they couldn’t have been prepared, regardless of how far or fast you lead the Hunt away… not an ideal skill for a direct confrontation, but extremely annoying when you’re trying to avoid the Hunt and being dragged into Faerie,” the vampire nodded, “It seemed to start relying more on fire towards the end? I have to admit I had trouble noticing at that point, I was… distracted.”

And then everything was on fire anyway, so whatever Renar’s duel produced wasn’t the most obvious.

”Indeed.” Renar allowed a displeased expression to cross his face. ”It cost me my favorite trophy. Fortunate that I repaid it in kind, several times over. And before you ask, Ardor did check it all over. The panoply’s all free of any sort of fae corruption or impurity.”

“Corruption and impurity, certainly, but I have a different thought…” she tapped at the book, “What was inside the armour? I don’t think it had a pulse, or any blood at all. The houndmaster did, the falconer did… I’m not so sure about the lady; we never fought her. Obviously Rozenalt did. The trapper was always a blank in that regard.”

”Curiously enough, nothing.” Renar tucked his own closed book aside as he pondered the question. ”By all reckoning, it seemed to have exceeded some sort of threshold for damage and collapsed after my last assault upon it. When I examined the armor, there was nothing within. You believe it to be a spectre of sorts, then?”

“Something fae, still, but… well, it’s not like I could see it,” Tyaethe admitted with a shrug. Terrible eyesight, on fire, and half a clearing away; not an amazing combination, “I’ve asked a few people but they had other things on their mind.”

”Then I suppose we stand at an impasse on this matter. Outside of what I’ve already told you, let’s see…the flames surged out of the armor after I bested it. They coalesced into some sort of person, still comprised of fire. And then it simply dissipated. What brought this on, anyway? Simple curiosity? Or do you believe it left some sort of lingering surprise behind?”

“I don’t think it left a surprise, but… I have an idea about the armour,” Tyaethe started flicking through the book, scanning through the pages until she stopped on a particular spread and turned it around. One side had nearly a dozen sketches of various flame-like creatures in various forms of humanity, and the other…

Well, the text was in Elvish. She wasn’t sure if he could read any of that. “Any of those look similar? There’s a couple of pages of these.”

Well. It was a good thing he’d been educated in Elvish. Though likely not for any sort of reason she’d assume. No, Renar’s father dearest had decided his least favorite would have the same diplomatic education as any other noble, solely because his future spy would at least need to know what was being spoken to report back.

He started perusing the pages, his lessons coming back to him.

”It’s been some time since I’ve had to actually use my language education, but I can manage. Let’s see…”

“Let me know if you can’t read anything; this one’s high elven, and it’s pretty heavy on the magical theory,” she replied. It was hard to tell which dialect someone had been taught, and when magic came into the picture…

High Elvish wasn’t necessarily the issue, but the magical theory did take him a few moments to parse. Renar hadn’t invested too much time into learning of magic outside of how to counter it once it had been confirmed he didn’t have the talent for the art. Still, he wasn’t an idiot, so it wasn’t impossible to start understanding the gist of what was written down. Merely rather difficult.

”Ah, I think I may have hit upon it.” He flipped the tome around to point the entry out to Tyaethe. ”This…’primal flame’, is it? From my understanding, the trapper exhibited few of the traits mentioned here outside of being ablaze. Would it be a safe assumption that the armor was imposing some sort of structure upon it?”

“Fire’s ability to destroy, but not its ability to warm, or light, or cleanse; merely an all-devouring hunger that leaves ash in its wake,” Tyaethe read, eyes tracing the corresponding lines, “The forest fire that clears out the old to make room for new life, the mountain whose destruction leaves new fields for planting. Yes, that could be bound, all its power chained and directed into something a facsimile of its true nature. It would explain the predilection for flames whenever it could use them, it’s all destruction and shadow.”

“But,” she straightened with a smile, “If we want to know – and I think it may be useful if the armour did bind it – then we need to check with an expert.”

She was smiling. Oh, this bode poorly. Renar let an open frown show on his face.

”You’re anticipating enjoying something. I take it this is to be at my expense?” He sighed, but didn’t shift from where he stood.
”Fionn wouldn’t be nearly this troublesome if that’s whom you were thinking of. So not him, then.”

“Who better to take a look at fae-forged bindings than another fairy?” The paladin closed the book with a snap and turned back towards the door, “She might not be a smith, but Fiadh would have a better sense for whatever magic was used than Ardor.”

“I think there’s more in it for you than satisfied curiosity,” she added, suspecting that otherwise Renar would decline… and access to the armour was going to be needed to check this.

”Such as?” Renar quirked an eyebrow, mildly annoyed that Tyaethe was accurately assuming how he would have responded otherwise.

”If I’m to spend time interacting with fae whimsy, I would hope there would be something worth the time and headache.”

“Fae are very big on their obligations,” Tyaethe started – that should be obvious, it was the entire cause and solution for their last problem, “So what do you think it would be worth if the trapper’s involvement in the Wild Hunt wasn’t a voluntary arrangement?”

”Oh, very well.” Renar sighed, his mind following Tyaethe’s words. Damn it. ”Do what you must. The armor is within my quarters. Shall I bring it out, or ought we make our way there?”

“Best to just bring it along while we visit Fiadh.”

---

With armour in tow, there was only one likely place to find Fiadh: in the gardens. Possibly hanging around that one tree, as usual, but most likely in the garden. Hopefully not off who-knew-where or breaking into Fionn’s room, but…

Fortunately, it wasn’t too hard to find the little-but-large-for-a-niyar fairy, Fiadh leaning out of the usual tree as soon as the two of them came near. “Oh, hello! Has the captain said I can bring in a new tree yet? I’m still thinking which one would be best…”

“I don’t think I’ve had a good time to ask, you should find her herself,” Tyaethe said, gesturing behind at Renar instead, “We’ve got some armour we need a fairy to take a look at.”

The fairy tilted her head, visibly confused.

Once he was bid to, Renar set the bundle he’d been carrying down, proceeding to unwrap it and lay out the trapper’s - his armor now, piece by piece.

”I seized this from a knight of the Midnight Hunt after besting it in combat. Whatever fae spirit inhabited it abandoned the armor upon its defeat, but Tyaethe believes there may be something lingering within.”

“More… can you tell if it was just shaping, or binding?” Tyaethe asked, getting a long ‘oooooh’ out from the fairy as she jumped down, pointy feet lightly sinking into the earth. Fiadh walked closer, leaning over for an inspection and… stopped.

“There was a fay in here?” That was much more despondent than she’d normally sound.

”There was, yes.” Renar nodded. Wonderful, Fionn’s ‘’’wife’’’ was already in a damned snit. Best tread carefully, or he’d never hear the end of it from the other knight.

”Is there some sort of issue we aren’t aware of regarding this?”

“No, this armour is just…” Fiadh reached a hand out closer to the metal, then snatched it back as if burned, “It’s not nice to have any of us in here. It’s…”

“Not steel?” Tyaethe asked.

“Most of it is! But it was… um, there’s cold iron on it? On the inside?”

“Plated?”

“That’s it! It was plated, and even if you were very strong, it would hurt to be in there. And it feels like it wants to suck me in, even though I’m all wrong for what it wants to do,” Fiadh continued, nodding and moving away further towards the tree.

”So it did serve as a prison for the flame spirit, then.” Renar nodded. Fortunate that nothing about cold iron mattered to humans. Then he went over the last part of what Fiadh said again.

”And what exactly does the armor ‘want to do’? Is this in addition to serving as containment?”

“Bind and reshape and control. It’s a very unpleasant feeling. And it wouldn’t even work,” the niyar raised a finger to her lips, brows creased in concentration, “I’m a fay but I have a body. Even if I was pulled into it, I couldn’t be what it wants me to be, and I don’t have the magic it needs.”

“But a spirit that’s more of an element and less of a person…”

“Oh, they would definitely be drawn in, if they were weak enough. Or weakened. But they would hate it forever.”

”That does explain much about the nature of what it did as opposed to what it was...” Renar mused, rubbing his chin in thought. ”Helpful, thank you. Do you know if that would influence a human who wore the armor as well?”

“Only if someone ripped your soul out of your body and then squeezed it in. It would be a tight fit.”

“Don’t leave Renar with a necromancer, then.”

”As opposed to eternal darkness?” He joked. Well, not fully. The more he thought on it, if he didn’t have a body left by that time…thoughts for decades in the future, at least.

”In any case, this has been of much use, appreciated. Then there’ll be no issue with my wearing mine trophy.” A grin. ”I’d been needing a full, coherent set of plate for formality’s sake, anyhow.”

“Would the bound spirit owe Renar anything?” the white-haired girl wondered, looking between the two, “If it could be summoned?”

“Maaaaaaybe? It should, but would something like that recognise a person very well…” Fiadh’s finger tapped away, “I guess if he brought the armour along? I don’t know what it could do for you, though, it doesn’t seem like armour meant for something very nice.”

Renar shared a look with Tyaethe at that.

”Odds on it feeling rather charitable for my technically freeing it? Or would the sting of defeat override that sentiment?”

“Well, I don’t think anything would ask to be in there, not with cold iron,” was the assertive response, “And it would never be doing what it wanted. Or is meant to, if it thinks that way… I don’t think it would really care about fighting.”

”Then unless you’ve any way to summon that creature to see, I suppose we can table this as a non-threat?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t want anything like that near the trees or the rest of the garden!”

“And I wouldn’t want anyone summoning something like that anywhere in the city anyway. But thank you, that’s been very helpful.” Tyaethe added, smile getting somewhat exasperated at Fiadh’s explanation that of course she’d help any companion of Fionn. Mostly for the phrasing, obviously.

Renar simply inclined his head in lieu of thanking Fiadh for the second time in a minute, turning back to Tyaethe.

”If this matter’s been resolved to your satisfaction, I’ll be taking my leave. Unless there’s some other lingering concern to be voiced…?”

“Not at all. And if you ever need that sort of power… well, I think Gertrude probably knows about summoning, she seems the type,” the girl replied, shrugging and giving no further explanation of that. “I wouldn’t recommend picking it up yourself, but it doesn’t really need much magic, it’s easily started externally… but that’s a lot more dangerous.”

Kind of obvious, really. Just because you could provide a lot of the required magic to start it by other means, since it was generally all ritual, didn’t mean you could then adjust anything on the fly. Or augment the defences.

”I’ve no talent for such regardless, but good to know. Perhaps if I’m desperate enough to owe a favor to that girl.” He wasn’t. At least not until they were in far more dire straits. The cost of owing even an apprentice Witch a favor, even one as petty as Gertrude…especially one as petty as Gertrude, was likely more trouble than it was worth. With that in mind, he took his leave of the garden, wrapping up his armor to bring with him.

Gerard Segremors

A splash of dark liquid hit the soil, breaking the mournful silence that pervaded the funeral grounds as a taste of stout was shared with the dead. It was custom to honor those that passed ahead of you in this way the world over, at least in his experience— be it a mound marked only by a planted sword, high in the northern latitudes of Estival…

He glanced up at the elegant stonework, the same polished marble that raked the skies of the spikes of Aimlenn staring back at him, the silent vigil of the stone edifice mere months into however many countless centuries it would stand. Entombed here, with full honors as a Knight of the Iron Rose and no less, were the remains of Sir Rickert. Down here in Thaln, surely, the custom was hardly any different. The worst he could have done was perhaps not observing proper decorum as a member of the Order— but he had made his prayers to Lady Reon with the same priority of intent over ceremony for a long time, and her watchful eye had yet to blink— perhaps, in these ways, the world made concessions for your familiarity.

Gerard took a swig of his own, letting the roasted cacao notes coat his tongue as he quietly quirked a brow. Regarding familiarity, the truth was that he’d only really known the man below in passing, still very much a greenhorn to the Order even nowadays. Back then, it had only been a scant few that had deigned to try and pry the erstwhile mercenary out of his comfortable, quiet solitude; men like Rickert were welcoming enough that he’d made a fair impression, but at the same time they were perfectly content to live and let live.

They’d not spoken much. Likely less than three occasions total, before he was brutally cleft from the mortal coil by Jeremiah. The first sortie Gerard had seen with the Order had been Rickert’s last. For a moment, he wondered if such an offer as the one he’d poured would have been accepted if the man still lived…

A shrug of the shoulders, a shake of the head.

It didn’t matter. They had brought their blades to bear upon the same enemy, in the same battle, staking their lives for the cause. That had been enough for Gerard, long before his dreams of knighthood had ever remotely seemed like they were to ever be realized. Sharing a battle was sharing spilt blood, as good a reason as any to share spilt drink in the aftermath.

He had no reason to fear he was disrespecting the dead unduly. If anything, choosing Rickert’s grave to stop by had been a long time coming with all that in mind.

Ah—

She wasn’t alone this time.

Every week since he was interred, Fanilly had visited the gravesite. It seemed only right.

It was because of her that he was here in the first place. Even if it had been in the line of duty, Sir Rickert had still died under her orders.
The least she could do was this much. His family had already received support from the Order, so now all that was left was to pray for him over his grave.

And so, that is what Fanilly had been doing every week, usually at the mid-week. While it was not a proper religious teaching or doctrine, from a young age Fanilly had been told by her parents that both Sun and Moon were highest at the mid-week. Thus, it was the best time for your prayers to reach the Goddesses.

Perhaps it was just a simple principle told to a child to help her become used to regular ceremonies, or perhaps there was some merit. Either way, it was what formed the basis of Fanilly’s prayer for Sir Rickert.

But this time, she wasn’t alone.

“Captain.”

Sir Gerard had demonstrated his capabilities multiple times, particularly as he was among one of the four knights who had slain a gannek.

And now he stood before her, at Sir Rickert’s grave.

“Ah—”

The Knight-Captain cleared her throat.

“Sir Gerard, greetings.”

“Evening, ma’am.”

He’d heard her coming. By now, if he listened for the differences in cadence and pitch, he was beginning to learn how to identify his peers by the sound of their strides. Part of his ongoing efforts to cultivate a more active, observant mind— and just as much downwind of all he’d learned from his mercenary days, watching gait rather than listening for it. Her steps were light, careful, but in a certain way rigid. Different from the soldierly regimenting of his own, or Renar’s, or even Fionn’s— however much that one carried the rest of himself boisterous and easygoing.

He rose from the knee he’d taken in making his offerings, seeming to loom over that little leader of his even from afar. His golden eyes caught the last light that burned behind her, wolfish and measuring. A chance encounter, definitely, but… one that, much like visiting this knight he hadn’t known, was somewhat overdue.

It felt he barely knew his leader, too, though maybe not for lack of shared field experience. In a way, she seemed guarded, hard to take measure of beyond the capacity of her rank. The rank thrust upon her maybe only half a year ago, as dozens of memories featuring their departed Lioness were quick to remind him.

“Hardly a place I’d expected I’d meet you. What brings you this way?”

She had only held the position for a month or two before he had been accepted into their ranks. The deployment upon which the knight looking over the both of them from beyond had perished was also their first in this official capacity they now occupied. He’d previously accepted that it was beyond his calling to question the tradition, but facing the reality made it seem all the more prudent. Bluntly put, were she an employer and he a mercenary, every part of him would have rankled at the state of affairs being so unknown.

After all they’d been through together, too. It seemed a waste of that good blood the three of them had shed in eachothers’ names.

A blink later, and the mug, still a third full of the dark stout, was gently pushed into the gap between them, an offering to partake.

Fanilly’s eyes lingered on the grave, then on the mug, for a few moments. While she’d rarely drank anything particularly strong, in the span of a few more heartbeats she had reached out and gently taken the mug. Her tastebuds were greeted by the strong taste of alcohol she was unaccustomed to, as she suppressed the desire to wince. Her lack of familiarity with the beverage most certainly made it difficult for her to detect any other flavors.

But the solidarity was what mattered, here before the grave of the man who had died under her command.

“... It’s for Sir Rickert’s sake,” she responded, after taking a pause to recover, her blue gaze returning to the grave. Its solemn nature suited what she knew of the man interred beneath it.

“I was in command when he lost his life,” continued the knight-captain, eyes downcast and voice soft, “Even if he was performing his duty, it’s only right that I repay him…”

Fanilly trailed off. The rose symbol hanging from her neck made her intentions to pray for the fallen knight quite clear.

“---I suppose you must have had similar intentions, Sir Gerard?”

“In a manner of speaking,” the older knight huffed, a brow raised as he took the words in, turned them over in his head. Eventually, his gaze followed hers, casting itself again over the stone of the grave, sliding across name, date, memory. “Not so specifically him, as much as everyone under the banner that finds their way here.”

His eyes narrowed, just a hint. Behind the amber depths, a thousand battles flashed, countless names learned and forgotten blazing by. A deluge of red at the tip of the spear. So many of those same faces could have been him. Each one was no more or less favored by the Goddesses than he. For all he had accomplished beneath this new banner…

“I come by every now and again to remind myself that death holds no clemency for station, for tenure, or for risen standing.” He folded his arms, seemingly long at peace with the grim topic. “Nor achievement. It’s worth remembering each time you ride out could be your last. I owe it to those that have come before me to learn that lesson.”

He glanced her way, folding his arms.

“That our recent tutelage seems to have made me so much stronger than I was when I began this tradition only makes it more worth doing, I think. Even our mutual acquaintance from that time met his end on the field. How he did it was the stuff of legend, but his story ended just the same. As those who survived when men like Rickert fell, it’s our duty.”

A small smile, somewhere between wistful, wry, and wan, crossed his fangs. He cocked his head after a momentary pause, before offering a much more mundane angle to it all.

“It’s also just nice to have a place where I can sit with the dead, pay my respects with a little more time to breathe. Or, hell, pay them at all. In the free companies, attention is a rare privilege, remembrance rarer, and graves rarer still. We were on the move quite quickly— never more than a couple weeks away from the next dispatch.”

Fanilly had known of Sir Gerard’s past, in a company of mercenaries who exchanged lives for librans. It wasn’t as if she had been totally unaware of the details, of the implications. But the idea of the bodies of those who passed going unmourned, unburied, left without the rites to help them reach the Moon and Sun—

It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

The Knight-Captain’s blue gaze drifted from her knight, to the shape of the lamplighters carved on the tombstone that marked Sir Rickert’s grave. The young girls raised their candle-tipped staves, forming an arc over the inscription that bore his name.

“Even though they reach the next world, losing someone here is still painful,” she half-murmured to herself, before raising her head and turning to face Sir Gerard. Her early life was punctuated by two deaths: First, the death of her father’s pet highland griffin, the first one she had experienced directly. One day, she had been doing quite well, preening her feathers and accepting snacks as usual. The next, she had taken ill, and the next, she was gone.

The other had been the death of her grandmother on her mother’s side. They had never been particularly close, but she recalled the details of the procession bearing her corpse to its final resting place sharply at the conversation of the end.

In both cases, they had been seen to their rest.

But those who Sir Gerard had fought alongside—-

“... Then… then perhaps today’s prayer should be for your former comrades, as well?” Fanilly proposed, after a moment’s hesitation, “In case they are still lost, then a few words may help them find their way.”

“How considerate,” he smirked around the word, inclining his head all the same despite a quirk of the brow. As snickers at her expense went lately, his was hardly acrid. A light jab between the ribs, maybe an elbow to simply prod and annoy for half a second. “If you wish to, then go for it. I won’t stop you, but I have said what words I could, and made peace with the ones I couldn’t. More than some of those scoundrels deserved, to be blunt— I almost worry the folks interred here might take offense at being lumped in with their lot last minute.”

He chuckled, nevertheless dropping to one knee at the foot of the grave, and bringing his hands forward. He’d go without speaking his overtures to the goddesses this time— even putting aside that he tended to beseech Lady Reon alone most often, there was only so much their time in the dreaming world had done to tighten up his old habits in mind and body both. Gerard was well assured that the young girl beside him would be so much more precise with her words.

And, in saying that…

“Far be it from me to advise against giving the dead their due— but for those of us that live, you needn’t be so stiff, Ma’am. We’re off the field.”

The first point he wanted to test, while he had her here. Admittedly, he hadn’t framed it great, but he could start by getting that thought in her head. He bent his head low, and clasped his hands, falling silent after a soft invitation.

“Do lead though, please. I’m curious.”

“Ah, I… only those who are truly wicked in life cannot reach the sun and moon, so…”

Well, that cuts your list in half if I’m generous.

She trailed off, before sucking in a deep breath. Stiff? But she was the Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses. What else suited her position? She had to conduct herself formally, and with grace. Was anything else appropriate for the one who was carrying on the legacy of the vanished Saint Elionne?

Speaking of that legacy—

Despite her position, and the Iron Rose Knights’ history as a true holy order, Fanilly herself had never personally led a prayer. Her words had been between her and the Goddesses, not for the purpose of guiding others.

It was somewhat unfamiliar to her, but wasn’t this something she would have to do some day, regardless?

Besides, she was the one who had mentioned it in the first place. It was only right.

“Very well.”

Facing the gravestone, the girl clasped her hands tightly together and bowed her head, gently shutting her eyes. It took her only a few moments to find her words.

Fanilly’s lips parted.

“O Lady of the Moon. O Lady of the Sun. Please, may these words reach you.”

Her voice was soft, but firm. She had to make sure that the Goddesses could hear her.

“May your light shine upon those who have passed. Those whose lives ended long ago, and those who fell in nearer days.”

It was a simple prayer, one that in some form or another was uttered at the sites of sudden deaths. The words varied, but the meaning was always intact through them.

“May those who light the lamps guide their way, shining a path to your eternal paradise. Let the darkness be driven away, let no foul spirits stall their journey. May their days lead them to bliss, may their days lead them to peace.”

The sight of Sir Rickert’s fallen body re-emerged in Fanilly’s mind. A small knot, coiling in her chest for a few moments, had reformed.

“Please, hear these words, Lady Mayon, Lady Reon. So that those who have passed on find comfort.”

It was a plea on behalf of the fallen knight and on behalf of those she had never known, who had died years ago. If they still wandered, then Fanilly could only hope these words would serve to help guide them.

The knot had loosened. Her hands lowered.

For a time, there was only silence upon the wind that passed through the graves as the sun continued to creep low to the horizon. Gerard diligently observed it, allowing the sobering moment to linger with them. The Goddesses both heard ones’ words before they were even spoken, he had been taught, but it was the act of saying them that guided the wish a prayer carried towards their hearts, rather than be lost among all the world’s noise at their ears. Befitting this, it served one well not to distort the message by speaking too carelessly, or too quickly, while your own heart was still lingering upon that desire, that plea to the divine.

But, all such things, eventually, did pass. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her slight frame, still clasping her hands, still hunched over at the foot of the gravestone. There was a subtle cruelty to this, he knew well. Anyone with two thoughts to rub together in their skull could tease it out of the sight— a young girl, thrust into this mold at her birth, with only another gravestone, somewhere in here, to look to ahead of her on the path. Even with all the training in the world… the real thing weighed upon you more than you could really prepare for.

He knew that very well, even as a cog in the war machine. Even as someone that had the luxury of a choice in the matter. War and Death weighed heavy on old minds, let alone the young. And Command… Command was the heaviest of all mantles.

Finally, there was an easing of the quiet tension in her shoulders, and he let his voice free once more.

“Well said,” he began simply, inclining his head in a small, appreciative nod before seating himself cross-legged, turning to face her. His wolfish eyes seemed to study her for a moment, casting themselves along her bearing before settling on her eyes.

He spoke in a low, but level voice. A statement, not a question. An observation, not an interrogation.

“...Sir Rickert was the first beneath your command. You feel responsible, don’t you? More than you bargained for.”

That stiffness of hers had betrayed her, in the end. She’d spoken very well, firmness and sincerity coating every word… but towards the end, it was like her breath had drawn tight on her. After what they had been through, Gerard wasn’t keen on attributing that to a real fear of dark spirits.

The way she carried herself socially among her subordinates was fine to be left as an ongoing project, at the end of the day— no different from the ongoing project he himself was. There were far, far more important ways he and she seemed to be cast in opposition— though, thinking about, it was curious how many parallels the two of them ran in, if you squinted at it from the right angle.

“Am I wrong?”

Most of all, for what the two knights were… was their relationship with death. It was why Cyrus had been the one to mentor them both in the dream world, as far as Gerard was concerned. It was why they had met here, if fate ordained such.

“---Ah…”

The soft breath that left the Knight-Captain’s lips hung in the air for a few moments, slowly drifting downwards like a discarded feather.

It shouldn’t have been surprising, really. She hadn’t tried to make it so overt, but the mere fact she was here in the first place spoke of her feelings.

Fanilly opened her mouth and shut it once, as she tried to compile her thoughts, the knot in her chest tightening a little once more.

She had accepted by now that the possibility of death was within the duty of one of the Iron Rose Knights. They put their lives on the line for the sake of Thaln’s people, for the sake of justice.

That much was only natural.

And yet—

“... A part of me still wonders if I had been more prepared, or considered the possibility of a trap, he may still be here,” Fanilly said, softly, her gaze downcast.

It was her command, so ultimately the fact that her leadership led to Sir Rickert’s death could not be ignored, even if it were only in part.

That was why she had to come to his grave and do what she could. It was the only thing she could do for him, now.

“Idle wondering. A lingering pull.” he mused almost tonelessly, boring into her with his gaze. “Bringing you back here. Do these thoughts carry themselves with you onto deployment? That you’re missing something, somewhere? That he’s gone because you’re flawed in your judgement?”

He leaned forward, the approaching night a heavy, warding cowl over his shoulders.

“To put it another way:”

The wolf huffed, gazing down his snout, fangs yet to bare. Searching, searching, always searching— as cast from stone as the many statues that bore the cold wind blowing down upon them from the north.

“Do you think you can tame war, if you’re clever enough?”

“I…”

Fanilly hesitated.

Was that how she felt?

She wanted to approach the battlefield in a manner that would lead to victory, that would lead to defeating the enemy and sustaining as little damage as possible. She was hardly unique in that regard, of course, but it was nevertheless the goal she placed in front of herself every time she set foot into combat.

But did that mean that she thought she could tame the battlefield?

Fanilly’s right hand clutched into a fist at her breast, her gaze once more drifting towards the green grass.

If it were possible, then of course. She would want to ensure everything went exactly as planned, perfectly, without the slightest deviation.

However—

“... I… I don’t think it’s possible,” she half-murmured, “No matter how I might wish it were, I…”

The Knight-Captain sucked in a deep breath.

“Even the great Conqueror-King of Talderia didn’t believe he had perfect control of the battlefield, there’s no way I could claim that I do.”

He seemed to accept that, following her eyes to drink in the waning greenery in turn, watching the grasses slowly blacken as dusk slipped further and further away. Though his shoulders loosened, his voice held firm.

“Good. That’s a delusion you can never hold. Otherwise you’ll never escape this place.”

The grass’s blades danced with the breeze, almost imperceptible, like the waving banners and swords of a tiny, verdant legion. Wide blockades of men at march, their war cries a light scent upon the wind. In some way, it must have been how the Goddesses had looked upon the armies of their mortal realm, all its conflicts a trifle.

“It’s no beast. It falls under no yoke. Not yours as commander nor ours as soldiers. Not even the King’s. I would argue even the Goddesses would be hard pressed.”

He snatched some of the little green soldiers at his feet, lifting them and letting them fly from his fingertips. They would have no idea where they were going— only that they were gone.

“The field is a river.” he arrived at his analogy after some time. “You can plant seed in the plain and feed yourself if you know when it spills over. You can reach a new land by using a bridge that passes across it, but it’ll always be there, just under you. If you don’t mind your step, it’s where you end up, soaked to the bone. Or drowned.”

Apt for diplomacy and war, by his measure, but not the point. His brows narrowed.

“You can even influence its direction. Build along the banks. Bend it, dam it, create channels to expand it. But those are all done from the outside. From within… the current takes you.”

A deep, deep red, the last of a retreating day, painted blood over the western clouds.

“You can’t fight the rapids. You can’t control them. In the middle of it all, you’re at the river’s mercy. It will cut through stone itself. It will drown you, if you ever believe you’re completely safe. It’ll sweep you away and dash you on the rocks, if you ever stumble.”

Absently, his hands clenched around the hilt of an imagined blade. A grip hammered into him, his only rope to brace against the current.

“That is the path we walk in taking up the sword. Wading into chaos, with you at our head. You know as well as me, but it still bears saying—“

Beneath the hard-knot brow, he continued to glare into the middle distance, focus and steel behind his eyes. An expression that looked more at home on him than any other he wore.

“Every time we ride out, we know we might not come back. We might meet that same fate out there— cruel, merciless, unexpected, unpredictable. It’s our job to accept that and trust your judgement. It’s yours to trust that we do, and pass your best judgement along.”

It wasn’t necessarily new information. The tomes of strategy she had been instructed to read as a child were often quite explicit that there was no way to approach a battle with utter certainty to how it would progress. Even if the outcome was almost guaranteed, the progression of the battle and possible uncertain elements could never be taken for granted.

But hearing it spoken like this, by one of her knights, was still a new experience.

Fanilly’s gaze remained somewhat downcast, as she sucked in another deep breath.

“I hope, then, that I can make judgement worthy of trusting.”

It was a pervasive worry deeply-rooted within her mind, one that she could not so easily push aside.

“…Hope isn’t enough.”

The wind parted around the stone all through the graveyard, its currents split by each hard, unyielding face into shivering, fraying eddies. They tended to die out before they hit the next few yards, little more than whispering nudges against one’s frame.

“Hope is something outside of yourself. It can betray you. It can refuse you. It can skip out when you need it most. For many, it keeps them around far too long.”

Six years. Six years of vain, vain hope— Even having his answered, beyond anyone’s dreams, the hundreds of unmarked graves in his wake the two knights had shared a prayer for told their own stories. They were never far from a wise man’s mind.

“For many, it leaves too much out of their hands. As your Knights, we are the sword arm of your will as much as every ideal we uphold. If that will is ‘I hope this is right’…”

He paused, seeming to mull his words over as he regarded her sidelong.

“You’re going to lose more of us, you know. No matter what you come out of this chat believing, heeding or ignoring my advice— it’s inevitable. Fionn, Renar, Gertrude, even me. If we’re being honest, I’m more likely to go than anyone else. But the going will get tough. When it does, we’ll be looking to you to ferry us out of the maelstrom.”

More than anything else.

A leader had to keep everyone moving, out towards the other side. Any confusion they had about where to go would give the current room to tear the lot of their people apart. He’d seen it enough to know. And if there were thoughts that always took her back to this grave, then…

“That’s what it means to be Captain, Fanilly.” her name felt alien upon his tongue, but the gravity of the words held it in place. “You can’t doubt yourself, or the decisions you make. Least of all when it’s a mess like it was that first ride forth. If you aren’t confident… how can we be?”

“I…”

Fanilly trailed off. Hope… just putting faith in hope wasn’t right either, was it? Even if she had a more optimistic outlook on the concept, at the same time it was hard for her to find it in herself to deny what Sir Gerard had just said.

Hope on its own wasn’t enough, was it?

Fanilly’s gaze fell downwards again, her hands clutching at one another. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to lose anyone else if she could possibly help it. The great Conqueror-King of Talderia, the Minneria the Strategist, the Seer of Terios—All of them had conviction in their decisions, their conclusions. Be it in battle, or anything else.
Was that what had carried them forward, in spite of their inability to truly tame the battlefield?

Was that what she had to embody, even in spite of her own doubts?

—Did previous Captains ask this question of themselves?

Fanilly didn’t know. She’d long thought that those who filled this role prior to herself could never question themselves as much as she did.

But she didn’t know their minds, so it was a question that could not be answered.

But there was one thing she could do, no matter her doubt.

If nothing else—

“... I… I’ll do everything in my power to lead all of you to tomorrow, no matter the battlefield.”

—She could say that much.

A nod.

The sun slipped behind the horizon in full, leaving only its final rays behind as the threshold had been crossed. Lady Mayon arose opposite, surveying her domain through the gentle glow of the moon.

“That’s what we’ll have faith in, then. As you do us, in doing everything in our power to carry out your orders. Even sacrifice, should we have no other way through.”

The wolf rose again, glancing aside to the blue-white of the polished marble standing guard above their talk, seeming to capture the silvery filaments as they blanketed Aimlenn.

His gaze then followed the light upwards, towards the palace of the kindly shepherd, the shield to the weary, the weak, and the lost. Doubtless, the Moon Goddess had an eye on her ordained champion— another weight upon those slight shoulders of the Captain’s.

He huffed, a small, relenting puff through the snout.

“The night’s coming in,” the taller knight intoned as he turned towards the gates, towards the retreating sunlight. “I’d best get going— I’ve paid what respects I’m able with prayer. Best I not keep you from the rest of yours.”

One step forward. Then two, then three.

In his desire to take her measure as his commander, he had come across a few confirmed suspicions. That her mantle was as heavy as he’d imagined, that she was prone to agonizing over mistakes, the way all greenhorns did, that her schooling, however quality, could only prepare her so much for the real mass of this undertaking, thrust upon her.

She was rigid. Distant from her troops. Prone to flustering. To getting herself into trouble. And so shackled by doubt. Only an old tradition would put a young woman like her in such impossible shoes to fill. To choose a Commander like this flew in the face of all the hard-earned reasoning a mind like Gerard’s could muster.

A total washout.

He stopped, five or six good paces away, and thought for a moment, before looking back over his shoulder one final time.

“…Take this for what solace it’s worth, Captain.”

Even so.

“I was younger than you when I took up the sword. I never reached a position of leadership in that time— I’ve always stayed on the front. There are many parts of this I don’t understand. Little diligences that are simply beyond me.”

Even so, all that said.

“In that time, since I left that little wide-eyed know-nothing farmboy behind… these six months have been the cleanest. Rookies or otherwise. That’s worth a little faith you’re running the place on the right track.”

—The cleanest.

Despite everything, despite her shortcomings, her doubts—

Despite all of that.

Those words managed to reach deeply into her being.

Even though she could never live up to the Captains who came before her, she could never live up to Saint Elionne herself.

Sir Gerard had said those words to her.

“I—”

Fanilly faltered. It was hard to grasp that such a thing was possible. Even in the dark dealings of the sort of mercenary company that Sir Gerard had once been a part of, the brutality and cheap death that she could only imagine, never to touch—

She managed to give her knights the cleanest six months he had ever experienced.

“I—”

What did she say to that? Was this the sort of faith the past Captains had received from their knights?

How could she keep living up to such an ideal?

—No, it wasn’t how, was it?

She had to try. She had to do it. For the sake of all of her knights.

Wasn’t that what this was all about?

“---I… I won’t betray that faith, Sir Gerard.”

A firmness found its way into Fanilly’s voice, even if only for a moment, her hand clutched over her heart.

“You have my word.”

As Captain of the Iron Rose Knights, that was the only path forward.

He was silent for a moment more, then…

“And you mine. We’ll hold eachother to that.”

… He turned away, accepting whatever he saw in her burning twilight gaze for what it was. The sound of fine gravel shifting between leather boots sounded again, as he started off towards Candaeln anew. Towards their home.

A hand rose as he left, waving a stolid goodbye once, then twice.

“Be seeing you, Ma’am.”

“And I, you, Sir Gerard.”

It wasn’t that this had assuaged her self-doubt—

But Fanilly couldn’t allow herself to let her knights down.

So, her distant cousin had been contacted by their mutual relative but not actually paid a visit yet. That was… fine, Tyaethe could track him down on her own. It wasn’t even that hard if you knew the sort of place to look and were willing to put in the effort. Relatively easy for her, at least; the current crop of knights might find it a bit harder to pull it off without some difficulty.

Renar would probably have the best time of it. Maybe Serenity? Although, avoiding drinking would probably make her an ill fit as well. The witch… well, Tyaethe doubted she would be out of place for long, it was just the matter of getting in the door for her.

That was why she had spent an unusual amount of time this evening, as the past few, dressing and making her hair look something other than a wild mane. More effort than she had put into the ball, if she was to be honest; here Tyaethe was operating on her own merits and wanted a better impression than just ‘acceptable’.

There was also the different crowd to consider; this one would rather more appreciate the cleavage than a formal ball for an underaged princess. Sadly, this meant no bringing her sword along, even with Saint Rannigan’s feast and the tournament approaching. It would set rather the wrong tone for a private engagement.

All of this was to say: Tyaethe was out attending parties ever-so-slightly the wrong side of propriety but still well within the auspices of high society. Not for the fun of it, but because she knew the sort of crowds her great-uncle always associated with. They were also only too happy to let a famous knight and relative of such high nobility attend.

Well, so long as this didn’t turn out like those balls. Her welcome would quickly run out if she were to start something violent or be nakedly hostile to the attendees… as dull as their gossiping was. But, she would admit, at least the refreshments were good; Aimlenn was after all a trade hub, and the hosts had no choice but to show off.

She seemed to be in luck for once. At first she almost waved the maid off – she still had a full glass, after all, and she didn’t want to encourage too many attempts to curry favour. As if she would let anyone here buy their way, or a relative’s, into the order…

But the smell. Oh, that was unmistakeable. Blood. Rendered into something a normal person might almost drink by accident, stable and fluid even cooled, an alchemical trick that wasn’t terribly rare… among esoteric mages.

It took time, especially when trying to preserve and distil essential qualities of the source. Alcohol, for instance. If a party had that around… well, it only stood to reason that the host expected a vampire to be here enough to make the effort, no?

So either they really anticipated her presence, or…

“Lord Damon Cazt requests your presence,” the girl said, sinking into a curtsey as soon as Tyaethe had taken the goblet. Fine metal and, unsurprisingly, faintly enchanted, “If Dame Tyaethe would be kind enough to follow me…?”

The vampire followed along to a nearby drawing room, still close to the raucous noise of the party outside but far enough removed that nobody should accidentally stumble in. There, sprawled along a couch with a rakish grin was the exact man she had been looking for. Nestled up to his side like a cat was a much less familiar figure – a cute girl who…

She looked human, and with glasses on for once that was more than an approximation. But Tyaethe’s other senses were screaming that there was something slightly off. The demon?

“Imagine my surprise when I heard that my favourite great-niece was finally taking my advice,” he raised his own cup in mock-salute.

“Advice?” the probable-demon parroted.

“Why, to go to the fun parties, of course. The ones with handsome boys, pretty girls,” he flicked a lock of her dark hair, “And, of course, drinks a vampire can feel.”

“Har har har,” Tyaethe didn’t even try to make the laugh sound convincing, dropping into the nearby plush seat and taking a sip. As Damon had implied, and she suspected, this would affect her, “You know why I’m here, uncle.”

“You wanted to find me, yes? The only reason you ever come to anything interesting,” he sighed, “_{I still think getting out like this more often would do you a world of good.}”

She ignored the muttered aside, glaring at the older vampire. “Yes. You haven’t met Veilena yet, and I’ve had enough waiting. Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you now.”

The other girl’s nails started grow ever-so-slightly, fingertips morphing into claws. Damon, however, seemed entirely unconcerned. Or maybe he was just drunk. “For the attempted assassination? I played an integral part in preventing that, as I recall. I simply played with the Arcedeen girl a little.”

Oh, she could – and had – forgiven that. As frustrating as he was, having a traitor was all but necessary to address the conspiracy in time and without casualty. Despite her better judgement, she trusted he had no idea what the ulterior motive was, or that it was a big distraction…

Well, mostly. But she could address that after. No, it was her duty as a paladin that demanded action.

“You let a necromancer into a tomb. A tomb with– with the Demonbreaker interred.”

His gaze sharpened at the hitch, an uncharacteristic seriousness stealing over the boyish features. “She was buried there as well, I almost forgot… that was something I overlooked, you have my apologies.”

“Apologies don’t cover it,” Tyaethe looked away, into the deep red of her drink. “Not for violating one of Reon’s most sacred tenets.”

She ignored the quiet conversation as the demon girl demanded an explanation, and the explanation in turn. She refused to let this become any more personal than it already was.

“There is, perhaps, one more thing I can share,” he sounded resigned, “Even had I washed my hands of the entire conspiracy and allowed events to take their course, I am all but certain the tomb would still have been used.”

Tyaethe’s eyes flicked up from her suddenly half-empty goblet. That…

Breaking in simply wasn’t an option.

“If that was true, you wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Quite the mystery. I hardly see the point in including myself,” his tone was back to lackadaisical, “Unless this entire affair was merely a side dish.”

That was what they knew, too, now that it was too late to do anything. Keep the Iron Roses busy, keep the crown knights on guard, and pull everyone that might be interested in the college’s secret well away from it for the night. If Damon’s involvement could be removed and the overall plan still held…

He made it easier, then? The sabotage pulled their attention further afield, and if he stood in to make the tomb accessible then the real culprit was free to move…

But that meant the backup plan was to pull the assassination off correctly, let Erich’s body be perverted even further, and hope the chaos was enough cover. It was something the Iron Roses and the rest might have stopped, but…

The immediate cost would have been much higher.

And part of being a paladin was to not make decisions on the basis of considering people necessary sacrifices, even if it was easier. You saved everyone you could, then the next, and the next, until you stopped the problem. The only acceptable loss was yourself.

Against Tyaethe and everyone else’s better judgment, she liked Damon, too. Back when she’d been new to being a vampire…

If he hadn’t gotten involved, then that necromancer would have had unrestricted access to the tomb for even longer.

“You can’t just tell me who asked for your help?”

“No more than I already have,” he was entirely unapologetic about it, too.

Sure, it narrowed down the possible candidates but… not as much as she hoped. Not to mention that it was very nearly a perfect overlap with ‘people who might ask Damon Cazt for help in the first place’; it was just additional confirmation.

Fuck.

It was a good thing that she actually had a drink here. She could pass the information on to the captain in the morning.

“Getting into the spirit of it after all?” The other vampire was all smiles now, “The party is surely starting to miss us.”

“Just don’t start throwing girls at me again.”

“Yaya, dear, that was never me. It was your chest.”

“Don’t say that!”

---

It was around this moment that Fanilly realized just how limited her one-on-one interactions with one of their newest allies really were. While she had spoken to her alone, it was usually with the presence of other knights in the vicinity.

This time, she was likely going to be completely on her own talking to Lady Gertrude.

With Lady Gertrude’s rather… strong personality, was she approaching this the wrong way? How should she start their conversation? Was she already messing this up before it even started? What if Lady Gertrude didn’t want to be bothered?

The young knight-captain pressed a hand to her chest and took a deep breath, in a bid to clear her head.

She was being silly, wasn’t she?

Lady Gertrude hadn’t been unhelpful, even if she’d needed some flattery to be cooperative before. A simple question and talk shouldn’t be too challenging, right?

—Then when did she feel quite so nervous?

She shouldn’t be nervous. She was the Knight-Captain of the Iron Rose Knights. Being nervous about simply talking to an allied mage shouldn’t be making her hesitate at all.

What would previous knight-captains say about this?

It was embarrassing, surely…

Currently clad in the blue, white,and gold dress uniform of the Knight-Captain, sword on her hip as a formality rather than necessity, she had come to a halt in the hallway that would hopefully lead to Lady Gertrude’s location. She’d apparently been seen this way.

She didn’t want to be an embarrassment.

So, regardless of her nerves, Fanilly pressed on. Exactly what Lady Gertrude was doing at the moment, she couldn’t really guess, but hopefully it wasn’t something that she’d be too annoyed about pausing.

After all, surely she would be able to help understand if there was a way to divine the location of the Angroron shards.

After being up a good portion of the night trying to understand the purpose of that stupid bleeding stick, Gertrude had slept in until midday, and was only now awakening. Since taking a room for herself, Merilia had outfitted it with all her old stuff, and she’d ended up passing out on a pile of stuffed toys. Giving Yaya her blood was likely to blame for some portion of her lethargy, but still, she felt it a worthwhile experience.

Speaking of her old things, it turned out that having them did make her bitter. But it also made her nostalgic and a little happy. For the moment, she was happy to keep them all.

The room in question was a little out of the way of most of the others, as Gertrude had desired. She wanted to deal with as few people as possible between her room and wherever else she went.

At the moment, she was heading to the dining hall, stick in tow. From there, it was naptime. Wake, eat, nap. Just as she liked.

Then, when she turned a corner, she came face to face with a person. She didn’t care for that, but when she saw who it was, a wicked grin crept up on her face.

Gertrude was dressed in her usual maid uniform, though much of her blouse was woefully unbuttoned in her rush to dine and she hadn’t yet brushed her hair. As presentable as Fanilly looked, Gertrude did not.

“Mistress,” she greeted, her eyes darting back and forth to see if there was anyone else around.

There was not.

It was just her and Fanny, with no one to interrupt them. Finally, an opportunity presented itself.

Gertrude reached out…

And attempted to pat her mistress’ head.

There she was. Fanilly could at least be relieved about that, she wouldn’t have to go searching for Lady Gertrude anywhere else. Of course, she wasn’t exactly sure how to ask her question yet, but for the moment it meant she was on the right track.

Fanilly sucked in another deep breath.

“L-Lady Gertrude, I was wo—”

—Huh?

The taller girl in the maid uniform had reached out, and…

Dully, Fanilly stood there, uncertain of what to say or do, as Gertrude’s hand came down and lightly patted her head.
“...”

What was happening?

Why was this happening?

What made Lady Gertrude decide to do this?

Confusion ran through Fanilly’s mind repeatedly as she made an attempt to comprehend her situation.

“... Wh… wh-wha…”

Gertrude smirked as she enjoyed watching Fanilly process what was happening. Fionn was not present to prevent it, so she would take her time and cherish her victory while she could. Savor every last strand of hair that her fingertips brushed. She didn’t plan on stopping any time soon, but saw no reason not to continue the conversation.

“You’ll be happy to know, I suppose, that I’ve made my residence nearby and am settling into it nicely. I don’t expect you come this way often, so I assume you have business with me. Well? Here to praise me for my recent performance?” Gertrude teased lightly.

“If you’d like to beg me to make a more permanent runic augment to your equipment, I may hear you out. I am, after all, yours, mistress.”

Business?

Praise?

Mistress?

Confusion had chased nearly every other thought out of Fanilly’s mind for a few moments, as she slowly opened and shut her mouth and tried to collect her thoughts. What was she here for again? Why was Lady Gertrude’s first response to seeing her to start patting her on the head? It wasn’t as if she’d never experienced this before, but that was when she was younger, with family.

—Divining! That was it.

Her cheeks coloring with embarrassment, Fanilly managed to reach to the top of her head, taking Gertrude’s hand in both of her own and slowly moving it. There was no way she could talk or think coherently if the other girl had kept patting her that.

“Er, yes, well… Y-you’ve been very helpful s-so…” the Knight-Captain stumbled over her words for a moment.

No, that wouldn’t do. Wasn’t that embarrassing for the former Knight-Captains? How could she act like that?

“---H-How much do you know about divination?” she asked, finding her voice and following the thread of her thoughts to its end, “Or is the more correct term scrying?”

Gertrude let out a contented sigh as Fanilly’s cheeks colored. Even though the woman had removed her hand, she was very pleased with the result. So pleased, in fact, that she leaned in close to get a good look at those rosy cheeks she had cultivated.

“Most of my expertise lies in combat magic,” Gertrude admitted, smiling, “though if my mistress wishes, I could probably learn a little divination. I am a prodigy, after all. Though Merilia happens to be well-versed in divination, if you can catch hold of her.”

Gertrude chuckled.

“But… perhaps not. If you tell me what you need, maybe I can learn the relevant bits and have something for you in the future. When I feel like it,” Gertrude teased.

When she felt like it—

A small part of Fanilly coiled up in frustration. It wouldn’t do to snap, not right now, especially when Lady Gertrude wasn’t simply trying to be difficult this time. If she didn’t have any experience with divination or the more in-depth forms of scrying, then it wasn’t as if getting upset would make her suddenly gain the required knowledge.

“I’d been hoping for some chance of a lead on the potential whereabouts of the Angroron shards,” Fanilly said with a sigh, averting her eyes from the other girl, “I suppose it was wishful thinking to begin with, when we have so little information…”

The Knight-Captain trailed off.

It wasn’t just that the masked figure had already obtained two shards of the Void Blade. It was that those were only the ones they knew about.

What if they already had more? And where were the rest to begin with?

“It’s not as if tracking Lady Merilia down is so easy, either.”

There was no hiding the frustration in her voice that time.
But sitting there and wishing they could simply know where all the remaining shards of Angroron were wasn’t going to achieve anything. It certainly wasn’t behavior suitable for the Knight-Captain of the Iron Rose Knights.

Lady Gertrude’s clothing was rather disheveled, wouldn’t it be embarrassing to walk around like that? And that stick—

“... That stick,” Fanilly found herself saying, “It’s from one of the trees in the Moonlit Queen’s fae realm, isn’t it?”

She’d thought that Lady Gertrude had received something before their departure from that bizarre space. While she hadn’t seen it happen directly, she’d seen the fairy noblelady speak to the taller girl more personally, not to mention the fact that a few of her knights(as well as her maids) had mentioned that the ‘prickly new mage’ was working on something.

Fanilly did her best to keep track of occurrences among her knights and the other residents of Candaeln. It felt like it was simply appropriate for the Knight-Captain.

The strange, black, almost glossy bark of the trees in the Moonlit Queen’s domain were difficult to forget.

“I see…”

Gertrude nodded, as if coming to a realization.

“Gretchen had seen you in the library quite a bit recently. A whole order of knights at her disposal, and my mistress stares at texts alone in the dark until she’s cross-eyed,” Gertrude chided with a derisive smirk.

A derisive smirk that, perhaps this time, hid a genuine hint of concern.

“It was about the shards, wasn’t it? Don’t know what you thought you’d accomplish alone. Well… Gretchen has been familiarizing herself with the library all the time we’ve been out. She’s a bit more of a bleeding heart than I am, so she might’ve helped.”

Gertrude shrugged, then brandished her stick at Fanilly, a frown on her face.

“But aye, the Moonlit Queen gave this gift to me herself. I imagine the rest of the knights were flustered when I began negotiating, but the sodding stick is mine. I can be quite persuasive, mistress. Still… she didn’t tell me what the bleeding thing meant and now Gretchen will be busy with this horseshite for for the foreseeable future.”

Then, another smile crept up on her lips.

“Interested, mistress?”

Well—

It’s not that Fanilly wouldn’t involve the other knights, but what was the point of simply ordering everyone to carry out research without doing it herself? This was an incredibly important matter, after all. Countless lives could be in danger.

Shouldn’t she be performing the research herself as well?

Fanilly opened her mouth to try and make her point—

But maybe she should have mentioned it to the others sooner.

She softly shut it.

It’s not as if they wouldn’t have helped…

The shiny black stick was a welcome distraction from her own embarrassment at her lack of foresight.

“A gift from the Moonlit Queen…”

The diminutive fae lady was seemingly more generous than she appeared, but there was no way to be certain what the object actually did.

If it was dangerous—

As Knight-Captain, Fanilly couldn’t simply leave this alone.

“It’s my duty to know about such things,” she declared, after taking a deep breath, “So I can’t afford not to be curious. You’re a guest and active ally of the Iron Rose Knights, after all.”

Gertrude grinned smugly as her words appeared to genuinely sink into her mistress. Anyone could taunt someone about something they didn’t care about, but it took a genius to hit someone where it counted. That said, it seemed that Fanilly shared her fascination with the fey queen’s gift. To Gertrude as well, that was the more interesting topic of conversation.

“A ‘guest and an ally’, am I?” Gertrude teased, “I suppose with my attitude, I can’t hope for much more than that. Still, it doesn’t make me sound grand at all.”

Gertrude shook her head.

“But… my mistress is a clever girl, isn’t she? Surely she’s figured me out by now. That blighter Arken almost certainly has.”

Gertrude went to poke Fanilly’s cheek incessantly with the stick.

“But Gretchen has been researching all this time… have you any ideas, mistress?”

“A-ah…”

The stick felt like wood, even if it shimmered like glass, as it prodded her cheek. The Knight-Captain had no choice but to quickly step back and hopefully out of range of the fae gift.

Arken…?

The Lord Court Mage? What was she talking about?

Did he somehow know what the glossy branch was meant to do? Or was it something else that Lady Gertrude was alluding to?

Regardless, it didn’t seem as if the other girl had come to any kind of conclusion, despite her sister’s assistance. The fact that it originated from a fae realm, as a gift from a fae noble, meant that it could be nearly anything.

“I’m not a mage, but… It’s for the best if I know what’s going on, so I’ll try and help,” Fanilly said, composing herself after the stick-based assault, “Er, so, what have you tried so far?”

Gertrude frowned as Fanilly backed away from her prodding, but quickly shrugged and flipped the stick up into the air. As it fell in between them, Gertrude pointed at it and stopped it in midair just in front of Fanilly’s face. She gently reached out, tapped it with the tip of her finger, and spun it around.

“I’ve run my mana through it and attempted to detect whatever properties it might possess, but it’s been real bleeding evasive. I only know it contains a lot of mana.”

Gertrude tapped the stick once more, and it glowed slightly as she sent her mana through it again.

“The only thing I can think of is that it requires activation, and until it’s activated, it naturally masks its properties. If I could locate a word or an action or even a thought that opens it up… well, that’s what Gretchen has been up to.”

Gertrude growled, obviously frustrated, and then took a deep breath.

“But… perhaps the hallway isn’t the best place. Would you like to come to my room to discuss things further, mistress?”

Gertrude smiled, and extended her hand for Fanilly to take.

It wasn’t as if Fanilly had any real knowledge about these sorts of magical processes. She had learned how, in theory, to fight those who used magic. But actually working with magical items was something she had no experience with.

Still, from the sounds of things, Lady Gertrude had tried a few different methods of attempting to discern what the stick could do, to no avail. Just what was a stick from the Moonlit Queen’s fae realm potentially capable of in the first place? There had to be some reason.

“Very well, Lady Gertrude,” Fanilly replied, hesitating for only a moment before reaching out to take the taller girl’s hand, “It’s an unknown item from a fae noble, so it’s important that I know what’s being done with it.”

And aside from that, she admittedly couldn’t deny her own curiosity.

“Of course, mistress,” Gertrude replied, her fingers wrapping around Fanilly’s hand far more intimately than would be appropriate for a maid, “perhaps I should have kept you apprised to begin with, only…”

Gertrude shook her head. They could get into that once they were away from the communal hallways, no matter how sparse these particular ones were. Her room was only just a couple of turns away, but she led Fanilly dutifully. Then, once they reached her room, she tapped the door and it glowed.

“I… don’t normally let others inside. Not even the cleaning staff. It’s far quicker and easier for me to just clean it magically,” she said offhandedly as she opened the door and ushered her mistress inside.

It was not the sort of room one might expect from an abrasive woman like Gertrude. Most of her decor was pink and white, and her luxurious bed was piled high with various adorable stuffed animals. Resting on some shelves to the left was a variety of board and card games, including those of obviously foreign origin. Most had custom pieces featuring rabbits, even the domestic games. There was a desk that was obviously used for work, but it likewise was colorful and adorned lovingly with paintings of various small fauna. The closet, currently open, displayed a couple of the same maid uniform as well as some dresses that no one in the castle had ever seen her in. Most were immodest in how much they revealed.

“...I’ve been meaning to speak with you privately, anyways.”

Then, a teasing grin crept back up on her lips.

“Have you been wanting to meet with me, mistress?”

Something about the way that Lady Gertrude’s fingers wrapped around her hand made Fanilly pause for a moment. She hadn’t previously entered most of the residential rooms in Candaeln. There was simply no reason for her to intrude, but it was natural to study a magic item somewhere more suited for it

So, accompanying Lady Gertrude to her room only felt natural, but—

Taking her hand like this felt somewhat…

Fanilly took a deep breath, shaking her head. No, no. It’s simply to guide her there. There’s nothing at all strange about it.

It was clear Lady Gertrude had quickly set about making herself at home, given the enchantment she had already laid upon her door to make it open automatically.

And then—

Ah…!

Fanilly’s eyes immediately fell upon the collection of stuffed toys adorning the taller girl’s bed. So many! She didn’t even have that many, not before she moved to Candaeln and certainly not after. She’d only brought along a few, like Mallie and Jasper, and didn’t even have them out most of the time…

For a few moments, her attention was entirely fixated on the impressive pile of soft toys. She tried counting each, making out every single fluffy, cute shape she could manage to lay eyes on—

Wait wait this wasn’t what she was here for at all!

Cheeks coloring immediately, Fanilly tore her eyes from the bed and turned to face Lady Gertrude once more. There were a collection of other curious objects, a large number of games, and… did… Gertrude actually wear some of those…?

—Nevermind.

“A-ahem, er,” Fanilly cleared her throat, trying to swiftly recover from her composure, “I-I have, yes. I thought it would be best to speak with you like this at some point, a-and this gave me an opportunity to do so.”

Gertrude grinned as she watched Fanilly stare at her bed, transfixed. Was that a little blush she saw? Was her mistress thinking about the stuffed animals, or maybe…?

“I’m glad to hear it, mistress. But you sound so nervous, and your cheeks are so pink,” she teased, “I wonder why? You’ve faced down the Midnight Hunt, but an invite to my room seems to have caught you off-guard.”

Gertrude snapped her fingers, and the door shut behind them as she sauntered over to her bed. She sat, crossing one leg over the other, and patted the spot next to her. She wanted to tease Fanilly a bit more before they got to the meat of the conversation.

“Come, mistress,” she said, smiling. It was not an offer or a proposition, but a command, as light as it might’ve been, “before we discuss the stick, I have something to tell you.”

For a brief instant, all Fanilly could think about was one particular worry.

Had Lady Gertrude noticed her staring at the stuffed toys, now? Isn’t that completely unbecoming for a Knight-Captain of the Iron Rose Knights?

The realization that this may indeed be the case caused her cheeks to grow even redder. It really was unsuitable, wasn’t it?

All she could do was try to quickly move on and hope it wouldn’t be mentioned. There were so many, though, and they were all so cute…

“.. V… very well!”

Without much thought about the action, Fanilly swiftly sat down on the bed.

She sucked in a deep breath, then cleared her throat in an effort to compose herself. This wasn’t exactly what she’d anticipated when she first wanted to investigate what the fae gift could possibly do.

“What did you wish to discuss, Lady Gertrude?”

Gertrude let out an amused snort once Fanilly took her seat.

“Awfully obedient, mistress,” she teased, a look of smug satisfaction on her face, “for that, I’ll allow you to hold one of my friends.”

Gertrude thoughtfully dug through the pile of plushies at her side, before finally pulling out a crustacean in a posh hat and placing it in Fanilly’s lap.

“That’s Sir Crabbington,” she informed Fanilly as if Sir Crabbington was an important guest she was to make a good impression on at a party, “he’s highborn and snooty, but has an indomitable sense of noblesse oblige. He will never allow those in his charge to suffer or come to harm.”

She put her arm around Fanilly, and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“At first, I didn’t understand why the knights seemed to hold you in such high regard, daft violence-apes that they are. But I’m starting to get it. Perhaps your position was unearned, but you bleeding try, and you’re earnest in doing so.”

Gertrude cleared her throat.

“Don’t expect many compliments. You have a long way to go yet, but who else can claim a rout of the Midnight Hunt? Even if the story ended here, it would be an impressive one. And so, you have earned a boon. So long as you guard it, I shall gift you a secret. Be bloody grateful.”

She gently pulled Fanilly closer, and leaned in to whisper into her ear.

“Some others may have figured it already, but as captain, it’s important for you to be acquainted with the talents at your disposal. I, Gertrude Jäger, am a capital-W-Witch. Just not one of the old hags. I hope you appreciate why I’ve kept this a secret.”

“Sir… Crabbington…”

Ah. Lady Gertrude had definitely figured it out, but at the same time—

She’d never even seen a plush crab before! Were they more common in coastal areas, where they would be modeled off some of the crabs from the sea? Fanilly didn’t know, but she held Sir Crabbington very carefully on her lap, close to her stomach. A snooty, highborn type with a strong sense of justice…

Before she could dwell on Sir Crabbington much longer, she suddenly found Lady Gertrude quite a bit closer to her. The proximity was something she had normally only experienced with her family or her maids, and so for a moment she found herself going quite still as her cheeks reddened once more.

Before she could open her mouth, however, Lady Gertrude had already begun to speak.

What she didn’t expect was to be complimented quite so much. She knew that Lady Gertrude frequently needed coercion in order to cooperate, and that could be doled out in praise, but she didn’t anticipate having it returned to her, even in a somewhat caustic fashion.

Her cheeks only became hotter. Did she even deserve this praise? Surely, surely, her knights had earned it far more thoroughly than she had. She was nothing compared to prior Knight-Captains. Whatever pride she had felt in defeating the Midnight Hunt should clearly have been for her knights and not herself.

It was so much praise, so quickly, and when she least expected it. Her heartbeat quickened in a manner that almost felt like she was about to panic.

She had so much distance to go to even capture half of the prior Knight-Captain’s glory, how could she even accept such praise?

—Even if it wasn’t exactly bad...

“I… I-I’m not so—”

Lady Gertrude’s lips at her ear made her cut herself off again.

And then—

Fanilly knew little of magic beyond how to fight and command those who wielded it. The nuances of spells and schools of magic were largely unfamiliar to her.

But almost anyone knew of Witchcraft, and its mysterious wielders. Lady Merilia herself was among their number, and through her it became clear that Witchcraft was precisely the impossible, taboo sorcery that it had been described to her as.

“E-eh?!”

Already overwhelmed, the truth would take a moment for the Knight-Captain to recover from.

Gertrude looked down at Fanilly and grinned. The woman was speechless. Utterly speechless. And holding Sir Crabbington rather tenderly, all the while. With her uncertain demeanor and rose-red cheeks, she looked…

“Surprisingly adorable, aren’t you, mistress? I see you’ve taken a liking to my stuffed toys. I didn’t tell you about myself because of your skill on the battlefield, you know?”

She poked Fanilly’s cheek.

“It’s because of this. Your earnestness defies your sense of propriety. You’re a terrible bleeding liar, which is bad for me, but your loyalty will see that this information only goes as far as it needs to. That’s what I require now. I trust I can count on you, mistress?”

Her hand slid back up Fanilly’s shoulder, and landed once again on her head. How she enjoyed watching those cheeks color in abject embarrassment.

“I—”

It was a lot to take in all at once. So much so that Fanilly couldn’t find her words. Witchcraft was a taboo that violated the laws of this world, but at the same time Lady Merilia had been one of their Order’s founding members.

She opened and shut her mouth slowly. The amount of praise being thrown her way didn’t make it any easier to figure out what to say.

Lady Merilia.

That was what she clung to now.

If a Witch could be there from the very beginning, then a Witch becoming the order’s alley was no violation and no crime.

The fact that Lady Gertrude’s hand was still on her head didn’t exactly help, but eventually the Knight-Captain managed to suck in a deep gulp of air and find her words.

“L-Lady Merilia was one of the Iron Rose Knights’ founding members,” she began, “If th-that’s the case, then there’s nothing wrong with you being here. If you don’t want the truth spread right now, then—”

She paused for a moment. It probably was a good idea to keep it a secret right now, ultimately…

“---Until you feel ready to tell it yourself, I won’t say anything.”

Gertrude smiled.

“Of course you won’t, mistress,” she replied smugly, as if there were no other answer Fanilly could have possibly given. Still, this truth had affected the young woman a little bit more than Gertrude had thought it would. She took her hand off Fanilly’s head.

“Still… if even a woman who’s bloody fought beside me is this aghast at my news, I think I made the right call in keeping it close to the chest,” Gertrude sighed, looking down at Fanilly.

“...I was thinking about telling you what my Witchcraft can do, but you’re already barely keeping it together. Probably best we move back to the bleeding stick.”

She presented the item to Fanilly once again.

“I’ve been trying things on my own, but maybe the trigger requires two people. The Moonlit Queen gave this to me when I told her I was a Witch, so I thought maybe imparting the same to someone else might’ve done it. Suppose that was wishful thinking…”

“A-ah, no, it was just surprising—!”

Fanilly hadn’t been sure how to articulate herself, but she certainly hadn’t wanted to make it seem like she was genuinely horrified. Witchcraft was a taboo, but Lady Merilia was an ally despite that, and the same held for Lady Gertrude.

Her shoulders sagged somewhat, but at least it appeared that Lady Gertrude wasn’t too upset.

Though—

What did her Witchcraft do, exactly? What did any Witchcraft do? Fanilly only knew what it was in broad strokes.

Maybe that was a question for another time.

Right now, Lady Gertrude was still trying to figure out how the stick worked. Fanilly wasn’t sure she could help, but at the very least she wanted to. It was some sort of fae gift, after all. Knowing what it actually did was important.

The same held true for that glass frog, actually.

But for now, the stick.

“Well, it’s part of a tree, er…”

Her cheeks reddened once more as she realized how that what she was about to say was rather silly. Surely Lady Gertrude had tried something like this already, right?

“M-Maybe you plant it?”

“...Plant the bloody thing?”

Gertrude looked down at Fanilly for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.

“Your idea is to plant this stick in the ground like a sapling? That’s bleeding daft, mistress! I admit, it’s not an idea I would have come up with,” she said with simultaneous derision and amusement, “but still, it sounds like an idea a fey might have.”

The mental image Gertrude conjured up of her and Fanilly carefully tending to a twig they had stuck in the ground was nothing less than comedy.

“Sure, mistress, let’s give it a go,” Gertrude finished, wiping a tear from her eye, “if this idea works, it’ll make me almost as annoyed as Yaya’s idiot magic, but I’ll bloody well owe you. You pick the spot, though, because if it grows into a tree or something, it might be a permanent fixture.”

Gertrude stood, and offered her hand to Fanilly once more. The same borderline inappropriate, strangely intimate grip awaited her.

“You can take Sir Crabbington along, if you’d like. I’m sure he’d appreciate being kept apprised of the goings-on to relay to his posh friends.”

Was it that ridiculous?

Maybe it was. Fanilly didn’t know much when it came to magic, so perhaps it was an absurdity that simply didn’t hold up to anyone with actual experience.

She found her cheeks growing redder as she listened to Lady Gertrude’s amused response. Maybe she shouldn’t have suggested it at all—

But then, to her surprise, the taller girl said that they should try it anyway.

“R-really?” she found herself stammering. After how ridiculous the Witch had made it seem, now she was going to try it anyway. Maybe it’s because there was a fae involved? Regardless, after a moment of hesitation, the Knight-Captain reached out to take Lady Gertrude’s hand and pull herself to her feet, cheeks still pink with embarrassment over the initial reception to her suggestion.

The act of taking Sir Crabbington along was only half-conscious.

“Well… well there’s a relatively open spot on the east side of the courtyard,” Fanilly suggested, “So even if it gets a lot larger there should be enough space…”

Gertrude grinned as she looked down at Fanilly, flustered, embarrassed, rosy-cheeked, and holding onto a stuffed crab in a fancy hat. She held the young woman’s hand tight, and began leading her to the east side of the courtyard. Her mistress really was remarkably cute when she allowed herself to be, and Gertrude wanted to see more.

Normally Gertrude would go through pains to take a path that avoided as many people as she could, but she wanted to parade Fanilly around a little. Deliberately taking the most public route possible, she aimed to ensure that at least a few people noticed her mistress carrying around a stuffed toy and holding Gertrude’s hand.

“I really am hoping it will work, mistress,” Gertrude reassured along the way, “as silly as it sounds to me, I’ll take bloody anything at this point.”

As they approached a good location, she pulled Fanilly a little closer and leaned slightly to get closer to her mistress’s level.

“Well, mistress? Shall I, or would you like to do it together?”

Wait, why were they going this way? Weren’t there a lot of people this way?

It’s not like the Knight-Captain accompanying a guest and ally was anything strange, but she was already carrying Sir Crabbington and she couldn’t exactly just drop him or something at this point so now—!

Burning hot, her head hanging low as if she was trying to hide, Fanilly turned her body as they walked in hopes of concealing the stuffed toy from any passersby.

Why was Lady Gertrude doing this?! Ah, she really did like messing with people, didn’t she!?

She definitely passed some of the staff. Her maids seeing wouldn’t be so bad, though Alaree probably wouldn’t leave her alone about it. But if any of her knights saw…

How could someone reconcile the title of Knight-Captain with this situation?

By the time they reached the courtyard, Fanilly’s head was hanging low, her arm clutching Sir Crabbington tightly to her chest, and her cheeks a brilliant shade of scarlet.

“Wh-why did we have to…”

She trailed off. At this point, she knew exactly why: Lady Gertrude deliberately wanted to make her embarrassed.

“... Y-you know more about such things, so y-you can do it…”

Gertrude smirked.

“You know why,” she responded as if she had read Fanilly’s mind, “I enjoy watching those cheeks of yours color. That my mistress should find her own affection for stuffed toys as vexing a villain as the Midnight Hunt is far too amusing not to prod.”

Gertrude twirled the stick between her fingers, a smug grin on her face, before sauntering over to a good spot. Clear, out of the way, fertile soil…

Gertrude knelt down, and looked over her shoulder back at Fanilly.

“...I like them too, you know?”

She scooped out a hole, carefully pressed the stick inside, and began piling soil around it.

“Didn’t have too many friends growing up, but they were always there. Hard to believe, mistress?”

It was an obvious answer when it came down to it. Why else would Lady Gertrude be doing these things? It was because she liked messing with her and liked seeing her reactions. If she didn’t give as much of a reaction, maybe it would subside, but how did she still her heart in these kinds of situations?

Sucking in a deep breath and clutching the stuffed crab to her side, Fanilly took a step closer.

While the reasons were likely different, it wasn’t as if such feelings were unfamiliar to her. A childhood filled with preparations left for only a little time outside of it, and much of the time she spent outside of training were at functions between nobility.

To put it simply, it didn’t leave her much time to casually make friends.

“I…” she hesitated for a moment, before parting her lips once more, “I can’t say I’m unfamiliar with such feelings…”

The Knight-Captain paused briefly, her eyes drifting to the stick that was planted in the ground as she attempted to find her words.

—Did it just glow a little?

“I had a feeling you’d understand, mistress,” Gertrude replied, flashing Fanilly an oddly gentle smile, “you can come by my room more often, if you’d like. Meet the rest of my friends. Tell the knights that we’re discussing strategy or some other bullshite…”

As Gertrude spoke, she noticed the little twig begin to glow. It was more than she had gotten it to do through experimentation, which likely meant that it was activating. Its purpose would soon be revealed.

Gertrude chortled, partially in derision but mostly in joy. She was happier that the mystery was solved than angry at its conclusion. In fact, she found it charmingly funny.

“I think it bloody worked, mistress! You must be a genius. Suppose I do owe you, then.”

Gertrude stood, and turned her attention to the stick fully. Her prize for seeing this task through to its completion.

There was no doubt about it. The stick was glowing, indeed, the white light traveling up from its base as it began to sprout small leaves. It looked less like a stick, now, and more like a miniscule tree, identical to the ones that composed the forest in the Moonlit Queen’s fae realm.

And yet the glow was not dimming.

It was growing brighter, and brighter, alongside a rushing sound, and—

Fanilly moved without thinking, her hand flying to the hilt of her sword. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong! Steel sang as the blade left its sheath, and she grabbed Lady Gertrude’s shoulder, putting herself between the fae gift and the taller girl as swiftly as she could.

And then—

Candaeln was gone.

The air was warm, but snow crunched beneath her feet.

Black, glossy trees surrounded them, dense, with smaller, equally-glass like plants dotting the ground beneath them.

What appeared to be a silvery mushroom waddled by on short, stubby legs, followed by a gaggle of similar shapes.

Fanilly drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it, her hand still gripping her blade tightly. The miniscule tree was still there, in front of them, but this place—

It was the Moonlit Queen’s fae realm, once more.

Gertrude was not particularly alarmed at the progressive brightening of the fey gift, nor the tempestuous sound that accompanied what she assumed to be their transposition. She had not known this would be the outcome of the stick’s activation, but it was within her expectations.

Still, her mistress who knew very little of magic interposed herself just as she did with the guardian serpent. Moved without even the space to think in order to protect her. Gertrude wondered, briefly, if this chivalry was for her… or if it was something Fanilly would do for anyone.

Gertrude couldn’t imagine Fanilly would do as much for a knight, who she probably trusted to be able to protect themself. If she didn’t have that trust, after all, there was no way she could lead as she did.

Was it because she considered Gertrude to be weak? Could that be the case, even when Fanilly knew well how powerful she was by this point? The audacity she had to protect a genuine Witch…

Gertrude had some difficulty understanding it, though at this point she knew it was no fluke. Fanilly would move to guard her. Her mistress would put herself in danger to ensure Gertrude’s safety. Her cheeks colored slightly as she gazed down at the young woman.

Gertrude reached out, and gently placed her hand on Fanilly’s head. It was unmistakably a gesture more of affection than derision, this time.

“Well, mistress, it appears the object was a key to the Moonlit Queen’s realm. A rather interesting conclusion, wouldn’t you say? I wonder if we can remove it from the ground and use it again… or perhaps we now have a permanent gate on castle grounds. A boon, either way.”

Gertrude began softly patting her mistress as she began considering the implications and uses such a thing could have.

The strangeness of this space, despite having been here before, was impossible to get used to. Fanilly couldn’t reconcile the snow on the ground with the warmth of the air, the strangeness of a moon unlike that of Mayon’s domain. The glassy texture of the black trees, and now the sight of the walking troupe of mushrooms ahead of them. None of these things matched in her mind, and yet once again they were presented before her.

Before she could say anything else, she felt Lady Gertrude’s hand upon her head, patting her. Immediately the tension inside of her snapped, and she felt heat rushing into her cheeks as they practically glowed a luminescent pink.

“L-Lady Gertrude, that’s—”

She stumbled over her words as she looked back over her shoulder. Being patted in such a childish way right when she had been ready to defend the other girl had nearly ripped her mental state in two.

Turning to face Lady Gertrude and stepping away, her sword still drawn, the Knight-Captain took a moment to try and compose herself.

“S-so… so this is some sort of gateway, then?” she questioned as she glanced towards the glossy bark of one of the many trees, “I’d never even considered we might have direct access to a fae lady’s domain.”

“Calling it a ‘gateway’ is close, mistress,” Gertrude replied, retracting her hand as Fanilly stepped away. Her mistress was still on guard, so perhaps the patting was more agitating than calming… it probably didn’t help that Gertrude had about ten times as much practice annoying people as comforting them.

“My current thesis is that planting the branch, which came from the Moonlit Queen’s realm, innately tied a small portion of our land to hers. Less a key or gate, and more of a bridge. I suspect we could be in the Brennan Woods within a few moments, depending on where or how we leave.”

Gertrude offered a reassuring smile.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it, mistress? I was on guard the first time we arrived in this realm because I didn’t know where we stood. However, that stick constitutes an invitation. It represents the favor we’ve earned with the Moonlit Queen. I believe we will not be harmed here, as her honored guests.”

Gertrude looked around and admired the odd atmosphere, seeing it for the first time without the accompanying uncertainty.

“I grew up in a walking house, you know? Places like this can be quite lovely once you know you’re safe.”

“Oh, but a little bit of danger just brightens everything up, does it not?” It seemed they weren’t alone after all, a familiar, childish lilt coming at them out of the trees, followed by its owner. This time, the Moonlit Queen had come to them… or perhaps she had simply had them arrive near enough for her convenience?

Immediately seated upon a throne, the queen seemed pleased to see them, looking more than satisfied at her visitors, “I was wondering how long it would take you to arrive. Is it not obvious that a tree needs to grow? I nearly sent a servant to check on you! But you brought a distinguished guest, so I forgive your tardiness.”

Gertrude had been fairly certain that bringing the Moonlit Queen up in conversation would entreat her to reveal herself, and her highness did not disappoint. Gertrude smiled pleasantly as her eyes alighted upon the mothlike Fey on her throne.

“Danger can be nice in its own way, but a bit distracting,” Gertrude replied with a curtsey, “and I wouldn’t want to have my attention on anything but you.”

Then, she nodded towards Fanilly.

“My assessment of the item was a bit more… clinical. In truth, it was my mistress that suggested we plant the sapling. Unsurprising, I think, that common sense should elude a Witch.”

Gertrude didn’t mind giving Fanilly her credit where it was due. If she wanted to work alongside the Moonlit Queen, it only made sense that the woman should have some respect for her employer.

Besides, it was certainly true that Witches and common sense rarely mixed.

“And thank you for your forgiveness.”

A walking house? If she was a Witch, then didn’t that mean she was—

Fanilly’s thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the domain’s creator.

The Moonlit Queen.

Last time they’d met, it had ended well, but at the same time Fanilly found herself somewhat instinctively reaching for her hair. Dealing with tresses of such exceptional length was not exactly easy, for herself or her maids.

The Knight-Captain lowered her blade and sucked in a deep breath, before sheathing it at her side. At the very least she could feel certain there wouldn’t be a fight with the fae lady, despite the inherent uncertainty attached to the young-looking girl.

She bowed her head respectfully. They were in her domain, after all. It was only suitable.

“We’re honored by your welcome, your highness.”

“Oh, did you miss my little gift? You’re welcome to it again, after all~” Fanilly’s instinctual motion had not gone unnoticed, as once again she was burdened with more hair than she reasonably knew what to do with. “Now… to business!”

The small fairy leant forward, face locked in a stern expression. “Have you found who dared to steal from the Moonlit Queen?”

Ah, she should have known—

There it was, again, the hair flowing down from her scalp, spilling over her hands and fingers and falling down her back like a golden waterfall, reaching the ground in a matter of seconds. Oh, no, having all this dealt with again was going to be a nightmare for her maids!

At least she didn’t have to fight with so much hair this time. Tying it up enough to battle the Midnight Hunt hadn’t exactly been easy.

“A-ah…”

Flustered over her overgrown locks, it took a few moments for Fanilly to recover. Even then, she was still struggling with her hair.

“N-no, er, we haven’t yet, but we’re trying to narrow it d-down…”

Gertrude grinned as the Moonlit Queen elongated Fanilly’s hair once more. She suspected it would never not be amusing. She reached out once again to pat her mistress’s head, though it was neither to comfort or bully the young woman. Quite simply, the Moonlit Queen had made Fanilly’s head even more pattable, and it would be a waste not to do something before it had been taken care of again.

“My mistress has personally haunted Candaeln’s library day and night searching for clues, but to no avail. It may behoove her to ask for help on occasion,” Gertrude chided lightly, “but it is our current priority. If we could locate the other shards, we could likely get ahead of the culprit. That may be our most fruitful option.”

Gertrude smiled pleasantly.

“Do you have a punishment in mind for when we apprehend the blackguard?”

“Hmm… perhaps I should begin by slowly peeling their skin and using the exposed flesh as a flowerbed? Quite a simple punishment, but one does not want to break the thieves too early in their punishment, no?”

Gertrude didn’t know what she was expecting from a Faerie Queen, but that punishment sounded about right for one. Perhaps it was a good thing she had held herself back from patting the woman.

Though she still wanted to.

Gertrude grinned, seemingly unperturbed by the gruesome description. She really couldn’t imagine that anyone who was stealing those awful shards in the first place deserved better. Whatever their plans, it couldn’t be good.

“I agree, that sounds like a good start. You can see how it fits, and go from there. I’m sorry we don’t have more progress for you, but they’re an elusive bugger.”

Gertrude shrugged.

“Still, I must thank you for your gift. Is it a permanent fixture, now it’s been planted?”

The gruesome description wasn’t exactly unexpected when it came to a fae lady. She looked like a child, but her nature was not even close to that of a human. She’d demonstrated that well enough already plenty of times, so it wasn’t exactly surprising to hear her blood-soaked intentions for the thief.

It didn’t make the image of flowers growing from someone’s still-living body any less unpleasant, though.

Fanilly’s hands slowly lowered. Her hair was now simply too long and voluminous to deal with on her own at the moment.

She sucked in a deep breath, then let out a heavy sigh. She’d just have to try and keep it from dragging, for now.

“Moonlit Queen, I… If there’s any kind of assistance you can offer, it may help us capture the thief more swiftly.”

“Yes, of course; what good would a single-use audience be? I expect further updates on your progress,” the small fey said dismissively, very much not answering the question of ‘further assistance’. That would be a no, then. “It requires yourself, but you’re always free to bring a guest along to entertain me with~”

“Oh, and tell me, miss captain, have you made use of my other gift yet?”

“Then I’ll be certain to keep you updated,” Gertrude replied, smiling, “perhaps I’ll even be able to introduce you to aunt Merilia at some point. I’m sure you’ll find her interesting.”

Gertrude turned her gaze down towards her mistress.

“Well, mistress? You’ve been rather busy trying to track down this thief, so perhaps you haven’t gotten to The Moonlit Queen’s generous gift yet.”

“Ah…”

Hopefully this wouldn’t earn her even longer hair or some other silly and inconvenient response.

“I apologize, Moonlit Queen, but unfortunately I haven’t had time to further examine your gift yet,” she replied, bowing her head apologetically. At the very least, she felt certain her hair wasn’t dragging on the floor at the moment. Hopefully that would be that.

“When I return, I’ll make sure to take a look at it.”

“Oh? You haven’t looked at it yet?” the fairy was pouting, “Do you need some extra encouragement? I could keep your hair growing beautifully until you show me the appreciation my gift deserves~”

What? That—

Even ignoring all the other problems, wouldn’t that make it impossible to even manage looking at the glass frog if her hair was continuously getting even longer than this?!

“E-er, no, um,” stammered Fanilly, “I’ll make sure I take a look at it when we get back!”

“Oh…” the queen gave a disappointed sigh, “Remember to brush your hair first, though, it’s a bit messy when it grows out like that~”

Gertrude smiled. She did enjoy watching her mistress become flustered, though there was of course business to get to as well. She glanced down at Fanilly and winked.

“Worry not, mistress. I can brush your hair for you, if you’d like. I used to do it with my auntie whenever she came to visit.”

Then, she turned back to the Moonlit Queen.

“What does that frog do, by the way? Knowing would save me a little time, which I could spend following up on your thief.”

The Moonlit Queen giggled, waving her away, “Where would be the fun in telling you? If your captain plays with it enough, then I’m sure she can find out~”

Gertrude shrugged, and smiled at Fanilly.

“As she says, mistress. You’ll be required to play with it. You shouldn’t dislike that too much, I trust,” she jabbed, thinking back to the look on the young woman’s face when she saw Gertrude’s collection of stuffed toys.

“The mistress and I do share an appreciation for such things, I think.”

“Eh? I, well…”

Fanilly’s gaze lowered and she shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. It wasn’t exactly untrue, but was it suitable for the Knight-Captain of the Iron Roses?

“I s-suppose that is true…”

And it wasn’t as if the glass frog wasn’t cute, too. It certainly didn’t seem to be the product of any normal glasswork due to its realism, but it was certainly made of glass all the same.

“Excellent! Then you’ll visit again when you’ve learned what it does, yes?” the fairy gave an innocent smile, as if this wasn’t simply another order, “I do hope your hair is better cared for then.”

“We will certainly visit again once we’ve played with the frog,” Gertrude said, smiling, “if not just for the pleasure of your company.”

Though the temptation to ask the Moonlit Queen if Gertrude could pat her head was great, it seemed the meeting was reaching its conclusion. She could hold on a bit longer.

“The mistress has been shy about meeting with me, but as her maid, I would gladly tend her hair if she so requested. I hope you will be pleased when we return. Perhaps Yaya would join us as well~”

Gertrude, her hand twitching for want of a short woman to pat, quickly found herself hovering back over to her mistress.

Ah.

Things were beginning to get somewhat overwhelming…

Fanilly took a deep breath and made a valiant attempt to clear her head. She simply couldn’t deal with having this much hair, how would it even fit into her helmet? But at the same time, it was true she needed to learn what that frog did—

“Y-yes, of course,” Fanilly replied, bobbing her head and trying not to focus on anything else, “We will certainly return to let you know.”

It was, in the end, a fair request regardless of what was attached to it. The Moonlit Queen may be an instructable fae, but it wasn’t unfair to let her know what they thought of her gift.

As Fanilly was nodding, Gertrude’s hand found its mark and she gently began patting her mistress’s head. Again. After a few moments of enjoying what would likely be trimmed down soon, she stopped, gave the Moonlit Queen a curtsy, and took Fanilly’s hand.

“It’s been a pleasure, as always,” Gertrude said, smiling, “we’re looking forward to our next visit, and hope to bring you good news soon.”

“F-farewell, your highness.”

No sooner had the words left her lips then she saw the Moonlit Queen’s curl into a smile. Then the world around them seemed to tilt, then condense into a singular point—

Only to vanish.
They were once again in Candaeln’s gardens, beside the twig.

Only now, it was a black, glass-like tree, much like the ones growing within the Moonlit Queen’s realm.

“... Ah… I… feel somewhat lightheaded…”

Seeing the way in which the world seemed to collapse and fade away around her, Fanilly couldn’t help but be somewhat disoriented, placing her free hand against her forehead.

Gertrude gently hooked her arm around Fanilly’s, looking down at her mistress.

“That’s common for those unused to shifting between realms. It happens to be one aspect in which my constitution doesn’t fail me,” Gertrude admitted, making certain that her mistress was steady.

“Goddesses above, but I wanted to pat her bloody head. She’s adorable, isn’t she?”

Gertrude sighed, half in defeat and half in anticipation of the day she would make her desire a reality.

“Well, mistress? Shall I escort you back to your room, or to mine?”

“Er, I need to deal with all of this hair, first,” Fanilly responded. It was a lot for her to take in, ultimately. The disorientation from shifting between the fae realm and normal space was fading already, so now she had to deal with more immediate problems. At least this wasn’t the first time she dealt with having hair this long anymore, sighing slightly as she ran her fingers through it.

Having direct access to the Moonlit Queen, though—

That meant they could try and draw more information out of her. It was unlikely she was purposefully omitting anything, but if there was anything else they could obtain that was one of their ways foreward.

“After that, I think I want to visit the library. And—”

Fanilly hesitated for a moment.

“---If you’re willing to come along, Lady Gertrude, then, er, that may be of assistance.”

Gertrude smirked.

“About time you asked, mistress. A proper captain should utilize her resources, after all. I can help with your hair, too, if you’d like. Gretchen is already in the library, so she can start on research while you get ready.”

Gertrude gently placed a hand on Fanilly’s back.

“Whatever the case, it wouldn’t bloody do to have you fall over on your way. I’ll escort you where you need to go, and you can have the cook make extra dessert just for me for a week.”

Fanilly sighed. She was feeling better, but it wsn’t as if a little more assistance would be a bad thing in this case.

“Very well, Lady Gertrude.”

The demand for for extra dessert was probably fine.

Despite everything, Lady Gertrude really had helped out, after all.

---

Tyaethe may have been happy to spend most of her days sleeping in her favourite spot with the bay windows. Surrounded by pillows, most of which hadn’t been taken from the other knights. After the trip to the Brennan forest, she may even have wanted the rest more than usual, dealing with the self-inflicted burns she’d received while immolating Rozenalt.

A nice nap to finish out the morning probably sounded delightful.

Unfortunately for her, she had a callused hand palming her forehead where she dozed, trying to wake her up with a gentle shake as the knight it belonged to leaned in close. ”Bit early to be napping again, don’t you think? Don’t go thinking I forgot about what I told you back in the forest, now.” Fionn asked, before sniffing once.

”Did you just wash your hair?”

“What gave it away? The smell, or that it’s even fluffier than normal?” Tyaethe mumbled, blinking awake before giving a yawn, “I introduced Gertrude to the baths. It seemed better to fall asleep here than in there.”

Maybe she ought to rethink that, if Fionn was going to shake her awake for… hm, what had he told her, exactly? Something about being grounded, but she didn’t see how that really… made sense.

”Hope she behaved herself.”

Fionn left it at that; while he was coming to appreciate Gertrude himself, after getting some proof that maybe she could manage to fit in with the knights when she wasn’t too busy making a pain of herself, he didn’t have any illusions about her general attitude either. ”Good that you’re clean, though, that’ll be one less thing that folks’ll be surprised by!”

With strength belied by her size, he knew that he wouldn’t really be able to compete if she was left to her own devices on the floor and tried to get away. Better to appeal to some hopefully-existing sense of obligation after things had already started to get her to stay, and to pull her along for the start—

He pulled her up to his shoulders again, though this time noticeably less like a sack of flour. ”Means you’re ready to go, too! I’ve got to go check on something with Fiadh first, then we’ve got to run my sword over to Ardor so he can fix it. Have you had breakfast?”

At least she was in a seated position this time… “Isn’t it about time for lunch?”

She’d had breakfast, yes, but if he was going to bring up food there was no reason to not make another stop for more. Particularly because they could pick up something extra as a way to apologise to Ardor for breaking his sword…

Not that she had to apologise or generally made much use of Ardor’s work, but it was better to not be on the smith’s bad side.

”After we help Fiadh!”

Whether he knew what she was getting at or not was anybody’s guess. He didn’t waste any time, either, rushing the pair of them outside. Fiadh was unsurprisingly out in the garden, near the tree that she’d grown a little bower in the middle of. Fionn lazily waved at her as he walked up, Tyaethe still perched on his shoulders.

”What was it you needed, dear?”

”You see,” Fiadh started, the fairy proudly straightening up like she had an important missive, ”This tree has a small broken branch.”

“Can’t you fix it?” Tyaethe asked. A Niyar should be able to do… just about anything with a tree.

The fairy’s eyes widened, turning to Fionn for help.

Fionn looked up at the tree. There were a lot of branches, so he couldn’t tell which one was broken, but—”If it’s broken it’s not part of the tree anymore, right? That’s probably why she’s asking for help with it.” He squinted. ”Where’s it broken at?”

”Riiiiight up at the top!” Fiadh stretched, which didn’t help much, and gestured… upwards. Didn’t really narrow it down much, especially from Tyaethe’s perspective. It was all tree.

“Can’t you… remove it yourself?”

From that offended gasp, she was guessing no.

”Please don’t get in a fight with Fiadh, Tyaethe.” He reached up, plucking the vampire off of his shoulders and setting her on the ground. ”Guess I’m going to have to climb, then. Fiadh, don’t let her run off. Braid her hair again or something to make sure she stays put.”

With that said, he walked up to the trunk, heaving himself up with some of the lower hanging branches and starting to ascend the tree.

“Can he even climb to the top?” Tyaethe wondered, “For all the tree has changed, some of the high branches are still pretty thin…”

”Oh! That’s true, darling might…” Fiadh covered her mouth in shock, then brightened up, ”He has access to magic, there’s nothing to worry about!”

Tyaethe remained unconvinced about that, but… well, she wasn’t the one with access to fae magic, and anyone that had somehow wound up in a relationship with a Niyar surely knew to stop if the branches threatened damage in any capacity. He might be able to reach in any case.

Climbing was a lot easier than when he was a child, Fionn was finding. Sure, he had more weight to pull up and around now, but he didn’t have to struggle to reach anywhere the branches were getting bare. Thanks to that, he ascended rather quickly, even towards the higher parts of the canopy where the branches were getting to be quite a bit less load bearing.

He passed the branch where Gertrude had showed up the first night she’d arrived, and quickly found that the remaining branches probably couldn’t support his weight. Certainly not alone, but he couldn’t well grab at four or five at once. He reached up to one of them, his hand wrapping around it—

“Are you stuck?” Tyaethe called up, considering that the sound of person-moving-through-trees had come to an unexpected stop, “Or are you already done? Fiadh thinks your magic should help.”

”You can do it, darling!”

—and continued climbing up. Fiadh had told him multiple times when he was younger to just trust the tree, he may as well put that into practice, and it seemed to be doing fine.

Nearer the top, he found the offending broken branch, pulling it out and tossing it to the ground, as well as...

”Uh, Tyaethe? You’ve got a letter up here.”

“… what’s the seal?” She called up. There was only one likely candidate for ‘letter in a stupid place’, but it never hurt to be sure. Although why she had picked now to send one, of all days, was a mystery.

”A bird head and some jagged lines.”

“… right, it’s the witch,” Tyaethe called back, sighing. The simpler form, at least, and not the full eagle? Well, she probably wasn’t treating this as official business, then… that was a small mercy. Or maybe Merilia had simply been short of wax, or wanted her to overthink. It could be anything. “I should probably read it.”

Fionn climbed down rapidly, skipping the last few branches in favour of just jumping to the ground. Straightening, he passed the letter over. ”Merilia, you mean? Shame she didn’t want to actually say hi.”

“You’re welcome to call, if you want. See if she answers,” Tyaethe replied, looking at the letter… then sighing and handing it back, “Hold onto that, I need to get something…”

With that, she headed straight for the door and… presumably where her glasses could be found. Although the letter was already opened, and the handwriting rather legible, the language was archaic. Rather like talking to Rui, in fact, although with even less resemblance to any liturgical usage.

For Fionn’s part, he could really only make out a few names. Elionne, Gertrude, a few others. As well as a...”Yaya?” He frowned, squinting down. Definitely had to be a name, or some other sort of proper noun like that. He looked back up, peering through the windows where Tyaethe was trying to find her glasses.

Too far away to ask, but that meant he just had some more time to think it over with the Niyar next to him first. ”You have any clue who that could be, Fiadh?” he asked, turning the letter to her and pointing at the name. Given that she’d just left the opened letter with him, he figured Tyaethe wasn’t all that concerned about the possibility of the two of them looking over it. Or she just knew he wouldn’t have any clue what any of it said.

He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Fiadh might, and continued not to consider it as he showed her the letter. ”Or what, I suppose, but with everything else going on there it sure looks like a name...”

The Niyar leaned forwards, almost sounding out the letters, ”Oh! That’s who the letter is for. See, it’s right here at the start, asking if they liked the painting.”

The fairy’s eyes went wider as she pointed further down in excitement, “Oh, this bit is for me! See, there’s my name,” and now, looking closely, it was, just with some unusual orthography, ”And Merilia says hello, and tells me to ask the captain if I want a bigger tree moved in, and to stop reading! I’ve never received part of a letter before, darling, this is fun!”

Fionn looked silently at Fiadh for a moment. “Yaya” must be Tyaethe then, since the letter was addressed to her on the outside. But for the Niyar next to him...he could guess at how the spelling could make sense, at least, but that wasn't the important part.

”You don't sound as completely surprised as I would expect.”

He furrowed his brow as something else came to him.

”Wait, you can read this?”

The fairy nodded, ”She taught me how to!”

”You know Merilia?!”

”We met when she was little. And I was little.”

Blinking owlishly through her glasses, the vampire had slid up without a sound and was already rubbing her head, “It shouldn’t be me to point this out, but you’re both still small.”

Even she was taller as an adult than the witch.

”… littler!”

”Fiadh's tall for a Niyar. That counts for something, right?” That was, perhaps, not the thing that Fionn was still focused on as he peered at the section of the letter around Fiadh's name, misspelled as it was, but he was prone to letting his thoughts out entirely when he was surprised by something. Like knowing that Fiadh had known the witch Merilia when she was, apparently, a little girl.

Shaking his head, he held the letter back out to Tyaethe. ”Take your mail, shorty.”

“Well she had to – what did she put in here?,” Tyaethe immediately took the letter, reading through it in silence. And then again, this time frowning at the contents, and a third time to make sure, “… well, she didn’t say that, but I know Merilia must be to blame somehow. First that apprentice starts getting overly familiar, now you’re calling me short…”

What, if any, contents the majority of the letter had were a mystery known only to the paladin. “Oh, she asked me to see if any of the knights want to join a betting pool. How long until Gertrude seduces the captain?”

”...I don't think that's really one of her skills, and if anything happens there they'll both be awkward enough about it that anybody who tries to call it a seduction should be slapped.”

“So… do you want me to put you down for ‘not happening’?”

”Oooh, ooh, she’s the grumpy one! A year!” Fiadh was all too happy to jump in, not that Tyaethe had any idea what she might be betting. Then again, she was an old fairy, so there was bound to be something interesting available… or maybe the winner would get a magical stick, that was entirely possible.

Had Gertrude worked out what that did yet?

“Given the captain’s attitude… if Gertrude’s her type, I give it maybe a month at most.”

Fionn looked back and forth between the pair for a moment, frowning. ”...Assuming she actually focuses in on it, decides it's something she wants to happen, then I give it two months. But I still object to calling it a seduction, and I hope that if Gertrude is just doing it for her usual idea of fun that Fanilly will recognize that and not entertain it.” Assuming that the witch's apprentice could manage to be genuine for longer than five minutes might change the calculation, but even then it would still require some level of focus that he expected she'd be more likely to devote to being irritable or treating the captain like a toy and not a person.

Given all of that, if things continued at their current normal rate, he expected that Fiadh's guess might even be too short.

”Now that we've taken care of that...stop by the dining hall and then head over to check on Laoise and Ardor?”

”Oh, I’ll stay here and look after the tree, darling! Maybe I can find a nice spot for a big tree and ask the captain, then get it moved in…” Fiadh seemed uncharacteristically nervous, moving towards the safety of the branches and just out of arms’ reach.

“Can I put this letter away first?”

”He won't burn you, and you can stay away from the forge...” Fiadh had been equally unwilling to go to Ardor when they first introduced Laoise, so he didn't press the matter, as silly as it seemed. ”Tyaethe and I will be back in a while, then. Lead the way, Tyaethe.”

It didn’t take long to drop the letter – and glasses – back in Tyaethe’s usual sitting spot (notably quicker than her finding the glasses) before heading to get food. Where Tyaethe seemed to be making a spirited effort to gather up her own body weight in food, approaching it with a “yes, I’ll have everything” mentality.

Fionn picked up a small bit to eat, given that he wasn’t terribly hungry. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Tyaethe had slept through breakfast, and on top that...”Having to heal up is hungry work, eh?” He poked at one of the still-obvious scars on her arms. ”Would’ve expected that needed to be mostly blood, though.”

“The food is just because I like it. In terms of practical sustenance or mana content…” Tyaethe’s voice drifted into nothing as she continued to eat far more than a girl of her apparent size should ever be able to, “The healing is all blood, though. But I got a big boost there this morning, Gertrude’s is so mana dense, and the taste…”

She was practically drooling.

Fionn was silent for a moment, watching as Tyaethe’s eyes grew distant while she thought about feeding on the witch’s apprentice earlier...before he reached over and flicked her in the ear. ”Don’t tell me that was in the baths,” he chided. ”A girl of your age ought to know better.”

“Nothing got in the water…” she muttered, looking away and rubbing her ear in frustration. Stupid pointiness, made them more sensitive…

”That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. I hope you didn’t let her bully you into anything special with it.”

“It was still only her blood! I’m not going to go any further than that!” the heated response an entirely transparent attempt at dodging the question as she tried to hide in the rapidly diminishing plates of lunch.

Fionn stared flatly at the diminutive vampire.

“It’s not like I had much choice where to bite, it was too good to pass up…” she mumbled.

”Do not tell me you let a brat that you’ve only just met make you break one of your own rules about feeding.” If there was one thing that he shared with Gertrude, it was the enjoyment of bullying the vampire, though hopefully he was at least somewhat more friendly about it than he expected her to be.

“I’m not telling you.”

”How’d she do it? Seeing a girl without any clothes on just makes you that weak-willed, or did she insist? Pull some sort of ’It has to be like the stories!’ argument on you and you just gave in?” He poked the petulant girl in the cheek, trying not to laugh. ”Perish the thought, the first of the order, swayed into doing something she swore she never did just by a blonde maid with her tits out...”

“We did some bonding first!” Tyaethe protested, face getting steadily redder and redder, “I didn’t want to argue about it when she started insisting on the story-book approach!”

”Oh, aye, sure, that makes sense. You get yourself hurt and can manage to keep from lapping up the streaming cut on the face of the guy that’s been trying to make friends with you for months, but Gertie distracts you with some uncovered breasts and says ‘make it like the stories’ and you’re an easy mark, like. If this story gets out of these walls we’ll lose our royal charter for sure.”

“It wasn’t about the breasts! We both grew up sick, and I’m supposed to be sort of responsible for her family even now! And mine are bigger and better anyway! It’s just… it’s a lot of things! It takes more than being a hot blonde…” Finally realising what she just shouted out, Tyaethe went back to her food with even more speed, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

… she couldn’t possibly be breathing now.

Some of the other knights at the other tables, at hearing Tyaethe shouting, turned to look in mild astonishment as Fionn’s face remained set in stone. ”I can’t make any comment on that,” he replied blithely, as though the vampire wasn’t doing her best to look like an apple that grew legs. ”I already have to worry about Gerard and Renar making fun of me, between you, Fiadh, even Alette and the Moonlit Queen out there—and what Fiadh assumes about my relationship to all the rest of the knights, you included. If I started commenting on the quality of your chest I’d never hear the end of it, and she’d probably try to invite you into our bed.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging the truth,” Tyaethe grumbled, “That’s no reason for Fiadh to try and invite me into adultery, even if she doesn’t get that I’m never going to be interested in you.”

”You know, maybe if you just explained to her that you’re not going to do anything with anybody until Elionne comes back she’d at least quit the prodding...”

“But then I’d have to tell her – how do you know that?” Tyaethe’s head jerked up, looking back and forth across the dining room to check if anyone else had overheard, “I’ve told nobody.”

”You honestly believe I can’t piece things like that together? Do you think Fiadh only likes me for my body?” Of course, he couldn’t well explain how he might have gotten any other insights beyond just his interactions with Tyaethe herself, thanks to the little agreement with the witch across the oceans...nor would he, anyways. She still wasn’t as duplicitous or concealed about it as she seemed to think.

He took a bite of the pie he was holding, before continuing: ”Besides, it’s Fiadh. She’d understand. She’s not as free with all that as most other Niyar are, she’d at least be willing to quit pestering you with the answer of ‘it’s not only my decision to make,’ you know?”

“No, no, no, forget anything about Gertrude and boobs, if this becomes public knowledge now, then we’re in trouble. If it came out beyond us knights back then or before she was a saint, it would’ve been fine, but now Ellione is a symbol, and it’s been decades since I did anything impressive…” Tyaethe remained laser focused on the actual problem (to her), as opposed to “just tell Fiadh no”. She’d probably need a reminder, “How much gives it away?”

”Would it just be because she’s a symbol, or because of the fact that you’re a little girl most of the time and she was an adult?” He was, now, conspicuously not answering the question of what all gave the prior relationship away. The more she’d be trying to hide anything specific, she’d probably be more likely to reveal something by accident anyways. ”I can see that doing some damage to a saint’s reputation...but if it’s gone the last couple centuries without anybody important noticing, then you should be fine.”

“And I’m a vampire, and there’s the social considerations… but she’s a saint, it’s probably fine… but then am I good enough…” Tyaethe trailed off, “My father’s side of the family is entirely dead, maybe I could get Veilena to admit me properly? That might be good enough…”

She shook her head, “I’m not worried about strangers, I’m worried about knights with loose lips.”

”Sometimes it feels like you have such little faith in me...”

“I didn’t say you were going to spill it. But if you worked it out, maybe someone else would, and how can I be sure they’re going to be as trustworthy? Some of them are from noble backgrounds.”

”I think the types that are likely to work something like this out and the types that are likely to go talking about it don’t overlap much. Maybe your new favourite, if she ever picks up on it, but even then...”

“She is not my favourite! Just because she’s also blonde is no reason to make assumptions!”

”Well, if that’s all, I can’t release you early—so you’re still grounded for the rest of the day.” He finally grinned, standing up and picking up the wrapped lunch they’d grabbed for the dwarven smith. ”Take your cake with you, we’re off to see Ardor now!” The walk back outside, after dropping off a small snack for Fiadh and picking up Fionn’s mangled sword, took them into the heart of the dwarf’s workshop within minutes...

With a familiar form floating happily in the very middle of the smith’s forge, who waved at them as they walked in. ”Having fun, Laoise?” he asked with a smile, before turning to the dwarf. ”Ardor, I need you to work on my sword again.”

“He broke it against a tree monster,” Tyaethe added helpfully from her perch.

”I didn’t really have time to bring it back to you after a few other things that have happened since you first worked on it, looks like we needed to make it stronger...blade’s fine though!”

The dwarf grumbled as he took the broken blade, turning it over in his hands to look at the damage wrought upon the critical spell-channelling features. “Ach, lad, what abuse hae ye put this to? Did this lass len her mana tae ye?”

”I don’t even know how that would work!”

That didn’t seem to be quite the answer that Ardor wanted.

”When we ran into Fiadh, I got a bit of a jump ahead in terms of figuring out a lot of the magic stuff. There’s been a bit more than just that, but it turns out that between her help and the rest I’ve gotten, I was able to overload that work you did. But like I said, the blade itself is fine! Your work held enough for that! Just, the runes themselves and the hilt and all that...”

He nodded over at Laoise in the forge. ”So I need it fixed, and I figured that the best time to do that was after bringing Laoise over. How’re the two of you getting on?”

“She can had her heat, lang as she can keep out my charcoal,” Ardor grunted, raising the sword more so it caught the light, as much as anything so burnt could, “Or keep fae tryin’ tae melt my steel.”

The Feinyar looked sheepish at this. A very odd expression on someone so fiery.

“Is that even fixable?” Tyaethe wondered. The blade edge might be fine, but the runework along it was toast, so could he really reuse it?

”A can tosh up the blade, fix the runework...but the fittings are raggit. Ye'll need it a’ redone, an’ a proper gem tae handle the mana—naw some wee bauble or carvings.”

“If a gem is so important for high power, why doesn’t Daybreaker have one?” Tyaethe wondered, “It can handle anything I’ve ever put through it. Even when Ed let me use it for a siege, once…”

“Orichalcum bits, an’ it's nae catalyst. The mair mana in, the mair out, ken? How a kenna, a ken when a smith’s my better, an’ on'ie she kens how she makkit it.” He didn’t sound particularly pleased about that. “If ye’d jist let me look at it…”

“I’m not letting you take apart a priceless artefact!”

”Do you have a way to take a look at it and figure some of that out without having to dismantle or destroy it?” Fionn asked, looking between the pair. ”Between the fairies and the mages we have available to us, there ought to be something, like.” Neither Fiadh nor Laoise seemed the sorts that would really have much knowledge of metalwork and enchantments, but they were a decent track to finding other fairies that might. The mage’s college was available, Veilena was around, there ought to have been plenty...

”Oh, ah, can you manage to copy the old fittings as much as possible? That is a family heirloom, I’d hate to lose the soul of it...and if you have to fit a gem in there, hide it somehow?”

”A hae studied it afore—a think she's hid the runes intae the blade somewey, the dwarf explained, “An ane that shoots any mana out th'ither end isnae like tae be studied wi’ magic, lad.”

The dwarf stroked his beard in thought at Fionn’s request, ”Will be hard tae hide a gem an’ nabble it intae the magic, it micht gae intae the tang. D'ye really want tae risk it exploding in yer haunds, lad?”

”...”

Fionn looked between the dwarf, the fairy, and the vampire. ”There’s got to be something, right? That won’t just make the sword easier to break?” He looked at the blade in Ardor’s hands, frowning. ”Is it just time to hang the old thing up after all? I hate that.”

There was a gentle patting on Fionn’s head, along with somewhere vaguely around his lower back as Laoise didn’t quite get Tyaethe’s choice of location, and the smith heaved out a sigh, “A can fix the runes afore then. A'll ponder it an’ see if the'r ae options tae take, ae alloys can do the trick. ‘Tis jist a difficult thing, finding a hiddle fae something tae mak it a catalyst.”

“Well, you can always just find a way to protect or fix your hand,” Tyaethe offered, “Or we could go looking for weird mana crystals? Maybe I could even make some…”

“Thae'd be reid, lass.”

“But I’m sure I can purify that somehow.”

At least the sword would still be repaired, but if they couldn’t come up with a good option he would probably have to hang it up after that. Shameful, in a way, but it was older than him. And his father. And probably his grandfather. ”Aye, aye, I’m sure you’ll think of something. Maybe this whole experiment with a Feinyar giving her fire to the forge will pan out with some sort of interesting magic starting up, eh?”

Better to focus in on the fun ideas, at least...and he did still hope that “forging with magical fairy fire” would help Ardor and his apprentices be able to do some new things, or maybe it would just let them make everything even better than they’d already been. He wasn’t sure if he expected much so much as just hoping for it.

”Aye, leave the ablach wi’ me an the fairy.”

”We’ll leave you to it, then. Have to go check on Lilia next.”

“Lilia?”

”Aye. I haven't had a chance to actually spar with her or anything since we left on that hunt, you know.” With a cheery wave at Ardor, he rose, walking out of the smithy with Tyaethe in tow. ”I feel a bit bad that I haven't had a chance to catch up with her and show her any of what I can do now, not to mention apologizing for Fiadh making me forget everything she'd already managed to teach me...but we can take care of that now!”

The tall elf was unsurprisingly out in the practice yard, though without Fionn keeping her occupied it looked like she didn't have too many other knights coming and seeking her out. Their loss, as far as he was concerned, but it also meant—

”Bandéithe dhuit, Lilia!”

—that while she was busy thinking about something else, he would have the opportunity to surprise her.

“How do you plan to show her what you can do without a sword?” Tyaethe could only worry as they approached the elf girl – who, on being surprised, promptly spun around and tried to jump into a nearby tree at the same time. To her credit, although she didn’t make it, she didn’t fall down either, recovering and landing on her feet.

“Oh, er… hello, again,” the tan elf said, “…Um… can we just pretend that never happened?”

”Pretend what happened?” Fionn replied, entirely straight-faced. ”Just figured Tyaethe and I would stop and say hi, since I haven't had much time to practice with you lately. Do you have a spare blunt or a staff lying around somewhere nearby, or will I have to go find my own?”

A look at the dirt and nearby tree showed that, no, the only thing Lilia had on hand today was her own sword. Even after a second check to make sure.

Fionn frowned as Lilia, seemingly entirely seriously, actually started to look around herself for a spare weapon. ”No, Lili, I can tell you don't, I was just—” It didn’t work, the elf was entirely too focused on it as she looked around herself.

Fionn sighed, stepping over to the tree and grasping one of its lower branches. He snapped it off, and whispered, ”Rege.” At the quiet command the branch straightened itself out in his hands, forming itself into a decent, short staff, a little shorter than he was tall.

Albeit with a bit of a jagged end, but still. He'd take care of the tree in a moment.

”This ought to do, aye?”

“How did you do that?” she wondered, moving closer to inspect the staff. Cutting a branch from a tree and whittling it – she could understand doing that with magic, but not at the speed Fionn must have, not in order to do it at a conversational pace. But on top of that, it had been straightened? She couldn’t think of anything quick and easy to do that.

“He married a fairy.” Tyaethe had taken this as an excuse to hop free, sitting on one of the branches.

“He… what?”

”Have you seen the Niyar in the garden? That's Fiadh. She found me again while Tyaethe and I were out hunting.”

Lilia’s confused stare showed how little sense this explanation made. “So you went hunting and… got married? And this is how you have branch straightening magic?”

”Well, Fiadh and I were together for a while before the war, it turned out she wasn't as done with me as I'd thought and she was very happy to find me again,” he replied with a shrug. ”We found her playing with our horses, she rode back with us, along the way I figured I'd ask if there was anything she could do to speed this all along. Apparently she knew ages ago that I had it in me and was just waiting for me to ask...and now I have a silver leaf mark on my palm, have a lot of extra spells in my head, and I can also do Niyar magic.”

He nodded, satisfied with himself; that should more or less have it all covered.

”Oh, but it did make me forget everything you'd already managed to teach me...luckily Merilia figured out a way to help me re-learn a lot of that quickly, and then some!”

“O-Oh, that’s great, a famous witch as a t-teacher…” the elf replied, giving an unenthusiastic clap and looking rather like a kicked puppy at the news.

Tyaethe seemed to be muttering to herself. “How can he pick up on everything in my life, then be so clueless now?”

”Means we don't have to do a lot of catch-up, like,” Fionn replied with a peevish look at both of them. ”I'm still going to have to work with someone that is used to putting all this stuff together, you know. Renar and Gerard can't do any of this stuff!”

“But I don’t know anything about fairy magic, and if you’ve got all the spells then the rest should be easy…” Lilia fidgeted, eyes drifting down to her sword, “If I’m having to learn everything as we go, I’ll just slow you down. I’m not that fast a learner, I just have practice…”

Fionn poked Lilia’s shoulder with the stick.

”See, now you’re assuming things.” There wasn’t much he could do to really explain exactly how he’d learned what he learned, not without running afoul of the geas that the witch had put on him—but he hadn’t had so much time with Erich Cazt or the others to learn everything they knew. ”I caught back up and pushed past a bit, you’re still more experienced than I am at combining swordplay and spellcraft, and there are still going to be other things you know and I don’t. Besides, isn’t mutual learning a good thing?”

“Are you sure? I might just hold you back–” the elf looked up, only to squeak when Tyaethe threw some sort of ripening seed at her.

“If he needs a challenge, I’m here. What we need now is a spellsword.”

”I’m fairly certain you’d still be a challenge. You’re fast enough to keep out of the way of most of my usual tricks.” Despite what she was just saying, it seemed a safe assumption that Tyaethe also could be quite oblivious. ”I mean it, no matter what Mer was able to do with my head, I’m still behind you when it comes to fighting like this—the best I’ve done so far was ruin all the work I had Ardor do on my sword.”

He pointed at Tyaethe with the stick. ”She barely even knows any spells at all, and she doesn’t fight in any way resembling someone that had to actually learn all this stuff. The only way you could hold me back would be by doubting yourself and refusing to work with me!”

“Hey!” the vampire objected, “I know one actual spell. I’m not sure I’d fight like either of you if I did, the Demonbreaker might have done blade enchantments but also, well…”

“Our family was never short on power.”

“R-Right,” Lilia shook herself again, blunted enchantment glowing along her blade as she fell into a ready position, “So, um… just go all out…?”

Fionn grinned, before muttering out one of the spells that Erich had taught him to strengthen the branch he held, hopefully keeping it from getting broken in the next minute or two. ”Aye, why not? You’ll be able to tell if you have to lighten up on me.”

There was still an initial hesitance in her actions, but it rapidly dropped away, the elf girl's voice falling into the steady cadence of song. Small effects, each and every spell, but constant and unrepeating. Not entirely without pattern – she couldn't go from the deflecting burst straight into a magic slice that would continue past her blade, the movements and the pattern of the syllables didn't match up – but the decisions were consciously erratic. Even, at points, deliberately repetitive.

And she was still fast.

Even with her speed, Fionn’s own experience and reflexes let him hold his own without having to rely on much aid—though it left him entirely on the defensive. Parries, beats, voids and deflections; luckily, he had strengthened the branch enough that Lilia didn’t shatter it with a single strike, but he had no capacity to try and seize the offensive against her onslaught. Every time he tried to seize an opportunity, she had another trick of her own in mind to stymie him.

A battle of attrition, if it continued as it was. If she chose to start breaking out anything stronger, then he might run into more rapid trouble, though even then...he rated his chances high enough to last until she got tired. But that wasn’t the point of this.

He focused inward, letting instinct take over the defense for a moment. ”Bwiye floute,” he muttered, stepping smoothly out of the way of another strike from the green-haired elf. He whirled his stick around, slapping another out of the way far sooner than he had been. He had yet to be touched, but now, with Lilia looking to be moving about as fast as any other person he’d fought—

He stepped in, cutting off the angle she’d been moving to attack from. Parried the follow-up she moved to, blade sliding off his warded branch easily. Stepped in again, foot falling heavily to the ground, and commanded the earth below their feet:

”Krini!”

The elf couldn’t help but misstep when the entire ground shook, unable to keep her footing perfectly when there was no possible stability. It wasn’t enough to be an instant loss, her sword still moving to block, another elvish word falling through her lips before she clammed up, retreating entirely and lowering her guard.

“I’m so sorry, that would have been… it’s r-really not spar appropriate…” The calm of battle had broken, and it seemed the nerves were back – once again looking away, grip tight around her sword’s handle, “I’m n-not sure how much you really need, from me? You’re not even using a sword, and you don’t seem like you would need or work with the same tempo-based approach…”

Fionn had been raising his ‘sword,’ ready to step in to try to take and keep the lead, when Lilia backed off and ended the bout. ”Not appropriate? Well, now you’ve got me really curious...” he mused for a moment, before laughing. ”At least I was able to make you put some real effort in for once! We’ll just have to keep seeing where things lie, aye? That wasn’t enough to piece it all together—and you’re still holding out on me, aren’t you?”

“Not… really, nothing I could use in duels, let alone sparring, just… killing monsters or if there were some really strong bandit that attacked us…”

”I don’t just mean in spells, Lilia.” Being Lilette’s daughter, he struggled to believe that she was really showing everything she could manage just with the sword, let alone throwing magic into the mix. ”Besides, you have to be curious about whatever Niyar-magic I’ve got floating around in my head now. We’ll go back to meeting at the normal time when I’m in the castle, aye?”

“If that’s what you want, and if I’m allowed to stay for longer even once mum and auntie move on… it’s not like I’ve joined properly, but…”

“I’ll go write up the paperwork later. I don’t think anyone ever prohibited me from inviting people to the order, someone has to do it when there’s no captain…” Tyaethe said dismissively, brow furrowing as she tried to think if there’d ever been any edict passed down restricting her from exercising this ability when there was a captain.

”Saves me having to argue with her mother,” Fionn agreed with a nod. He stepped back over to the tree, holding the jagged end of his branch back up to it, and whispered: ”Aletou.” Spurred back to growth, the tree grasped its snapped-off branch quickly, growing back together without so much as a scar.

The branch was still perfectly straight as Fionn had made it, but that should change in time to look a little more normal. Satisfied with his work, he stepped slightly over towards where Tyaethe was sitting, so that she could drop down atop his shoulders if she wanted. ”With that all agreed on, we’ll see you later—time for us to head on into the town, I think.”

“Oh… um… bye? Th-Thank you?” Lilia seemed a bit stumped at the sudden announcement of her recruitment, as well as the curiously-repaired tree. She was even poking the branch a little as if to check it was really stuck back where it belonged.

Tyaethe dropped down onto his shoulder, letting out a thoughtful hum, “Seeing the magic you’re doing now, I wonder if the fairy involvement has done something to your natural affinities, or if it’s just knowledge pushed into your head.”

Fionn waved at Lilia as she poked at the branch, while walking off. ”Is this going to be a bit of magical theory that I don’t know about yet?” he asked the vampire on his shoulder. The last they’d really gone into that sort of topic at all was when she’d taught him how to make a little light, and she’d made it clear that she’d never really studied it in much depth. Or at least she made it sound that way.

”What was she about to do to me, anyways? I’m assuming you caught that.”

“Part of it. It’s High Elven, so she didn’t finish it, and I can’t tell how, but the stem… it was the same as her little deflection trick. It would be some sort of raw force effect but I can’t tell you what from the point she cut off,” Tyaethe answered the spell question first, giving a half-shrug he couldn’t see.

“Affinities… well, at their basic, they’re just what someone is inclined towards, with magic. Despite astromancy being the oldest, it’s not something that comes naturally for mortal races, a person’s being is much more grounded in the world around them. It’s almost always an inclination towards one element or another; some natural talent that makes it much easier to learn, say, fire spells,” Tyaethe demonstrated with a flick of her wrist, lowering her hand to show the ruddy red flame that sat in it, “There’s… more; rituals or events that alter the soul and make certain things come easier, or impose patterns that are magical talents of their own, but that’s the simple version. One of the first things proper magic tutelage covers, since it makes it much easier, especially for the young or flighty.”

”Mmm. So you’re wondering if that bond with Fiadh changed it around and just made me inclined to all the fairy magic instead, then?”

“You’re still you. I still have a fire affinity despite… everything,” the vampire muttered, “And this is much less intrusive. It’s more… a question of addition. Whether it’s fairy magic you can learn, or nature spells more generally…”

”...”

Magical theory continued to be a confusing thing.

”So...maybe fairy magic, maybe nature magic in general, maybe specifically it’s an affinity toward’s Niyar magic and then everything that Fiadh knows to copy the other fairies is just knowledge pushed into my head, like you said.” He walked along silently as they came towards Candaeln’s gates. ”But then there’s no clue about whatever was there before that, is there? How do they usually figure that out?” Maybe they’d have a different stop to make once they were in the city proper. There was one person in there that the knights had to follow up with, anyways, and Tyaethe’s name should have carried enough authority to get them what they needed…

“Never learned that. I just set a pile of firewood alight when I was small and it was cold and I couldn’t work out how to do it properly. Maybe it’s like that when you have a lot of magic, but for teaching it? Ask the college.”

”Then we will! We need to check on your cousin, anyways.”

“Veilena? Why?” And would she even be at the college and not at home? It wasn’t like Tyaethe had her schedule.

”Make sure she’s staying out of trouble, get her help to find some more information about the shards and where they might have ended up, see if she’s managed to figure anything out about our mysterious masked villain, general social call, take your pick. Maybe she’ll know some better way than trial and error to figure out whatever I’m supposed to be good at other than Niyar magic, too!” Some of that had a clear overlap with reasons to visit the college anyways, of course, but if Veilena could help with some of it, that was all for the better. If she wasn’t there, then making sure she was staying out of trouble was the only thing they couldn’t make some possible progress on.

“Well… I guess I need to ask the college about my enchanted stones, too.”

”See, something for both of us! Also, when do you think the next time we’ll go hunting will be?”

“Depends when we have time, and the… problem is solved,” Tyaethe answered as they came up to the college.

It was one of those buildings that had always been fully stone, as long as it had stood, like Candaeln. Unlike Candaeln, it had never played a role as a barbican, never been a fortified outpost, and it showed in the architecture. Rather than being solid and bulky, the college’s walls rose gracefully, with impossibly large windows to let in the light – from the lack of other architectural adornments, one that could easily be surmised magic was in play.

There was just something about magic users and ostentatious abodes; they were lucky that nobody had developed a tower-building fixation during any of its major construction.

Although, to call it a single building was perhaps a misnomer; they were all joined together by covered walkways or bridges now, but the area it sat in had once been a collection of streets that had been demolished and redeveloped over time, the arch that marked the college’s outer perimeter the sole road that hadn’t been closed off in some manner to restrict access. Once inside, Tyaethe urged Fionn away from the college’s ‘normal’ entrance, the one you might use if looking to hire a mage’s services in one regard. They weren’t mere merchants here to secure some magical bauble, after all.

Instead, she gave the somewhat more confusing directions to where the college usually welcomed visitors, an open door set into what was once the main building. The room itself was sparsely furnished, some chairs at the walls and a complicated tiled pattern representing the constellations set into the floor. It wasn’t somewhere that loitering was encouraged, and the only one there to receive them, at the moment, was a bored-looking youth flicking through a book by one of the windows.

With Tyaethe having already gone through the effort of getting them in there, he’d have figured she’d be the one to keep up with any necessary introductions or the like, given that unlike Fionn, she was the one that knew people there. Outside of perhaps one or two. That, and she’d theoretically been there before, given that she knew exactly where to go and all that.

But when they arrived in the entrance room, and she was content to wait without doing anything further—he looked at her peevishly, before calling out to the young man sitting by the window: ”Bandéithe dhuit! Is there anybody specific we need to talk to to start poking around in here, or are you the welcoming party today?”

“If you’re here as visitors, nobody told me to expect you,” they didn’t even look up from the book, “If you’re actually here to place a request, please use the normal door.”

“We’re here for my cousin,” Tyaethe supplied… almost helpfully. Almost.

“So…?”

Fionn frowned. Took a single breath, set Tyaethe down next to him—

And stepped forward again, his frown replaced with a pleasant smile, as he reached down, plucked the book out of the young man’s hands, and closed it unceremoniously. ”Veilena Cazt, specifically. We’ve important business with her that may involve this entire college, and I would appreciate if you might reach out to see if she’s around today. Or shall we proceed onward ourselves and start our search?”

“Even if she was around, it’s not like she’d be taking visitors, and the duchess doesn’t have any… cousins…” Finally he looked up, trailing off at the unimpressed look that the vampire was sending his way from behind Fionn – Tyaethe immediately recognisable, even when the Stalwart Ball Knight wasn’t as well-known a figure. “Er… r-right away, sir, milady. Please wait here, I’ll see if the Duchess Cazt is present today.”

If he’d had a tail, it would have been very visibly tucked between his legs as he ran off, leaving the two of them to wait.

“It’s a shame I can’t magic clothes out of thin air.”

Fionn set the book back down. ”I’m almost sad he actually recognized you. After that attitude to start with, I was ready to have some fun with him.”

“If there’s anyone in Aimlenn that doesn’t recognise me, I’m concerned for their memory,” Tyaethe answered with a shake of her head, “Maybe if I was older, but only because of the… distraction.”

”You never know how new someone might be, or how much they’ve paid attention to any of the bigger events going on...or just how arrogant someone might be. I’m not the only one from my old company to become a knight, after all, ran into one that did before me, back during the war, not long after I’d joined the Roses. He was still too convinced of his own superiority to actually realize who I was with nowadays.” Fionn’s faked smile grew a bit wider and more relaxed, as he remembered something he could actually smile at.

”I repeated it for him, he still never managed to piece it together. Then he accepted a challenge after I finally got mad enough. I made some nice cash when I stripped his armour off of him and sold it.”

Tyaethe gave him a confused look, “You started undressing someone to steal their things and sell them? That’s not exactly proper behaviour…”

”We agreed that the loser would be at the winner’s mercy and I knocked him out. Since I felt that he was getting too big for his britches, I decided to humble him a bit. I don’t know if he ever left the monastery I dropped him off at, whenever he finally woke back up.”

The vampire shook her head, “Honestly…”

It wasn’t long before the youth returned with the information that the young duchess had agreed to meet the pair of them and offered to lead the way to the main library – or, to be precise, one of the private reading rooms off the main library.

Given that they hadn’t updated the overall layout of the college in Tyaethe’s entire lifetime, his accompaniment wasn’t necessary as they took the trip through the building and into what was, quite unsurprisingly, a cozy, well-furnished room that looked more like a parlour for meeting guests than reading, if it wasn’t for the sheer number of books currently stacked around it. Naturally containing, of course, one small duchess and her armoured shadow, lurking by the corner.

At the sound of shifting plate armor, Veilena sighed and raised her head, quietly shutting her book as her golden eyes fell upon the College’s guests. She was seated at one of a few tables, with a small stack of various volumes nearby. They were largely historical tomes, relating primarily to important artifacts, which made their presence rather unsurprising.

She scanned the pair for a few moments before speaking.

“Dame Tyaethe, and—...” she paused for a moment when her eyes fell on the vampire paladin’s companion.

”Fionn,” he supplied helpfully.

“... You, I suppose you wanted to speak to me?”

Haelstadt remained silent, looming wordlessly beside the young duchess.

Fionn nodded, entirely unperturbed. ”Aye. Some business, some just social—start with the first; I thought it might be a good idea to check in after that mess at Cae Mayl. No clue if the captain’s been by yet, but since you and Occasionally-Headless Haelstadt there were so willing to go and be helpful yourselves, a follow-up seemed like a good idea.” He smiled over at the silent guardian in the corner.

”Especially if you might have figured out the locations of any more of the shards, or something about the possible identity of that masked fellow Amy caught a glimpse of.”

Tyaethe gave a small half-shrug – if that was what Fionn wanted to open with, so be it – and focused her attention on the armoured figure. Still walking around after their head had been sliced off was one thing but that wasn’t what grabbed her attention. No; what was up with that heartbeat? It hadn’t been so obvious before, but now that she was looking for it…

Haelstadt returned Fionn’s smile in the same manner they always did.

A completely silent, wordless stare.

Veilena, however, had much more to say.

“Knight-Captain Danbalion has sent a letter asking to share information if possible,” she responded, “So I was intending on compiling everything I’ve learned as soon as I was ready. However, I suppose some people simply can’t be patient.”

Those gold eyes crossed over the pair of knights briefly, before the young duchess let out a sigh.

“For the shards, it’s been difficult. There’s plenty of stories about them, but it’s hard to determine what’s true and what’s merely a folktale,” continued Veilena, her brow furrowing and her lips pressing together in a look of irritation, “But the mask—”

Taking one of the tomes from the desk, the petite grey-hair girl opened it and flipped through the pages for a few moments, before appearing to find what she was looking for and placing it down.

The page detailed the habits of certain heretical cults, the symbols they used and some of their offenses against common decency.

But most importantly was an illustration, a depiction of a common symbol among these cults that worshipped particularly ancient and unnatural things.

A single, wide, staring, vertical eye.

“This matches the description quite well, doesn’t it?”

”Aye!” If he was aware of Veilena’s thinly-veiled frustration at the interruption, he didn’t show it. ”Looks just like what Amy described.” He looked between her and Tyaethe for a moment.

”Either of you hear any news of some cults like these being active in recent memory? I suppose I could write to the girl in the forest, too, in case they’ve heard anything about these sort other than the one they already dealt with...”

“Not in my lifetime,” Tyaethe answered, shaking her head slightly and continuing to stare… and frowning, “Does your bodyguard have some sort of heart problem? That’s a really high heartrate.”

Nothing on a vampire’s, but for a normal person, it was something.

”Tyaethe, I think everybody would have some unexpected health problems after surviving a beheading. Folks usually don’t survive those.”

“That’s just magic, it shouldn’t have permanent effects. Unless you forgot to put more blood in or something.”

”Magic to fix being beheaded after spending multiple minutes walking around trying to find said head is very abnormal! I feel like un-decapitation magic even when applied instantly is probably somewhat rare, there’s a lot of things to have to make go back together there!”

“Weren’t you here to ask about the shards and the mask? Now you’re interrogating me over my bodyguard?”

Veilena folded her slim arms and let out an annoyed huff, quite bothered that neither of her sudden guests had taken a closer look at the book beyond confirming that the symbol was the same.

“Haelstadt is perfectly fine,” she added, “As long as I’m alive, my knight will never fall.”

Haelstadt didn’t seem to have any reaction to the discussion. It was as if the black-armored knight was some sort of statue.

Despite the knight's imposing stature, Tyaethe showed no hesitation in strolling around to their side and stretching up to… give the massive figure a pat on the arm? It was as high as she could easily reach.

“Well, that might be why Fionn wanted to come here, but I thought we were just making a social call. It's not like I can't,” the vampire said, bringing her finger to her lips. “Has Damon paid you one of those? He's probably been around since the tomb mess.”

”Part of why. There’s a few things to cover, but I figured I’d start on business so that the Duchess didn’t decide she also felt like changing my hair or turning me into a frog or anything like that.” With the momentary distraction of Haelstadt’s entire being dealt with, he went back to looking over the open book Veilena had left in front of them.

“We’re not going to have to go on a vampire hunt, are we? From what Serenity was saying, he sounds like an annoying one.”

“He hasn't done anything that should earn a death penalty, he's mostly just a cad… recent conspiracy excepted. Maybe.”

”Sure, maybe. Maybe he wasn’t in the know about this little assassination attempt being part of the conspiracy to steal away shards of Angroron. Or maybe he is a part of it all, rather than just a part of the distraction...and said distraction still nearly killed the princesses. I don’t think it’s prudent to assume everything he was saying to Serenity was genuine.”

There was a sound of shuffling plate as Haelstadt’s helmet turned to regard Tyaethe for a moment, but no words. The tall, armored figure simply returned to their silent duty.

“That reprobate vampire?” commented Veilena, raising an eyebrow when the matter of Damon Cazt was raised, “I’ve received a letter from him saying he may pay a visit. Which, given his involvement in a conspiracy regardless of his intent, would be beyond foolish.”

The young duchess let out a sigh.

“Then again, I suppose that man’s entire history was filled with foolish decisions, given how he’s ended up. I’ve never met him personally, but it’s hard to avoid learning about the parties and the numerous affairs. In any case—”

She placed a thin finger to the eye symbol in the book once more.

“While there are vampiric cults, this symbol isn’t used by those blood-obsessed fools. The cults utilizing the piercing eye worship something much older, as I’m sure a Paladin of Reon would be well aware.”

“Yes, abomination-worshipping cults,” Tyaethe frowned, drawn away from the interesting family reminiscing and back to the (present) problem, “And since Angroron is a hole in reality and way to access the Graveyard, it would be a motive…”

Well, as much as a motive as you could get when people were delusional enough to believe that entities from the dawn of the world that were forced permanently and completely beyond its borders were something you should worship. At least the demonic houses played nicely enough with reality’s existence they could still be involved.

At least anyone choosing to worship Hidroroth would have had a point.

”I’m getting the sense that they’re going to try and use all these shards to bring those things here.” The how or why of it was beyond him, beyond the insanity it took to worship the corpses of primordial abominations or Hidroroth’s shattered soul—given that was the starting point, anything after that was undoubtedly without any good explanation.

Not only that, but the longer the knights took to figure it all out, the further behind they got. ”So. We don’t have any sure leads on any more of these shards, but whoever is trying to get them was able to get their hands on not just the one kept here, but they managed to steal one right out of the collection of a fairy, right under everybody’s nose. I really don’t like somebody else having a head start on me in something like this.”

“On the contrary, the theft from the fae noblelady is a lead,” Veilena responded, “However slim it might be.”

The girl leaned back in her seat.

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t have a full understanding of the situation,” continued the Cazt heir, “But as far as I understand it, her collection was within her domain, wasn’t it? If that’s so, then there’s no doubt we’re looking for a mage of particular talents. One who can open the way to a fae realm and earn a conversation with its creator, as well as move within it without her knowledge.”

“Because powerful mages are easily tracked. We just need to find someone who has an impressive grasp of spatial magic.”

”Be nice.”

“I never said it was the best lead,” responded Veilena, one eye closed as she waved her right hand idly, “But any information on our potential culprit is still good information.”

The petite duchess leaned forward.

“A mage of that caliber in such a specific field will have some form of record on their existence, somewhere, and perhaps we may be able to draw corroborating information out of that fae lady. She did interact directly with the thief, didn’t she?”

Fionn nodded. ”Aye, she said something about that. Didn’t give us much more than a description that matched some of what we already knew, but she definitely made it seem like she’d be happy for some more visitors, especially with Duke Thedric being busy with being a duke.”

Before they’d all departed, he’d made some effort to try and explain all that. He wasn’t certain it had worked.

”Just be careful she doesn’t try to turn you pink, though. Or into a rainbow.”

“I wouldn’t be so confident that notable mages have been recorded,” Tyaethe sighed, “Given what Merilia just dropped in our lap from somewhere. A lot of specialist knowledge lives well outside the colleges.”

Which wasn’t just negativity! Witches and their associates were extreme examples, but most elves wouldn’t be recorded anywhere they had easy access to, at a minimum, and anyone passing their knowledge on just by apprenticeships…

Well, if it was an insane cult, why would they be known before they went out to do insane cult things?

“Even an absence of records could still be considered evidence, albeit not the most useful evidence,” responded Veilena, crossing her arms over her slight chest, “But the refinement of a technique required to penetrate a fae domain without being immediately noticed makes me suspect they at least had some level of formal education.”

She leaned forward.

“As for that fae lady, maintaining a relationship with her is likely a good idea. She and her servants are some of the few individuals we know have interacted with the bastard who’s responsible for this.”

“Well… it shouldn’t be hard, after killing Rozenalt I’m probably interesting enough to deal with,” Tyaethe said, tilting her head, “Might have to rely on that damn apprentice…”

And now she was blushing.

Fionn flicked her ear.

”You’re overthinking it and I don’t want to know what else you’ve got going in that head of yours,” he said bluntly. ”She wants friends. She already made it clear she’d like me to come back and visit, and probably any of us that could, so long as we’re brave enough to do it and know how to behave ourselves around here. Taking Veilena here along shouldn’t be a problem, if she wanted to come, or just carrying messages.”

Speaking of the young duchess, he turned back to face her. ”Other than figuring out how we might introduce you to the local archfey, Tyaethe here has left me with a few other questions for you. Do you know if accepting a bond with a fairy could change someone’s natural...What’d you call it, Tyaethe? Their magical affinity? Or just add to it?” He frowned, and nodded at himself after a moment; that sounded right.

”Also, if you know a way to even figure out someone’s affinity that isn’t just trial and error. And I think she mentioned something about enchanting some stones, too.”

“Take me along, to visit some fae lady?” Veilena questioned, one eyebrow raised, “I can’t decide if I’m intrigued or offended, given their reputation.”
The Cazt heir cocked her head.

“I presume you’ve made some form of Fae contract?” she added, “Given what you’re describing, at least. Affinities are difficult to truly alter, but there are a few simple ways to test for one. The college employs a simple Gemstone Reader, all you must do is perform basic channeling and it can recognize your affinity.”

She paused for a moment.

“... You don’t know what a Gemstone Reader is, do you?”

The pair shook their heads in unison, Tyaethe defensively adding after a moment, “I started setting things on fire about as fast as I learned to talk. It wasn’t necessary.”

”We only learned I could even do magic to begin with a couple months ago. Fiadh had never seen fit to say back when I was younger, otherwise we probably wouldn't even have this question.”

The young Cazt’s initial response was simply a heavy sigh.

“Of course you don’t,” she said, “Why did I even bother asking? Well, I suppose it’s lucky you came to the college, then.”

The girl paused for a moment, eyeing the pair.

“Are you going to ask yourselves, or are you expecting me to help?”

Fionn smiled at Veilena. ”Is that an offer?” he asked, looking—and perhaps sounding—as close to a puppy act as a man of his build could manage. ”You really are very helpful, you know.”

The vampire blinked a few times, before slowly turning to stare at Fionn. “Did you really just ask a duchess to be a guide…?”

Fionn nodded once.

“... Tch.”

Veilena folded her arms across her chest.

“Really now. How bold of you,” she said, the edge of her voice dripping with sarcasm like the edge of an assassin’s blade, “You do realize I could simply ask to have you thrown out for pestering me like this, do you not?”

The Cazt heir cocked her head.

“In fact, the only reason I’m not doing so by this point is that it would be an even greater waste of my time.”
Despite her rather hostile front, it appeared that the young duchess did in fact intend to help, albeit begrudgingly.

”You see, Tyaethe, I told you she's nice!”

“Yes, yes…” the vampire shook her head. Sure, maybe Veilena was nice – or maybe she was just humouring them. Either way, she was ready to follow along, although more for Fionn’s benefit. Turfing her out of the building would be far more effort than any of them wanted to put in.

With the duchess leading them (from the way she was acting, under duress), it was a quick trip to a rather spartan-looking area, a few students idly practising-cum-reading further down the room and ignoring their entrance as Veilena directed them to a table along one wall, laden with various magical accoutrements.

The ones of interest to them were a series of clear crystals socketed into a sort of orichalcum ring, with more loops of the metal describing a clear channel around the circumference. It was possible that she was going to explain how it worked… but Tyaethe had already picked one up.

If it was testing affinity, then it had to be so simple even a complete novice could use it. Mana in, affinity out, and that was exactly what she did. Immediately, the crystal itself turned a deep, vibrant red, ephemeral letters forming in the surrounding channel: SAN—

There was a tsk of annoyance, the paladin biting her lip, and then the colour abruptly changed, lightening to a still alarmingly-bright yet flickery red-orange, with the outer ring now reading IGNIS.

After giving it a long look, she cut the mana out and offered it to Fionn, “Just push mana into it.”

Not as much as she had, it was getting uncomfortably warm, but that wasn’t going to be a problem.

Fionn took the crystal in his hands, looking down at it a bit dubiously as the color faded away. He'd been wondering about figuring out whatever his affinity was supposed to be before Fiadh showed back up, and after what he'd just watched...Tyaethe had already confirmed that she knew what hers was before becoming a vampire. Clearly she had some way to change the reading and make sure it showed what she wanted it to.

He didn't know that, and now he was left holding a crystal ring that was just shy of burning, rapidly cooling back to an utterly inert object.

”Right. Here goes nothing, I guess?” He tried to concentrate past the fairy magic he'd been doing lately, just trying to channel energy into the crystal like when Tyaethe had first shown him he had the aptitude for magic at all. He squinted at it as the ring stopped cooling down, although it didn't start to pick up temperature again.

Squinting too hard while he tried to focus on not-fairy-magic.

”What's it say?”

“Ventus,” the vampire read out. The crystal itself turned a steely grey, turbulent and unsettled yet somehow consistently… undifferentiated. “Wind, specifically, but any spells to do with air in general.”

Much more mundane than what she had expected, with all the fey magic that Fionn was using nowadays; but at the same time, it wasn’t really like the fairy side was something that was organically taught. It didn’t make sense to have an aptitude for it.

”Eh?” He looked down at the crystal in his grasp. Sure enough, it said just what Tyaethe had told him. No real signs of anything abnormal there. He relaxed, letting it return to an inert state. ”That was easier than I thought. I half expected it to just say Niyar or show a little fairy, like.”

He set it back where it had been, lips pursed in thought. ”I don't think I know any air magic, though.”

“So? I told you this morning, it’s an inclination. If you wanted to learn any air spells, they would come easier and with less effort,” Tyaethe pointed out, “An affinity is something you’re born with. Most people aren’t going to go around displaying such a strong tendency it’s apparent before they learn magic.”

”No, no, not that part. Isn't it strange that despite everything I've got in my head from Fiadh, I can't think of anything that has to do with air? It was Aessyr that dropped me in her lap, after all, you'd think she'd know something there.”

“Is it…? I don’t get how that works,” she said, looking thoughtful, “Did you even realise everything that got shoved in there at first? Maybe it’s just never come up.”

He furrowed his brow, one hand scratching at his chin in thought. ”Aye, maybe,” he agreed after a moment. ”But what could I...easanálaigh, rois, séid...maybe...séitid? No, that wouldn't be it either...”

He fell silent, before looking up again a with a clear idea in mind. ”Swizde!” he proclaimed, glad to have finally thought of a word that would work—and the air in the room rushed forward in a shockwave, his voice like a thunderclap as any loose papers and other light objects were instantly set aloft and strewn about the room by the sudden burst of force and wind he'd unleashed.

His ears popped uncomfortably as everything rapidly tried to equalize and return to normal.

”Oh.” He at least had the sense to look and feel a little sheepish after making such a mess. He turned back to Tyaethe and Veilena, eager to rapidly change the topic. ”Do you want to ask about your stones now, or should I follow up on that idea we had while we were out hunting first?”

“We really don’t need to do that…” Tyaethe grumbled, shaking her head, “I’d rather just go find someone who can do the crafting for me. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

The hard part of making a stone hard enough to recreate dragon scale – let alone Volkstraad’s – would be the mana requirement but that was easily resolved just by requiring it to take mana in when activated. She could do that, no problem, it only had to have enough of a reservoir to hold it temporarily.

So, not the sort of task that demanded Veilena’s time.

”Aye, but what about your eyes?”

“I told you, I don’t want anyone experimenting on me,” she frowned, “And while I could find Damon, I can’t imagine he’d be any more willing to go along with it without a massive bribe.”

There were far more pressing things to worry about than fixing her eyesight; it didn’t even cause her that many problems.

“If you’re talking about her eyesight, I wouldn’t expect a solution,” Veilena commented with a sigh, having watched with a look of vague disinterest for most of the time. Only briefly had she become more focused, during the tests to verify elemental affinities. Aside from that, she simply looked somewhat bored.

“While the process of becoming a vampire will mend physical injuries and erase disease, things someone is born with become a part of their natural state of being,” she continued, “There’s nothing that I could do about that in the face of a vampire’s healing ability.”

“I’d rather be able to regrow arms than see slightly better.”

”What's the point of studying magic in a place like this if you're not going to see if you can break the rules of things? Surely the natural state of being can be adjusted if you figure out how.” He paused.

”You know, aside from the part where Tyaethe doesn't want to be experimented upon.”

“A vampire’s entire existence is bent towards maintaining that ‘natural state of being’,” replied Veilena, flatly, “‘My talents are indeed vast and impressive, but this isn’t simply a matter of trying harder like you appear to think.”

The edge of irritation on her voice had grown no less sharp.

"A vampire's existence is basically a ritual, a continuous blood sacrifice in exchange for life and power. Becoming one… if it happens normally, you need to want to live, to stay as you are. That's something imprinted on the ritual itself, tampering with it after… well, tampering with ritual magic in general tends to have backlash, and something like this would be even worse. But it means that we can heal just by reversion, if it comes down to it." Of course, there was more to it – something like that fundamentally altered your nature on a magical level, making blood a fundamental component of who you were… but Tyaethe didn't tend to like that.

Tyaethe's intervention was likely all that salvaged the conversation, jumping in before Fionn had the chance to really indulge himself teasing the poor duchess. He listened for a moment, and shrugged. ”I'm sure every great discovery in any field has been prefaced by people listening when they're told something's impossible, aye. Succeed or fail, if you really put your mind to it you're bound to find out something new and interesting. Ought to find some more poorly behaved vampires that Haelstadt can help you wrangle and see what you come up with.” Not to mention that keeping the girl focused on something like that or on trying to be helpful with the missing shards could help keep her out of any more trouble than she'd already got caught up in in the first place.

He turned to Tyaethe fully. ”Anything else while we're here, then? After the walk into town, it's bound to be time for dinner before long.”

“Yeah, come on while I find someone…”

Fleuri Jodeau

Fleuri slowly walked down a path in the graveyard, glancing up at the slowly setting sun. Without the overhanging shadow of the conspiracy to assassinate the princess or the urgency of rescuing the assassin's sister, these hallowed grounds carried an ambience of peace. For someone who had fought necromancers and undead since he was a squire, the serenity of the graveyard stood in stark contrast to the unburied dead upon battlefields and the grisly stashes of corpses in necromancers' lairs- and of course the recent desecration of the Cazt mausoleum.

Years ago, he lamented that the war concluded before he could truly take part in it. In the present day, Fleuri felt blessed to be living in a time of peace where people were afforded the luxury of having their mortal remains properly laid to rest rather than picked apart by scavengers or puppeteered by dark magic. In recent weeks, however, it became clear that the peace fought so hard for, which Fanilly's predecessor had died to achieve, was facing a growing threat. It was a more subtle threat than Anzel Cazt and his bid to take over Thaln, but the forces involved- the shards of the dreaded weapon Angroron- were far more dire.

It was precisely because of this looming threat that Fleuri had come here, resolving that a looming threat this dire demanded that he call upon any and all resources he could muster.

As the sky began to darken as Reon's sun sank below the horizon, Fleuri once again drew close to the Jodeau mausoleum. Now that he was unburdened by the urgency of facing down the conspiracy against the crown, it was an even more somber sight than the last time he had come here. Just as before, however, Fleuri checked the door to ensure it was secure, hungering to be certain that his ancestral tomb remained inviolate.

The door was as secure as the last time he had come here.

Rather than immediately reopen the hidden weapon cache, Fleuri sat down and leaned back against one of the Reon statue plinths. He was not physically exhausted from the journey, but he felt the need to rest regardless. No better place in Thaln for a Jodeau to rest, he mused.

Fleuri looked up at the sky, then down at the other graves and mausoleums. He thought about how much it had been impressed upon him that the weapons within the plinth were only meant to be used in the most dire situations. The conspiracy and desecration of the Cazt mausoleum warranted resorting to such desperate measures, and at the time Fleuri believed that the situation had been resolved enough to require returning the weapons. But with someone out there collecting the Shards of Angroron, someone capable of driving an entire fort mad and slipping in and out of a fae realm, things had gotten substantially worse since the night of the ball. With what they were facing, it wouldn't be right for House Jodeau to sequester away Armand's enchanted weapons.

Besides, after having trained with the Mirror Knight, Fleuri found himself considerably more comfortable and willing to make use of weapons other than his greatsword and dagger.

He had spoken to his father about this matter, and had been given approval to make use of the weapons. Even with his father's assurance, he still couldn't entirely shake what he had been taught from birth- that these weapons should only be used to combat the desecration of the mausoleum. It was certain that Armand, stalwart paladin and Iron Rose that he was, would approve of his weapons being appropriated for such a dire matter.

His resolve renewed, Fleuri crawled around to the secret button on the left plinth and opened the cache. By now night was falling, and Fleuri hadn't a lit torch on him, so it would be prudent to hurry up. The first weapon to be removed was Candlestick, which true to its name, emanated a dim glow when wielded. When he removed it from the scabbard, however, Fleuri was shocked at what he saw. The holy water flasks in the plinth had been restocked, despite Fleuri having forgotten to mention that he had to use them. Even more surprising was the fact that both the sword and morningstar were clean and polished to a mirror finish- a far cry from the dirtied weapons that he had returned to the plinth the night of the ball.

Clearly someone in the family had been here, but according to the conversation with is father just yesterday, they had never gotten around to restocking the cache. So exactly who was doing it? Steffen and Gerard had been made privy to hidden compartment, but he couldn't imagine that they were doing it. It was probably Lisette- his twin was always the first in his family to hear about his adventures and as a priestess of Reon, replacing the holy water would be trivial.

As he turned around, arming sword casting dim illumination, Fleuri thought he saw something or someone out of the corner of his eye. Startled, he turned towards the shape and gripped Candlestick, instinctively preparing for a fight. However, there was nothing there, nor were there any unusual sounds that could signal another being here. It was probably just his state of mind playing tricks on his eyes.

Fleuri strapped the scabbard and morningstar to his belt- he would use the sword to guide himself out of here, then sheathe it once he reached the illumination of the city. As he turned around a corner, however, the light of Candlestick caught what looked like the glint of gold or brass in the peripherals of his sight. This time, he walked over to investigate- if there was a haunting, or simply a graverobber around here, it was his duty to put a stop to it- and right now he was holding a weapon dedicated to doing exactly that.

"In the name of the Iron Roses and crown of Thaln, show yourself!"

Nothing. No telltale signs of ethereal or corporeal undead. No telltale sign that anybody was around here. It had to have been just the light reflecting off a coin lost in the grass, or perhaps filigree on a headstone. Fleuri gave up the search and resumed his departure from the graveyard, unable to fully banish the feeling of unease.

Things were going to get weirder in Thaln, but at least he now had more tools to better tackle whatever strange adventures that the Roses would be facing.

It was a bright, clear day.

The temperature was pleasant, the cloud cover was minimal, and the light breeze served primarily to keep the heat from growing too severe.

In other words, there was perhaps no better day for this event than today.

Fanilly glanced down towards her feet. The field was somewhat muddy, unsurprising given its purpose, but endeavors had been made to ensure it was clear and free of obstacles. The ground, while moist, was dry enough that there should be no interference with the combatants.

The Valours Tournament was a tradition in Thaln. The yearly exhibition of the country's military might had occurred even in Thaln's wartorn past, albeit in a fractured fashion at different noble estates for a significant portion of its history. Now, it was under the authority of the crown.

Indeed, she could see the King and Queen, the Princesses, and the Prince from here. But amongst the crowds, those were not the only familiar faces.

The incredibly tall figure in black armor was unmistakable. That knight's presence alone guaranteed Lady Veilena's, even though there was little reason to doubt she would be there. But a more surprising sight had nearly caught her eye...

Or maybe the blue hair and glimpse of red was a case of mistaken identity?

The expectation was for the Iron Rose Knights to participate, but it would be the first time Fanilly herself would.

Did she feel prepared?

A twinge of uncertainty ran through her heart. She would not be the only one representing the order today, far from it. But as the Knight-Captain, she had to do everything she could to put on a good performance.

---Besides, deep down, she didn't exactly dislike sparring.

There were stands selling food and various wares, even some exotic faces from afar. Nobles from Asheraad had arrived to spectate, having come to the country for diplomatic purposes. It was rumored that distant Akitsushima was represented here today, as well, though that would be unprecedented.

Unsurprisingly, hundi had appeared at the tournament in no small number. An honorable duel was a high calling for their people, after all. So too was it unsurprising that a few ingvarr had come to participate, as their kind enjoyed displaying their skills in battle.

On reflection, the Ithillane Knight Valours, who had served Thaln's crown so long ago, would likely have smiled upon the display of so many combat skills of so many different people.

At the very least, Fanilly thought it might be so.

---

Rolan had not entirely been sure what to expect when he was informed they were departing for the Valours Tournament. Yes, it was an annual tradition that any knightly order worth their title would have representation at. Yes, the fact it was run by the nobility, the Crown itself, made not having attending members, the best and brightest, as much a dire insult as it was a mistake. But the question that remained in mind was, more so than any other, why him in particular. The Captain had some of the finest knights at her command, capable and dangerous in equal measures, and almost all of the ones present were well suited to tournament combat. But unless they had some sort of marksmanship contest in order, Rolan did not high hopes of putting on a display that would bring the Iron Rose Knights the honor and distinction they deserved. Rolan had said none of this out loud, of course, following the Captain's orders and departing with the rest who were attending.

It was all a bit too....high up the nobility for someone like Rolan. He was a former huntsman, turned bounty hunter, turned knight. While the family name he never laid claim to did, technically, give him some claim of noble blood it was tarnished by the reputation and actions that his ancestors had undertaken. So the fact he was on the same grounds as the royal family among other such high ranking nobility stood out. He deliberately avoided drawing their attention, on general principle, while assessing the other goings on. Imposing figures and striking presences were plentiful, but it was a tournament, most would be bringing their best and brightest armor and performances. Though with that many people attempting to stand out, it sort of all blurred in a sort of odd way.

The grounds were, unsurprisingly bustling with not just nobility and knightly orders. Anyone who had a reason to seek single combat, the glory that came with it, and had the means to attend would be here. The only standouts besides the royals and more established knightly orders was the not insignificant number of Hundi, who's honor duels and culture practically turned Valours into a lure for them, and the Ingvarr who elected to arrive. Rolan was not, ultimately, looking to draw any of their attention either, focused instead on busying himself with more practical and appropriate ways to keep himself busy.

Given no overt orders or taskings, Rolan had taken to walking the various stalls and stands peddling food, wares, and other items or knowledge of possible note. While the food was not a great concern to him, the idea of possibly finding unusual reagents, odd equipment, or other curios that could be made useful to the cause gave him a good reason to at least walk the stalls and stands, keep a sharp eye out, and see what arose from his investigation and patrol. That was what it really was, keeping himself busy and alert by moving and observing. If something was to go wrong, he ideally wanted to catch it before it became a problem. This many people of note, of importance, congregated in one place made them a target, and while that also meant security would be high, an extra set of eyes for the cause never hurt.