GLQ's Medieval Fics

[Gelquie]

An Elin and Briar story! Collab with Avery!

Winter Shadows
(Canon Story
December 1311
Wordcount: ~3.3K words)

SPOILER: Click to show

The snow crunched beneath Elin’s rugged boots as she carried a bag towards a small shack on the fringes of Medieville. In spite of the hard times, she and her aunt had had a good week of butchering, enough that they still had some leftovers for themselves. They could have eaten more, which would have done their health some favors in the process. But Elin didn’t mind going slightly hungry, not considering the hunger the she’d felt before. There were other places that the extras could go. Places that needed it more than she and her aunt did, places that were closer than her childhood home in Kine.

Elin pulled her light cloak closer to herself as the wind picked up, quickening her pace until she found herself at the doorway of the shack. Without hesitation, she knocked on the door with her free fist.

“It’s me!” she called through the door. “I’ve got something for you, let me in!”

“Lock’s still broken-- let yourself in!” a high, feminine voice returned. “I’d open it for you but--” A string of swears as something loudly clattered to the floor inside.

Elin didn’t hesitate to open the door for herself, quickly shutting the door behind her so as to block out the wind. She quickly located the speaker inside, fumbling over a fallen pot of water and hurried over, setting down the bag before kneeling to help the girl, taking one end of the pot before any more water could spill, ignoring the uncomfortable chill in her hands as she did so. “Here, I’ll help you carry it, Briar. I guess you’re making dinner?”

“Have no dinner to make,” Briar returned, taking a moment to force a deep breath before she helped Elin heft up the pot and set it over the warm hearth. “I just wanted to boil water. I thought if they drank some hot water, maybe they’d stop shivering for a while.”

The ‘they’ in question seemed to be the two tiny blonde girls asleep and huddled-- and indeed shivering-- to the left of the hearth, both of them sharing a single threadbare quilt. The blanket wasn’t wholly large enough for even one of them, let alone the two, and their bare toes peeked out from beneath it, deathly white against the chilly air that seeped through the flimsy walls-- and roof-- of the house.

“They’re sick,” Briar said, as she watched Elin’s eye fall to the children. “They’ve been sick for days. Daria’s improving a bit, at least, but Ciara…” She shook her head before adding quickly, “They’re not catching anymore-- or at least, I don’t think they are.”

Elin couldn’t help but cringe slightly at the sight of the children huddling together, clearly wearied by whatever had afflicted them. “Oh ‘Woo, Briar. It… It does sound like they could use it. ...And if you want something more filling than water...”

She turned and walked back to grab the bag, hefting it as she moved back to Briar and set it before the hearth. “Clare and I had a few extra bones after today. There’s enough to make broth out of them. I thought maybe it’d help you.” She frowned as she looked back over to the girls, a worried look in her eyes. “Guess I was right.”

“Are you… are you sure?” Briar asked, her brow knit with apprehension as she opened the maw of the bag and peered inside. “Woo, Elin-- that’s…” She closed it again. “I can’t. There’s no way I can pay you back for this, I’m sorry.”

“Who said anything about paying?” Elin replied. “They’re yours now. Auntie and I have enough. I’ve survived off of less than what we have.” Her eyes wandered back to Daria and Ciara. “Besides, you need it more than I do. Especially with them like this…” The worry had entered her voice, and she subconsciously rubbed her arm.

“Are you sure?” Briar said again, but she’d already dug back into the bag and started running her fingers over the bones, a lump welling in her throat as she did. “I-- thank you, El. I’ll have to thank your aunt personally, I… this will really help us. Especially since, well…”

“I know,” Elin said, giving another look to the Kiddes. “I don’t want to see any of you suffering either. Or anything worse happening to your sisters.”

“At least you care,” she murmured, slowly dropping the bones into the pot of water, after which she held the bag back out toward Elin. “Kelcey certainly doesn’t.”

Elin took the empty bag back and flung it over her shoulder. “He’s… distractible,” she said. “But I think he cares at least a little. He helps bring some money, at least.”

“In theory, yes,” Briar replied, outwardly flinching as Daria let out a miserable moan in her sleep. “But El…” She sighed. “Do you know where he’s at right now? As Laurie’s slaving at the Keep, and I’m tending to our baby sisters?”

Elin frowned in thought. “...No, I… I haven’t seen him today.” She sighed. “I want him to do more, I really do. But I can’t believe that he wouldn’t care. Maybe it’s something we need to talk to him about. Together.”

“Well, good luck talking to him, El: he’s in the city jail,” Briar said. “Third time since October.” She bit down on her lip. “He’s been there since… two nights ago, I think? They won’t release him until I pay a fine. They want ten runestones, El. Ten. That was-- that was, well, first it was the money I was going to use to get Daria and Ciara a Woomas gift. And then once they got sick, it was the money I was going to use at the apothecary to get them some kind of medicine.” She leaned over the still-cold pot. “Now, it’s just the money I have to pay if I don’t want Kelcey flogged-- or worse. The city guard was very pointed about the worse thing, this time. They’ve set a deadline of tomorrow for payment.”

Elin winced, taking in a sharp gasp of breath. “Ten? Ten runestones?! That’s… I don’t…” She gritted her teeth and turned away, putting a hand to her forehead. It was a moment before she spoke again. “How could...? What did he do to deserve that?”

“Apparently, he tried flirting with a pretty young woman.” She glowered. “Which would have been fine had that woman not been the ‘Pit-blasted wife of a visiting nobleman. The city guard seemed very eager to show the furious lord and his wife that they take such matters very seriously in the capital.”

A tense silence followed. “...So they fined you ten runestones, put him in jail, and threatened worse… For flirting with someone who just happened to be noble?”

She scowled. “They’re acting like he murdered someone. Don’t they have better things to do than fine people who are already poor? Maybe they wouldn’t miss ten runestones, but… I don’t get how. That’s a lot.”

“I think all they cared about was making a point.” Briar looked back toward her slumbering sisters. “Doesn’t impact some visiting nobleman if the criminal’s nine-year-old siblings are starving to death on a dirt floor, does it? I mean, I pleaded with the guard. Asked them if there wasn’t something else I could do, or Kelcey could do, or that they’d want… but they refused.” Darkly, she added, “Maybe it would have been better if he had killed somebody. At least then they’d have just hanged him. Wouldn’t have shaken his family down for ten runestones on top of it.”

Elin shut her eyes and turned away. “Don’t say that,” she muttered, but half-heartedly. As horrible as the prospect of Kelcey dying was to her… She couldn’t deny Briar’s point. “Someone shouldn’t have to die for them to not bleed your family dry. There ways to make a point without risking a family’s life for it.”

Elin’s voice had gone quiet, if with a bitter edge. “...But then they’re likely too self-absorbed to try to think of one… or to care.”

“They don’t care,” Briar agreed. “About any of us. We starve so they can feel good about protecting their women’s honor. We--”

Briar’s voice fell away as, on the floor, Daria abruptly roused from slumber with a bone-wracking coughing spasm. “Bry,” she gasped in between spasms, sitting up to clutch at her heavy chest. “I-- I--”

“Shh.” Briar swept over to her sister’s side, crouching beside the tiny girl to rub gently at the small of her back. “You’re okay.”

“Hurts,” Daria wheezed, tears pooling in her pale blue eyes. Her chest spasmed again, and she pressed a pale cheek pressed against the tattered sleeve of her sister’s dress.

“I know, honey,” Briar whispered, before glancing back toward Elin. “Water, El,” she said. “The cups-- you know where the cups are, could you scoop her some water from the pot? It shouldn’t be too hot yet, it--” She winced as Daria let out a strangled squawk, the young girl desperately trying to take in jagged sips of air.

Elin didn’t hesitate, moving to grab a cup before Briar had even finished her sentence. She quickly returned, scooping a cup of water from the pot before kneeling down in front of Daria, holding the cup for her and helping her drink. “Take your time,” Elin told Daria gently as she drank, looking at her sympathetically but intently, as if on the watch for anything that might go wrong. “Easy. Not too much at once…”

Daria’s first sip of water led to the girl sputtering it right back up, but on second attempt she managed a swallow, as the coughing fit slowly eased. Fortunately-- or perhaps unnervingly-- the great racket hadn’t awakened Ciara, as the older of the two girls continued to shudder from deep within the throes of a fever dream mere inches over.

“You okay now, honey?” Briar murmured to Daria, moving to wipe the tears from her sister’s eyes.

“I’m just like Mama was,” Daria simply said in turn, taking another measured sip of the water. “Before she--”

“No.” Briar’s voice was a blade. “Don’t say that, sweetheart. Please, don’t say that.”

“Y-you’ll make it,” Elin added, her voice wavering as if she’d been physically hurt by the idea. “You and Ciara both. Y-you’re drinking water alright. Just hang in there. We’ll get you through this. ...Here.”

Elin briefly handed the water for Briar to hold. She then took off her coat and laid it over the bottom portion of the blanket, covering Daria and Ciara’s feet. She resisted a shiver at the cold. “Maybe that’ll help, for a little bit. B-but you have to hold out, okay?”

She tried to smile, but it came out forced, a worried look not leaving her face.

Daria merely drained the last of the water before pursing her lips. “I can’t get warm,” she said. “No matter what I do, I can’t get warm. There’s too many holes in the wall. The snow gets in.”

“Shh, sweetheart.” Briar continued to rub at the small of her sister’s back. “Don’t think about the snow.” She glanced to the pot on the hearth. “And Elin’s brought us bones. I’m going to make you and Ara broth. Won’t that be nice?”

“I want Laurie,” Daria said miserably.

Briar sighed. “I know. But Laurie’s tied up at the Keep, honey.”

“I bet it’s warm in the Keep.” A fresh set of tears pricking in her eyes, the girl laid back down.

Elin gently smoothed Daria’s hair. “I know. ...Although…” She turned to Briar. “I wonder if Laurie could pull a few strings to let them stay there a while. If she could…”

She trailed off before she could finish. It seemed like a reasonable request to her, but then she remembered how all the previous ones were met. Ones that could save them… Although her face was still lined with worry, her eyes narrowed at the thought before she shook it away, looking around at the shack walls; a poor defense against the bitter cold.

She withdrew her hand and whispered to Briar. “Maybe I can ask my aunt if they can stay with us for a while. Until they get better. We’ve got stronger walls. It’ll be warmer.”

“I don’t want to burden you. Or her,” Briar said initially, but then, as Daria coughed again, she hesitantly amended, “I mean… if it’s okay with her, maybe it would be a good idea. Just until they’re not quite so sick. And I… I could help out with any errands she needs, or… anything like that. To make up for it.” She sighed. “Woo, what would Mum and Dad say if they could see us now? Kelc in jail, Laurie away most of the time, the little ones withering away…” Sourly, she finished, “But at least that nice nobleman feels good about himself tonight, right? That he sure showed up the stupid peasant boy who dared say a flirty word to his wife.”

Elin let out a rough sigh. “I’m sure he does, if he thinks his marriage is in so much danger that a flirty word from a peasant boy would ruin it. Maybe he doesn’t have much else to feel good about.” She scowled. “It’s not right… We shouldn’t have to suffer when they’re in a bad mood. Not when we have so much to worry about already, not when we’ve already lost so much…”

She shut her eyes. “A-anyway, it wouldn’t be a burden. It’d be worse if…” She shook her head. She wasn’t going to say it. “I still have to ask Auntie. But I think it’ll be okay. We’ll make room.”

“Thank you, El.” Briar stood again, sweeping the dust off her skirts as she paced back over to the still-heating pot. “I… do you think you could stay with them for a bit? While I go down to the city jail and bail out my ‘Pit blasted fool of a brother? Normally I wouldn’t hesitate to leave them a lot for a bit, but...”

Elin nodded. “Sure I can. I’ll watch them. While you pay…” She let out a sigh. “If only there was a way to get them to reduce the bail… But they probably won’t. Or they’d increase it just for asking. ...’Woo, I’d want to throttle them if it wouldn’t get me fined either.”

“Daniel thinks it’s wrong, too, you know,” Briar said, warming her hands over the fire as if to heat them thoroughly before she dared go outside to brave the cold. “He swung ‘round this morning after he heard of Kelc’s latest brush with the law, just to see if I was doing okay. Woo, he was mad when he saw the girls. I had to convince him not to march down and swear out the city guard. I didn’t think his ma would appreciate if he ended up with a fine on his shoulders, too.”

In spite of the situation, a small smile crooked on the sides of Elin’s mouth. “Can’t say I’d blame him. I was wondering if he…” She shook her head. “I wonder how many more people feel the same way. I’ve never said much against the nobles; complaining would probably get me fined too--or worse--if the wrong person heard. But… It feels like this happens too often. There’d have to be more people who think the same about this.”

“I’m sure there are,” Briar agreed, moving toward the door. “But everyone’s probably too scared to bring it up with anybody else. After all, if the wrong person heard…” She sighed grimly. “Well, that’s how you end up hanging, El.”

Elin frowned, sighing bitterly. “I know. But since it keeps happening…” She paused for a moment, suddenly in thought. “...Wait, Bry.” She turned her head towards the small, blonde girl. “What if… What if we talked to more people about this? People that we’re sure won’t turn us in? Like… Daniel, or Miss Bernat? At the very least so we could talk about it like this, help each other, or… Maybe even give ideas on how to make it better. So it’s not just us.”

“We’d have to be careful, Elin.” Briar frowned. “We wouldn’t want people interpreting what we say the wrong way. There’s too much at stake for that.” Her eyes fell back on her shivering sisters.

Elin nodded. “I know. But if we’re careful about what we say at first, and are careful about who’s listening and where we could talk… It’d be nice to have more people together on this, to talk or… or in case something happens and we can’t help each other out.”

“I’ll think about it,” Briar said, moving to open the door. “And… thanks again, Elin. For the bones, and watching the girls, and just… everything.”

Elin gave Briar a small smile. “It’s the least I can do. ...I hope Kelcey--or anyone--doesn’t give you too much trouble on the way back.”

“If he does, I’ll flog himself myself,” Briar grumbled. Grimacing as a gale of frigid air swirled through the open doorway, the girl added, “I shouldn’t be too long, hopefully.” And to Daria: “Try to get back to sleep, sweetie, okay? Elin will be here if you need anything.”

And with that, she stepped out into the cold afternoon, shutting the door behind her. Elin shivered as she watched her go, and huddled closer to the hearth, moving her hand to brush the hair out of the sleeping Ciara’s eyes. Within moments of Briar’s departure, Daria dozed off again, but Elin could still feel the girls’ shivering and the chill seeping through them. She immediately moved her hand to warm it next to the fire again.

I really hope Aunt Clare agrees to house them, she thought to herself. Not that she thought that she wouldn’t; when she first arrived, Clare was immediately generous and attentive of her. The Kiddes may not have been flesh and blood like Elin was to Clare, but they were friends, and Elin doubted she’d refuse them in their time of need.

...Which is more than the nobles will ever do for us, even though they have so much more… She sighed before shifting to make herself more comfortable on the cold, dirt floor as she thought. What she suggested to Briar could indeed be dangerous. The Keep might indeed be so paranoid that they’d be hanged for even talking about their dissent. Which was why they had to be careful. But Elin couldn’t in good conscience keep completely quiet; not to people who agreed and were willing to help do… something. Anything. She had to wait to find out what Briar would decide, but Elin hoped that she would agree and that they’d find more people to help each other out.

And then maybe, just maybe, something good would come out of this.

[Gelquie]

Collab with Celestial!

Breaking the Ice
(Canon Story
Timeline: July 1314
Wordcount: ~8.9K words)

SPOILER: Click to show

Finally, it was over, and Ambrose was dismissed from duty for the day. It seemed like every meeting had exposed more and more gaps in his knowledge. Not just of politics but in general as well. It was not like he was uneducated, he had received as best an education as he could have gotten, given his circumstances, and he had learned plenty from his visions, but even that was obviously not enough if he was going to make it as a Aldrich’s advisor. Sometimes he had wondered if Alain had made a mistake in putting him forward to serve the king. But Ambrose forced himself to push the thought aside. Alain of all people would know the pressure of politics and what exactly was expected from a servant of the kingdom, he would never have put his own brother down for that kind of life unless he knew he could manage.

The move from a mere madman to being the holder of one of the most important positions in the kingdom was never going to be an easy one. And it was not like Ambrose did not want to succeed at this. It simply meant there was a lot of work to do.

Though, somewhere at the back of his mind, he suspected that he was not the only one who was lost. The Bloody Coronation and its aftermath had brought about an entirely new regime. Not only was there a new king on the throne but the government had acquired a previously non-existent branch: the Shadow Council, formed out of the members of the rebel movement which had brought Galateo to the throne. But of course, it had to fit in with the other, more established structures of the kingdom, something which nobody was quite sure how to do, let alone make everything run smoothly. They were all learning, and for all of the experience of the other ministers and advisors, Ambrose did have one advantage: he was learning everything from scratch, Shadow Council and all.

He also suspected he was amongst the most sympathetic towards them out of most the other, more noble-born people in the king’s service, if not all of them. While Ambrose was naturally prone to sympathy, in part he knew it was because he got the chance to directly speak to them. In retrospect, that meeting had been one of the stupidest but also one of the most important things he had ever done. It was what had gotten him here, after all, and more importantly, it had given him a clear understanding of them and their goals. He did not know for certain what the Shadows thought of him. Even though he was seemingly mad and low-ranking, Ambrose was still technically a noble, one from one of the ruling Kythian Houses too. They had been reasonably civil with him during the meeting, or at least they had not treated them as badly as they could have, but he could not overcome that fact of his birth. He would never be a peasant.

Movement up ahead of him in the corridors of the keep distracted Ambrose from his thoughts. When he got a better look at them, it only took him a moment to recognise who it was: Elin. Elin Ryer. He had not realised it at the time but she had been one of the most vocal at the meeting, the one who was there to defend Xavier when Duval had come to take him, and the one that was also with Xavier at the Bloody Coronation. She had collapsed back then too. At least it seemed she was doing alright now.

The Stallion stopped, watching her go. He still remembered her anger from the Coronation when it had turned out a recruit of theirs had hired an assassin on a Shadow, for what purpose Ambrose did not know. It was still so soon and she did not strike him as somebody who would let go of such anger easily. But at the same time, she was close with Xavier. More than close, in fact. Even he could not miss it. And Xavier was one of Ambrose’s closest friends in Medieville, if not the closest.

He should at least try to apologise to her for what happened, if not make amends.

Ambrose took a deep breath, steeling himself. He did not expect her to welcome the disturbance but if he did not take the chance now, when could he? Might as well at least say hello. If she really did not want to see him, he would know and leave her alone. The Stallion had not lived as he did and not gotten very good at telling when he was not wanted.

So, carefully and quietly as a shy child asking for a present, Ambrose approached Elin. “Uhh...hello, Miss Ryer?” he paused, wondering what else he could ask. His mind, however, had gone completely blank. “Umm...how are you adjusting? To everything, I mean?”

Elin stopped in her tracks as she heard the familiar voice, and she quickly turned her head to face Ambrose. She didn’t know what she should say or even how she should react, at first. She had seen Ambrose around, given both of their duties in the Keep. But for the most part, unless it was necessary, she had been avoiding him. Even though he was kinder than the other nobles she had met, he was still a noble, born and raised with all of the privileges of which she could only dream. And in any case, there was no changing what had almost happened. Although he seemed remorseful, at least… Elin still didn’t know what to think of him, but she was wary of taking chances, and so she kept her distance.

She was thinking about giving a short response and then just walking away when she remembered the words spoken to her over the last few weeks, particularly from Aldrich and Xavier. They were telling her to give some of the nobles more of a chance. And given how Xavier seemed to have become friends with Ambrose, Elin figured that this noble was one of the ones he was referring to. Although she could understand him trusting the nobles that protected him, she still couldn’t help but be baffled at how much he trusted them… But she had already taken one chance with Leif, and nothing bad had happened yet. And Ambrose did help with Duval... If nothing else, she could eventually ask about something he did at the Bloody Coronation that didn’t make much sense. And she knew she’d have to talk to him eventually if she wanted to stay in the loop about some of the matters of the nobles. Elin held back a sigh as she tried to think of a response.

“Hi,” she said, trying not to sound so short. There were, in fact, a lot of things she could’ve said in response to that, with how so many things confused her and how much more confounded she had become the more she learned from her job… But she wasn’t about to admit as much. “It’s new. Different. Especially after needing to work in secret for so long.” She realized that she hadn’t really answered his question, but she didn’t really care. And Elin wasn’t sure whether he did either.

Ambrose kept back, watching her for any sign that she did not want to see him and trying to gauge her mood. She had at least replied to him, which was encouraging, but he could not help but detect the distance that she was putting between them. But that was to be expected. After all, they had not met in the best of circumstances before, and he knew that she had no love for nobles, let alone House Stallion. This was, however, where he had to try his best.

The older man gave Elin a small smile, trying to look friendly, or at least not looking like he was a threat. “I imagine it is. Running a rebellion is different from government work,” he said, nodding. “Though I sympathise. It is all new for me too, though in a different way to you, I suppose.”

He reached over and nervously gripped the edge of his sleeve while his eyes remained focused on the floor by her feet. “Still...you got what you wanted right? You can now change things for the better. Give people a voice?”

Elin paused as she considered Ambrose’s words. “...Yes,” she said simply, although her voice held a tone of wonderment. She couldn’t deny that this was what she wanted, and that the Shadow Council was a great way to accomplish this. But she couldn’t help but think of the other reasons on her mind, the ones that led her to help create the Shadows in the first place. Clare had assured her that this was the right path… But she wished it was progressing faster.

Finally, Elin came up with a better answer for Ambrose. “Yes. It is… Different from before,” she said, selecting her words carefully. “...But this should give everyone a voice, and a chance. So no one is silenced or helpless… Or worse. We’re making sure of that.”

He had waited patiently while Elin had thought of an answer to his question, noting both the hesitation in her words but also how she stepped around them, as though she was picking each and every one of them specially, as you would pick out prime specimens to display. But it made sense that she would. After all, Ambrose was still practically a stranger and you never revealed everything to somebody you did not know you could trust. He just had to be patient.

The Stallion responded by smiling and nodding. “That’s good. I hope then that we can both do something to make things better for people in Kyth. Nobody should have to be helpless, or be oppressed. And...I’m glad you are doing it this way. This way, nobody can…”

Thoughts of Alain invaded his mind, how his brother had thought the Shadows were a threat and how ruthlessly he had tried to weed them out. Even when they had revealed their hand, he had only reluctantly accepted them, and he knew that in the north, the Grand Duke would be keeping a wary eye on the new government. But at least now, he no longer regarded them as a threat.

Ambrose swallowed, “This is a better way to achieve your goals, I think, instead of having to hide and go behind the back of the law. And I’m glad you have this chance now.”

Elin was silent for a short moment, a frown tugging on her face. On the one hand, she was glad that he agreed to the opportunity the peasants were taking, but then he said it in the same breath that decried their previous actions. Elin didn’t know what to make of the Stallion’s response.

“...I’m glad we finally have this chance too, and I’m glad people are finally being helped,” she said eventually. “When before, going behind the law was what we had to do. We had to work in the dark to get to the point we did, or for that matter, to find the true heir. ...Otherwise, no one in power would have listened to us at all.”

Ambrose could not help but wince a little inside. She was speaking so stiffly, so formally...he recognised it well. That too polite tone: it was the way people spoke when they could not leave or were too polite to tell the other person to leave them alone.

He swallowed. This conversation had to go better.

“Now that you have, you don’t have to, and people do listen to you. There’s more options now too,” the Stallion glanced to the side. “You were lucky though, to find Aldrich. Without him…” he shook his head, dismissing the thoughts of the many more violent revolutions he had seen. “I don’t want to think about it.”

Yes, it definitely could go so much better.

“So...what will you do now?” he asked quietly. “I know you want to help people, so do I, but I’ve realised...it’s a big task.”

Elin only stared at his comment about not finding Aldrich, unsure of what to say to that. Memories flowed in her mind, about what was on her mind when the rebellion first started, her thought process, and how… Elin stubbornly pushed the thought aside. This was not a time for thoughts like that.

And in any case, he seemed to have changed the topic, with a question that made Elin pause. “...It is a big task,” she said. “It’s the whole of Kyth at stake. And… it can be a lot. I’m not alone though; I’m doing it with Aldrich, with my fellow Shadows, with the Council. And it helps. As long as we keep on it, as long as we push issues, I… It’s a start...”

Ambrose nodded as he listened. “It is, and...it’s a good start. You can’t change everything all at once but at least you can try to begin something. Even if nobody quite knows where it will lead…”

Nobody really did. The Shadow Council was so new and everything was so different that now, the future was wide open and terrifying. As it always was, the Stallion thought with a sad twinge in his heart.

He shook his head. “Regardless, though, I really hope that we can both work toge-”

Oh Woo, no, why now!?

The Stallion’s hands shot up and his fingers almost dug into his eye sockets in order to shield Elin from his stare. It was all he could do in the few moments of awareness as he felt the vision wrap around his mind and wrench him out of the present. His entire body tensed up as it tried to fight it off, but until it did, Ambrose was dead to the world.

Elin looked up suddenly as Ambrose seemed to cut himself off. At first, she thought he was about to say something else, something to refute what he said (even though it was about working together, of all things)... But no, he had completely trailed off and was gripping his head, almost as if he were in pain.

“...Ambrose?” Elin asked tentatively.

He didn’t respond; didn’t even move. And it didn’t look to be something he was making up… She put a hand to his shoulder and shook it.

“Hello?”

He still didn’t respond. He didn’t even move in the slightest when he was shook. Elin grew increasingly concerned. While she was no stranger to medical issues, she had no idea what this was. And he wasn’t responding, wasn’t moving… She pressed down gently on his shoulders, trying to get him to sit down, but she was met with massive resistance, as if he was locked in place. She’d never seen anything like that before.

She looked around, looking for anyone else. He needed help, but she wasn’t sure about leaving him, in case something else happened. She still didn’t know what to make of the man, but he’d at least tried to be helpful to their cause, and he listened... That was worth something, she supposed. But what could she do? ...Maybe she could move him somewhere, but she’d rather not do that alone. And maybe there was a healer nearby anyway...

Elin shouted down the halls. “HEY! Can someone help?!”

Ambrose, however, heard none of it. The vision played out in front of him, leaving him dead to whatever Elin was doing to him.

Mountains loom in front of him, perhaps in Bern or perhaps in some other place that resembled it. A man hikes across them, gripping the rocks for security while supporting himself with a walking stick. The path across the mountain grows more and more narrow as it becomes steeper. He keeps going. But his foot slips on a stray rock, sending him plunging down the cliff face. Even when he lands, it is with a sharp crack. He screams and while Ambrose does not understand the word, he knows exactly what it means by the tone alone. But there is nobody around to hear the man’s cry for help, save the mountain beasts and the Stallion displaced from time. He continues to watch, powerless.

After some time, however, his body wrested back control and the vision let him go. Ambrose’s muscles loosened and he cried out as he lost his balance, throwing out an arm automatically to brace himself against the wall before he could fall. However, he kept his fingers firmly planted across his eyes, not daring to remove them, and sucked in deep, ragged breaths.

He knew what was going to happen there. There was no hope for whoever he had seen. That was another person he watched dying, one of many. It never got any easier either.

Ambrose winced and rubbed his eyes, trying to stop the feeling of stinging that had crept into them.

Just as Elin was about to call out again, Ambrose suddenly reacted, falling against the wall and rubbing at his eyes as he gasped for breath. Elin froze in surprise, staring at the Stallion noble.

Either no one heard her through the castle corridors, they didn’t care enough, or they were on their way but distant, for she didn’t see anyone coming. She supposed it didn’t matter now that he had come to, and she could talk to him directly rather than wait to see if a healer could actually help. She knew well enough from her own experiences with her ‘illnesses’ that sometimes there was just nothing they could do. Better to ask him what it was first, just in case, and then figure out what to do next.

“What happened?” she asked. “Do you need a healer?”

Ambrose removed his hands from his face as he heard the voice, blinking as his eyes focused on the person in front of him. Elin! Oh Woo, why did he have to have that happen to him while trying to talk to Elin of all people?!

“I...I don’t need a healer, it’s alright,” he shook his head desperately and stared at her, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you had to see that. Please, don’t worry, it...it happens to me sometimes. It’s...I know it looks horrifying but please, let me explain.”

The Stallion took several deep breaths, trying to reduce his panic. It was fine, it was going to be just fine. He had an explanation, the full explanation, nobody was going to think him mad. Yet the fear of Elin, somebody who was so close to Xavier, turning away from him and thinking he was a madman like so many others had before her was one that gnawed at his heart.

“It’s...I have a form of time magic that I can’t control. Sometimes it manifests as...what you saw. But it doesn’t hurt me, much, but it’s harmless to you. I’m harmless to you,” he sighed deeply as he finished speaking and his shoulders drooped. “Please believe me. You have to believe me.”

For a moment, Elin could only stare, her head tilted. “Time magic?” She seemed confused, but her tone took on one of curiosity and confusion as opposed to disbelief. She’d never heard of time magic before, but then she didn’t know much about magic. She’d only learned more about it within the last month, and even then she knew that her knowledge of the subject was incomplete.

Even so, it sounded like an outrageous claim… But she couldn’t help but find it familiar. Although she didn’t have time magic, she certainly had experience with her own magic adversely affecting her body. She wasn’t sure if she believed him when he said that his magic was harmless, but it didn’t seem to hurt anyone else, at least. That gave credence to his claim.

“...I never knew you had magic,” Elin finally continued. She thought back to the few times she had met Ambrose… And a memory came to her, displayed at the front of her mind, removing any lingering doubt to Ambrose’s claims.

“...Back at the Bloody Coronation,” Elin started. “When we were fighting Duval, you seemed to… suddenly shift places. You were near us, and then you were threatening Duval. It was confusing, but I don’t think I was imagining it… Was that time magic too?”

Ambrose blinked in response to her question, thinking back to the Coronation. How he had been hit with that spell and stopped time, remembering the fear of it and the exhaustion that had followed on after. He shivered.

“That was it, though it had never manifested before like that, or since. At the Coronation, I was hit with a spell and it...dissolved the natural magic resistance which keeps it in check,” Ambrose swallowed, knowing the claim he was going to make was outrageous. But Elin seemed to believe him so far, and she had been present to see it with her own eyes. There was no reason for her not to believe him.

“I stopped time, Elin. I don’t know how long for, however it let me get behind Duval. But it drained me so much that I could barely stand afterwards,” he sighed. “Normally though, it manifests in what you just saw; a vision of the future. As a child, I sometimes used to age things until they rotted. I do not do that anymore, thankfully. I have better control of it with age. Not total but it’s no longer as debilitating.”

Ambrose gripped the folds of his sleeves, clutching them for comfort. “I know it is a lot to believe, a Stallion with magic and a kind of magic nobody had ever heard of before. But it’s true, it’s all true.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment and looked up at Elin, studying her face for any signs of doubt. “Please, believe me. I’m not mad.”

Elin couldn’t help but stare in awe at Ambrose, and the magic he described. It still sounded outrageous… But at the same time, she couldn’t think of anything else that could explain what happened at the Coronation. Besides, a lot of outrageous things were coming true.

“I do believe you. And… I don’t think you’re mad.” Elin couldn’t help but tilt her head at the Stallion noble. Was that a common belief? She supposed if they thought it was too outrageous to believe, someone might come to that conclusion. She frowned, but this time at the thought of him being mad. He was a lot of things, and she had many doubts about him still, but madness? That didn’t seem to match up.

She shook her head. “It’s just it sounds… powerful,” she said. She briefly wondered what else he could do, but maybe he didn’t know either. And even if he did, would he tell her? …But he’d already told her much about his magic. “And you said you can’t control it, but… It still sounds very useful. It helped us against Duval, at least. As for now… That was a vision from the future? I wonder if… What did you see?”

A weight shifted off his heart and Ambrose’s face broke out into a small but grateful smile as soon as he heard that Elin believed him. It was still such a novel thing, to be able to explain his visions, even with such a far-fetched theory as time magic, but he suspected it was going to be something he got used to very quickly. It was easy to get used to a good thing.

“Thank you,” he murmured but when Elin asked him what he saw, he swallowed and looked away. The vision surfaced in his memory, the helpless cries of the stranger he saw echoing in his mind. Ambrose bit his tongue as he wondered whether he should share. Some people never wanted to hear about his visions and looked at him in disgust when he spoke...but Elin said he was not mad. And she had asked.

“There was...somebody, I didn’t know him. He was walking somewhere in the mountains, but he slipped and fell. I think...he’s going to die out there.” The Stallion shuddered. “Sometimes it’s useful. The visions do give me ideas, for things to make. But other times...I just watch people suffer and die without being able to do anything while my present, normal life is interrupted by these things.”

He sighed and gave her a weak smile. “I apologise. I should not complain. You probably don’t want to hear the ramblings of some old man.”

Elin’s look became more sympathetic as Ambrose described what he saw, and at his last statement, she shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Watching people die like that, that’s… I get that.” She frowned, a memory coming back to her before she tried pushing it out of her mind, shaking her head. “I mean, I get why you’d be upset. Still… I wonder if we could find a way to warn them, if it’s not too far in the future? If you can see it ahead of time, maybe there’s a way to keep it from happening.”

Ambrose sighed deeply and shook his head. “I’ve thought about this many times over the past forty seven years, that I could find the people I saw and warn them about what was coming. But I rarely get visions which are close enough in time to now, and even if I do, I don’t know who the people I see are, or even where they are.”

He lifted up his hand to rub his temple briefly before letting it slump in his lap, “How could I search all of Avani for people I did not even know the names of, who I didn’t even know have been born yet? And even if somehow found them, why would they believe some crazy old man telling them disaster was coming? I have enough people telling me I’m mad already.”

“All I can do is make guesses and hope that somebody will listen to me,” Ambrose bowed his head. “Like what happened with Kine.”

Elin’s brow suddenly furrowed. On the one hand, she had a feeling that Ambrose was right, especially after his long years of experiencing this, that it would have been near impossible to save everyone. She herself might not have believed him had it not been for recent events. But at the same time, he must have known it was time magic. And for the bigger events, like what happened in Kine…

“...Do you mean the Famine?” Elin asked, the question more tense than before.

Ambrose blinked and looked up at her, the tenseness in her voice not escaping his notice. Nevertheless, he nodded slowly.

“I do. I...I saw it, years ago. I did not know when it would happen but I told Alain and he believed me. Just in case, he got measures in place to safeguard Bern from drought. And then when it happened…” the Stallion shuddered, remembering hearing word of the chaos down in Kine and to some extent, the lesser grumblings in Bern. “I couldn’t believe it. But I was just glad that I managed to do something, even if it was my brother who took all the action. It did not make hearing about what happened in Kine any easier though.”

Elin was silent for some time, but then she frowned. “I’m… Glad you were able to get through to help Bern, at least...” she said at first before her tone took a more bitter quality. “But why couldn’t you have tried to get word through to the other provinces? Kine in particular? The place that needed it most?”

She suddenly turned away, one hand gripping her arm tightly. “Not that Miller was good at all at handling the Famine, but if he had word beforehand… Or if not him, then someone in Kine who was worth their salt. Couldn’t you have talked to them, convinced your brother to warn all the regions before the complete and total disaster? That could’ve saved lives, in more than just Bern, and--”

She cut herself off, and she attempted to surreptitiously take a deep breath, still not looking at Ambrose. Not here, she thought to herself. You can’t do this. Not like this. Especially not in front of a noble you barely know, even if he is one of the kinder ones. ...If not kind enough to try to warn more people before it was too late...

The Stallion had turned away from her gaze as though he had been struck, unable to bear the angry tone of her voice. He gripped his sleeves and sucked in a few breaths, holding himself close as if to protect himself from her wrath. His eyes were firmly fixed on the floor, away from Elin.

After a few moments, a tiny, cowed voice emerged out of his mouth. “...All I saw of that was people who looked Kythian dying of starvation. How could I have known it was in Kine, in that year? It’s easy to see with hindsight but at the time, I had no idea. I did not even know if it was real.”

He gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes for a few seconds, blinking back a sting in his eyes. “Alain believed me, but even he would not invest in the irrigation project on just my word. My vision was just one consideration. But Miller…” Ambrose carefully turned to Elin, ready to look away in case her anger was too much. “If somebody came to you saying a disaster was coming, but they did not know in what year, or exactly where, and the only proof they had was the ramblings of a known madman, would you pause for even a second to consider it? Or would you laugh them out of Hereford?”

The Stallion’s shoulders shook. “I would give anything to save the people I see in my visions. But I have known since I was a child that this was impossible. That I am helpless.”

For a moment, Elin didn’t respond, a frown still stuck on her face. But this time, her eyes had a more uncertain look to them. When she finally responded to Ambrose, only fragments of the rough anger in her voice remained. “...I know Miller would throw you out, at least,” she said bitterly. “Probably wouldn’t even consider it. I just thought that you being noble might give you more of a say to those nobles who don’t bother listening to peasants otherwise. ...But if they really thought you were mad...”

She shook her head before looking away, trying to push back the memories and emotions boiling up inside her. “...Maybe I wouldn’t believe it either. But if I or they knew it was time magic, that’s something more, at least…” And she reminded herself that she probably wouldn’t have believed that either, not before the events at the Coronation. She didn’t know many people who would. She sighed. “...But I’m sorry.”

“It’s...it’s alright,” Ambrose closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I only found out it was time magic the day before the Coronation. Before then, everyone, including me, thought I was just mad. Nobody cared I was a noble, I was just a madman. Not worth listening to at all.”

He shook his head. That was all in the past. He was not mad, he was worth listening to now. The fact that he was in the Raven’s Keep as an advisor to the king proved it.

It was, however, far too late for Kine.

The Stallion tried to push the thought of his head and looked back up at Elin, smiling weakly. “...I don’t mean to pry, and correct me if I am wrong but...the mention of the Kine famine, it seems very sore for you.”

The combined look of sympathy and contemplation on Elin’s face that had appeared when Ambrose explained his perceived madness suddenly went neutral again at the mention of Kine, with a frown on her lips. She looked away from Ambrose again. “...It is,” she said shortly. She then paused, trying to decide how much she should say. “You may have seen a vision of it, but I lived it first-hand. It’s what eventually led me to move here.”

She swallowed and her frown deepened. “...But I don’t really like talking about it.”

Ambrose sighed deeply, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. He had seen enough of the Kine famine and heard enough of the unrest it brought about in Bern to be able to imagine the horror. But to have lived through it, and at such a young age too...he looked over at Elin with unrestrained sympathy and respect in his eyes.

“I see. I’m sorry that you had to go through that and I cannot begin to think how much you suffered during it,” the Stallion said in a soft tone. “I will not ask to you tell me about it if hurts too much, especially because to you, I am practically a stranger, and a noble too. But…”

He turned to look up at Elin. “You should not keep it in either. These things rot and fester inside of you if you do. You don’t want that. Especially now, when we are all trying to build a better future.”

Elin turned away at this, not rubbing her arm but unconsciously allowing her other arm to linger there. In her mind flashed the memory of one of the very few people she had talked to about it, that being her Aunt Clare… And that was only a little less than a month ago. Even though she had done that, it was still hard to keep talking about it, especially given how Clare wasn’t always on the same page as her with the nobles. But there were people she intended to tell… And guilt weighed on her heart again for not telling them. She had intended to, but she never felt up for it. She knew it was right to do so, especially now that the Shadows were taking more peaceful approaches. But knowing that didn’t remove the looming wall of fear and distress she knew she would face if she kept talking about it in great detail...

She shook her head. She still wasn’t going to linger on this topic with Ambrose. “Sometimes, it can’t be helped,” she admitted. “Not when there’s other things to do or think about.”

Ambrose sighed, noticing her discomfort. Given how this was such a painful subject and that he was a nobleman, and not one she knew well either, he could understand why she did not want to speak about it.

“Alright. But...please keep in mind what I said. You don’t have to trust me, I know that...being what I am, it cannot be easy, but still, remember what I said,” his voice was quiet as he spoke but his eyes were on Elin.

She looked up again. “Anyway... You said that Alain believed you on the visions? Even before you knew more about them?”

At her desire to change the subject, he complied and nodded. “Yes, he did. He...he tried to find out where they had come from over the years. And…” the Stallion swallowed, wondering how much he should tell Elin about Cebeline. He did not mind talking about his powers but to reveal that his House had killed a god was different. There was no telling how she, or anybody, would react.

“The important thing is that he believed me, and that he was kinder to me than everyone else was,” Ambrose closed his eyes. “I would have died without him.”

Elin grew pensive at this, her mouth curving downwards. “I’m… glad he tried to help you, the way he did. That he would help his brother that way.” Her lips curved further. “...And I suppose he helped me too, that day in the square. Despite the way he went about it. I guess that shows something about him.”

Elin then paused. “...But he still never showed that kindness to Briar.” Her eyes went hard at the thought, as she remembered when she was finally able to get up and visit the Kiddes after the Coronation, and the look she saw on Briar’s face when she got there. Her tone began to take an edge again. “You told us that the Kiddes were being looked after, that they would be safe. But Briar, what happened to her… Do you have any idea what that did to her?”

Ambrose winced, noticing the change in her expression and hearing the edge in her voice. A part of him wanted to instinctively back away into a corner while another wanted desperately to defend his beloved brother. But the nagging thorn in his mind of the memory of seeing Alain with Briar chained in that basement prevented him from doing either.

“...I know, and I have done my best to repent for his actions. I could not secure Briar’s release but I did my best to look after her, even if it wasn’t good enough. Woo knows, I wish I could have done more,” his voice quivered and he turned away from Elin. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what happened, about what Alain did. I hated it but...my brother is not a monster. He can be cold and can do cruel things without batting an eye but...he’s not the evil noble you strived to fight against.”

He sighed deeply. “We’re human too, with all that it implies, just like yourself. We have flaws, we make mistakes...and sometimes what seems right to one might be evil to another,” the Stallion rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want to seem like I am defending what happened to Briar. But nor do I want to condemn the only family I have left.”

Elin stared at Ambrose in thought, although her frown did not disappear. “...I won’t ask you to condemn your family,” she said slowly. “But that doesn’t mean that Briar isn’t suffering because of what Alain did. Even if you couldn’t release her, you could still have argued with him; you said yourself that he’s more likely to listen to you. Then she could’ve been put somewhere better, where she wouldn’t end up like… like now. Even if it was a mistake... she’s still worse off.”

She looked away, staring at nothing. “If you really want to repent, then repent to her. ...Maybe not directly, I don’t think she’d take that well. But doing things for her. Giving her helpful things. Something. Something that’ll help her recover.”

Ambrose swallowed, wrapping his arms around himself at her accusations before forcing himself to look up at Elin. “Please believe me when I say I did everything I could for Briar. The day before the Shadow meeting I...I got into an argument with Alain over him interrogating her. It was pointless to ask him to let her go as long as she was a danger but I did what I could to look after her. Brought her food, light, water, all I could. But even so she...you saw how badly she deteriorated.”

He shivered and gripped the folds of his sleeves tighter, clinging to them for comfort. “I’ve not had much time since then...but I did go to the Kidde home to try and seek forgiveness. Briar was not there but her sister, Laurie, was. I gave her some food and medicines for Briar,” the Stallion sighed deeply. “I’m doing all I can. I don’t want Briar to keep suffering, and I know I can’t prevent it. But I’m trying. Believe me, I am trying.”

Elin looked back at Ambrose in confusion. “Y-you have?” she stammered. “I’ve never heard any of them mention it…” But then, maybe they didn’t think to mention it. Given how much had happened since the week of the Coronation and how much the Kidde family was suffering, Elin reminded herself that it might have been easy to not bring that up. If nothing else, she could always ask Laurie later to confirm that Ambrose indeed tried to help Briar.

At the same time, Ambrose didn’t appear to be lying. And looking at him again, at his eyes in particular, she could see that his remorse might truly be genuine. Genuine enough to give her pause at continuing the conversation the way she was now.

“I’m… glad, then,” she said slowly, a subtle tone of surprise in her voice; she hadn’t expected such a guilty conscience over the matter. Not that that alone fixed things. “Though there’s still more to be done. She’s still in… such a state.” She closed her eyes briefly as she remembered the look on Briar’s face when she visited, and how she acted… “...I guess it’s good you’re doing something to make it up to her. But Alain…” She shook her head. “...Whatever you can. That’s reasonable, that is. You have more means to for the things she might need. And I want to see her better. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

Ambrose shook his head. “I know she didn’t, and that’s why I want to do everything I can for her, since I hate that she suffered at the hands of my brother. Of course, that is assuming she would let me. When I was there, only Laurie was so I couldn’t talk to Briar but...” he sighed deeply. “I could understand if she could never forgive me for what my House did. But you’re right, I have to try. I have the means and I have every reason to.”

He turned his head up at Elin, glancing sideways at her. “You’re...you’re friends with Briar, right? I’m...I’m sorry. I wish it did not have to be that way. But I swear, I’ll do what I can.”

Elin hesitated at first, looking up and down at the Stallion, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer his question before realizing that her hesitation counted for an answer in and of itself. “...Yes, she is,” she admitted. “We’ve known each other for a long time. Which is all the more reason why I want her to get better, and to never have this happen again.” She sighed. “...It’ll be better for you to try, to redeem yourself somewhat, in ways that can help her. Which I’d talk to her siblings about, really. But I doubt Briar will ever forgive your House.”

“I know, and after what happened, I can understand why. But I can still try to help. I plan to visit them again sometime but...I don’t know how that will go. I can only hope for the best but I know that life rarely turns out how you want it,” Ambrose said and sighed. As hard as he tried, some part of him felt that earning Briar’s forgiveness, even for himself, would be near impossible. She was stubborn enough to stand up to Alain after all, and he doubted he had the strength of will and the ability to break through that stubbornness.

For a few moments, a silence settled between them as he considered what else to say next. Elin was right, there was no point talking about the subject of Briar with her. It would only trigger more unpleasantness, especially if the two had known each other for a while as Elin had said.

He wondered if perhaps…

“Elin,” the Stallion turned to the young woman, “You say you’ve known Briar for a while but...does she happen to share Xavier as a friend? I just thought maybe...since you know him and you know Briar, maybe...”

Maybe he would be kind enough to vouch for me, he finished off his words silently to himself.

Elin raised and eyebrow and tilted her head at the Stallion. “I… Don’t know. He knows her a little, but I don’t think they’re close.”

The question rose in her mind again about how he knew Xavier. Even though she had been with Xavier for a few weeks, she had neglected to ask much about Ambrose. They seemed to be on good terms, with Ambrose helping protect Xavier twice. But Ambrose was new to town, and she was still uncertain of the whole history with them.

“But you seem to know Xavier well,” she said. “And he says good things about you. Where does that come from?”

Ambrose had lowered his head as Elin dashed his hopes by confirming Briar and Xavier did not know each other well but her next question made him look up at her again. He smiled a little, thinking about Xavier before shaking his head a little.

“To be honest, I am not quite sure myself why he respects me so highly. But I am not ungrateful for it. We met before the Coronation, by chance, after I had gotten lost outside the city. He helped me find my way back and we talked a little. Then I next saw him at the feast the rising queen held, after he had been recruited by House Jade,” he sighed, closing his eyes and thinking back to that day, in particular the distress that was apparent all over Xavier. “He seemed so miserable and I felt bad for him. I...I wanted to protect him. And he helped me too. He did what few others did and treated me like a person, not like a madman.”

The Stallion frowned slightly. “But...I suppose he would know better than anyone what being treated as less than human is like.”

Elin’s expression turned thoughtful and contemplative. She would normally help Xavier try to hide his past from strangers or people who didn’t need to know, but it had been made apparent from all the confrontations with Duval that Ambrose already knew, so she pushed aside thoughts of hiding the truth about Xavier from him. Of course, it didn’t mean she had to tell Ambrose the other truth between them. He didn’t need to know.

“...He does, yes. Unfortunately… Which is all the more reason why he wouldn’t want to wish that on others. He’s kind. Incredibly kind. And I’m so glad he’s walking free...” Elin trailed off for a brief moment, a hint of a smile on her face as she thought of Xavier. Even when she finally continued, she didn’t seem to catch on to this. “Anyway, it’s kind of him, helping you, as always. And…” Her smile then disappeared. “The Feast… It wasn’t a good day for him, and it wasn’t fair what happened to him. I wanted to help him too, and I tried… But I didn’t do a very good job. And then when I did find him later, he… ...That’s complicated. But things are okay now in spite of everything that’s happened to him. And I’m glad for that.”

Ambrose blinked when he saw the smile on Elin’s face. Was it just an illusion or did it...it did not look like the smile of somebody who was just a friend. And given how protective she was of Xavier during the confrontation in the square and the Coronation, how she had defended him without any regard for herself...could Elin be..?

He shook his head a little, getting that thought out. Even if she was, it was none of his business. Instead he just nodded to her and looked away ahead at something else, if only to try to feel like he was giving her some privacy.

“I’m glad that he’s alright too, and I am thankful for all the kindness he gives me, it’s only fair that I give some back. He should not suffer anymore, not after all he’s been through,” the Stallion gave her a small smile. “And for what it’s worth, you did all you could to protect him. Fighting Duval, both times...that would have taken a lot of courage. That’s certainly something you have plenty of, and I’m sure he appreciates it.”

“I think he does,” Elin agreed. “I just… didn’t want him taken away. I acted rashly that day in the town square… But at the same time, I don’t regret what I did to Duval at all. That terrible man deserved it, and Xavier deserved so much more. I couldn’t just stand by. I’m not letting him suffer any more either.”

She paused blinking before looking out the window. “...Oh ‘Woo, it’s getting late. I need to head home; I can’t stay too much longer.” Ever since the Coronation, her aunt had become a little more firm about Elin coming home before bedtime, or at least letting her know where she was going. As much as it could annoy Elin at times, she did understand where it came from, and Elin felt guilty enough for leaving Clare as uninformed as she did during those weeks. She still maintained that it wasn’t all her fault… But she knew that she still could have done more to alleviate Clare’s worries at the time. And then there was still the guilt urging her to try to be better to her aunt. Besides, there was something her aunt wanted to do with her before bedtime today, so there was even less reason for her to stay longer than she already had.

Ambrose glanced out of the window, noticing that the sun had crept a little lower in the sky than it had been when they had begun their conversation. Elin’s worry, however, was pronounced, much more than he would expect of a former Shadow and a Shadow council member. He wondered for a moment if she was just looking for an excuse, though given how their conversation had gone, it was unlikely.

Regardless, she was going and he had no right to hold her back. The Stallion stood up and bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Of course. I’m sorry to keep you so long but...thank you for talking to me. It was...nice to finally get to know you properly, especially because you...you seem to mean a lot to Xavier, and he means a lot to me.”

His shoulders drooped. “I know...that I was born noble, which makes me a noble, and so I’m everything you fought against. But...I really do mean you no ill will. And I hope, in vain maybe, that...that perhaps, one day, you won’t think so harshly of me.”

The expression on Elin’s face was contemplative, and she now seemed to notice how nervous the Stallion lord was around her. It wasn’t that she minded intimidating a noble, especially if they deserved it, but Ambrose… continued to surprise her more and more, and she had the feeling that this would continue, until she had a better notion of the Stallion noble. It took her a moment before she could think of how to respond.

“...So long as I continue to see you trying, and actively helping, then…” Her mind caught on the thought, rejecting what she was about to say. After all that had happened and in spite of the conversation, she still found it difficult in her mind to accept that there’d be reason to not think poorly of Ambrose. She settled with: “...Then we’ll see.”

She sighed, pushing the thought to the back of her mind. She could deal with it later. “But… thank you for talking to me, and… really listening. It… It really means a lot to me for you to do that.”

She raised a hand in farewell. “I’ll see you around, then.” She then turned and walked down the halls of the Keep, towards the exit.

Ambrose raised a hand in response and watched Elin go for a short period of time before he followed her towards the same exit, although there was no sign of the young woman anymore. He was not sure how that had gone, or whether he had even achieved anything. For what it was worth, at least she had not pushed him away outright. At least she had let him speak.

Woo only knew what she had gone through to make her so bitter towards the nobility. His heart clenched at the very thought as it went through the many scenarios of suffering he had gotten to witness over his lifetime. Maybe some day he could find out. But not any time soon, nor was it any business of his until she told him.

It was as Elin said: he had to keep trying.

[Gelquie]

So I haven't posted in awhile. So I bet you think this post will be one for a super important fic I've been working on for a while, right?

...Nope. You get a short silly AU fic.

It has spoilers for Jisam in the Revolution thread, and spoils the end of it. The first two paragraphs of the fic is taken directly from around the end of part 7.

Every piece of dialogue is in Low Courdonian unless colored otherwise.

Treatment
(AU Story
Shortly after Jisam Part 7
Wordcount: 772 words)

SPOILER: Click to show

Voclain looked up at Rylan. “Thank you, enki. I’ll let you know what we find with her as soon as we can. We’ll do our very best with her.”

“I’m sure you will.” With that, Rylan left, shutting the door behind him.

Ivy squirmed in Voclain's gasp, wondering what was going to happen, but not wanting to speak. Voclain's grip was firm on her shoulder, almost digging in, although it wasn't painful. As Rylan left, Ivy found her fatigue overpowering her energy once more, and she sagged in Voclain's grasp.

“Stand up, girl, we're only just getting started,” Voclain said, beginning to lead her away. “Pulled or not, the conditioning process must begin right away.” He led her to a chair, with the back of the chair bent slightly and a basin behind it. He pointed to the chair. “Take a seat.”

Ivy cringed, not liking the setup, but she sat into the chair without argument. She wanted to relax entirely, to just lay back and even fall asleep in the chair. But she tried to keep herself awake. Whatever they were going to do to her... She wanted to know. She had to think of what to do...

The other mages came and helped strap her down by her wrist and legs. They then pushed her head back so that it was just hovering over the basin before lightly strapping her neck in place. “Just a precaution, if the enki is as difficult as they say you are.”

Once again, Ivy gulped, and she couldn't stop from shaking, both from the Pull and from her abject fear of what was going to happen.

“And now we'll begin. Hand me that.”

Ivy couldn't see what was going on, and her hands clawed into the chair and she gritted her teeth, expecting the worst as Voclain brought his hands closer.

To her surprise, she found her hair being dropped into the bowl before having warm water poured on her scalp. It wasn't hot; if anything, it was rather nice. Ivy still braced herself; it had to be a trick. But then Voclain poured something onto his hands and put them on her scalp, rubbing it. Ivy blinked in surprise. It... Wasn't bad at all. If anything, it felt good. But surely there was something about the chemicals he was using. Maybe it was a way for something to seep into her brain and initiate a block on her magic...

“I keep telling the enki that hair is an important thing to take care of,” Voclain said with a sigh. “It looks like you haven't washed your hair in months. And this is vitally important.”

Ivy blinked, looking absolutely confused, but unwilling to say anything. Voclain seemed to notice this, and he laughed.

“Conditioning, girl. I'm starting the conditioning. That way your hair will be full and vibrant. We generally start with that before moving on to the full body massages and the pedicures and manicures. We want nothing but the best for the mages we condition.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You can ask questions if you want.”

“...I-is this a t-trick?” Ivy stammered. Surely this must be some sort of joke.

“Absolutely not. You're lucky to be a mage; slaves are guaranteed a higher quality of life as a result, especially during and after the conditioning. You require a fit and healthy body along with the entirely proper training you will receive, and then you will become one of our mages. You will be entirely set for life. And you have about a year to prepare.”

“But... But I-I always heard that bad things happen to mages...”

“The enki just doesn't want the other slaves to get jealous or pretend to be mages to receive unfair treatment. So we've put on an act, to show that it's worse than what normal slaves can have. But the opposite is true. In fact, you have so many benefits it might even be too cruel to call you a slave anymore. We'll need to keep an eye on you, of course. We can't have someone with such soft hair and supple skin as yours to run away on us. Some mages are paranoid even after the conditioning, after all they've been through. To the point where some have run. But I guarantee you that you won't need to. You'll like it here, and you will eventually want to stay.”

Voclain continued to massage Ivy's hair as he turned to another mage, who was preparing a lotion. “We promise.”

SPOILER: Click to show

”Surely this must be some sort of joke.”

And it is. I wrote this for April Fools some time ago... And never posted it. But this isn't meant to be taken seriously, so here it is anyway.

[Gelquie]

Have a fic! It takes place in Bern, during the Second Langean War. Special thanks to Celestial for beta-reading and giving me details on the war and the battle of Kabardin.

Casualties of War
(Canon Story
November 1298
Wordcount: ~6.4K words)

SPOILER: Click to show

The soldiers filed their way slowly back to the camp near Kabardin, as the injured either walked themselves back or were carried by their healthier compatriots. It had been a difficult, bloody battle; while the town itself was easy to take, the castle and the defense it provided had proven to be a huge obstacle. The army had made it through the village and were now laying siege to the castle, with the Sable nobles putting up as much of a fight that they could muster. But as far as the wounded were concerned, their part was over; temporarily for some, permanently for others.

They were now headed to the medical tents, which were quickly filling with soldiers. The medics were overwhelmed by the sudden influx of people they had to treat and scrambling to get as much done as possible. It got to the point where those in the camp who did not fight were recruited to help if they had so much as wrapped a wound in their life. They were supposed to be an extra pair of hands that the trained medics would guide so they could assist in the chaos, but in reality, receiving the guidance in a reasonable amount of time could be difficult. But none of the soldiers saw fit to complain, so long as they were tended to.

Among the wounded were two soldiers, one supporting the other and helping him walk as he stumbled, clutching his chest as blood seeped through his armor. The dark man groaned as he pressed his hand over the wound, gritting his teeth in pain.

“Almost there, Manuel,” his lighter friend Emmet promised him. Manuel only looked up to where he was going, blinking in vain to try to clear his blurry vision.

“Too many...” he muttered before gasping in pain again. “Not gonna be soon.”

“At least you won't have to walk,” Emmet pointed out. “And we can get it wrapped up, at least. Hopefully that'll be enough.”

Manuel only nodded weakly before shutting his eyes tightly, deciding not to look around him at the other wounded soldiers as the two of them entered the tent.

There was little room for them. All the cots were taken, so they were encouraged to lay down on the dirt floor. The ground was cold and hard from the frost and cold, but Manuel let out a sigh of relief regardless as he rested, happy to be off his feet.

It took some time for a medic to decide to approach them. As they were resting, Emmet was clutching a wound on his right arm, but when the medic came, he pointed to Manuel, insisting that he be treated first. And he was. The medic worked quickly, not wanting to risk the lives of the other soldiers by spending too long on one. But eventually, Manuel was bandaged and told to keep pressure on it before the medic got up to tend to the other soldiers.

Emmet stayed near him, waiting patiently for his turn to be treated. “See? You made it.”

Manuel groaned. “I still feel... so weak.”

Emmet smiled in sympathy. “Take it easy. The medics are busy, so you have to make their job easier for them and rest.”

Manuel tried to sigh only to wince in pain at the attempt. “...I know,” he said quietly. “If only... If only we had some of those magic soldiers like the ones from Corvus.”

Emmet let out a small laugh. “Yeah, that'd be great. Weird as the 'Pit, but they'd be useful right about now. ...'Woo, I hope the Grand Duke doesn't hear me say that.”

Manuel tried to laugh, but it came out only as an exhale. “Yeah. Heard about your superstitions in Bern; the ones about magic,” he commented. “Can't tell you how true they are. I've only heard the rare story with it... Never seen it in my life. Farm work doesn't really make a life of--” he cringed again, clutching his bandaged wound tightly.

At this, Emmet frowned. “Don't talk if it hurts. Rest. You need it.”

Reluctantly, Manuel nodded. “...Help me get my outer jacket off. Then you rest too; I'm not the only one hurt.”

He did, working carefully to try not to exacerbate the wound or his own before folding it and setting it under Manuel's head as a makeshift pillow. “Sitting here's rest enough for me,” Emmet responded. “Besides, we gotta keep each other company till we fall asleep don't we?”

“Sure... Just don't wear yourself out too much.”

“I won't. It's not bad, really. I bet it won't be too long before I'm out of this tent and back on the field.”

“...You're probably right. Still, just be careful.”

Emmet talked to him more after this, rambling about his home life on a farm back in Bern as Manuel tried to nod off to sleep. It took time, but sleep came easier than Manuel expected. Soon, in spite of the clamor in the medical tent, Manuel dozed off.

* * *

Life was uneventful back at the base camp the next morning. The healthier soldiers returned to the siege and carried out their orders as normal. Much as Manuel wanted to join them, he was stuck resting in one of the tents, bundling himself up as much as he could with what little he had to stave off the cold. Emmet was with him doing the same, but he was told he'd join the field again soon, having sustained only minor injuries by comparison.

“You're sure you'll be alright?” Manuel asked him.

“No, but I'll be careful,” Emmet responded, ensuring his bandages were tightened. “And we can't stop for every little wound we have; not for long anyway. Not for a battle like this. You saw how it was out there.”

“I know,” Manuel said quietly. “Those Sables... They're determined, I'll give them that.”

“Determined indeed. For what little is worth defending when those Langeans want to take up so much of our land for themselves.” Emmet scowled. “If not for that, we wouldn't be here. And we'd both be home.”

“Right... That would be nice. Then you can go back to your lover. ...And I can go back and see how my son's doing.”

“I want dearly to see her again,” Emmet said, resting his face upon his hand. “I just hope I get the chance... And that I'll come home to tell her that we drove them out, that our farm will be safe.”

“Keep it in your mind,” Manuel said. “As something to look forward to. I'm sure you will one day.”

“Maybe you're right... Are you thinking it the same way? With your son?” Emmet asked.

“Yes, but not just for my son.” Manuel strained to reach his arm into the inner pocket of one of his coats, cringing as he pulled out a leaf of paper, which he unfolded. He held it in front of him as he moved his hands over the words. “This is a letter from him, written by a scribe in Canchim. I don't understand a single word on this page, but I had someone read it to me, over and over until I memorized it. I got it last winter.”

“A year ago?” Emmet asked.

“Not quite. ...It feels like longer, though.”

“What's it say?”

“It says I have a granddaughter,” Manuel said, a smile on his face. “A young, healthy girl, with soft black hair and deep brown eyes. …My son's wife was pregnant with their first child, and married not long before my family was conscripted. I went in my son's place; I wanted to give his new family a chance, no matter whatever happened to me. My own wife is already in Lord Woo's wings; they're all I have left. Whatever happens in the war... I want to see my granddaughter. I want to meet little Elin.”

Emmet smiled a little. “I hope you get to meet you too. You should be able to see her. Especially after all the weight you've pulled in this war.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but at that time, a commander opened the tent and barked at Emmet and a number of other soldiers to join the rest of the army, and that they were marching out soon. Emmet gave an apologetic nod to Manuel before standing up.

“You rest, so you can get better and see her,” he urged. “Don't worry, I'll be fine out there. I'll kill a Langean for you.”

Manuel let out a breathy laugh. “Thanks,” he said as Emmet walked out of the tent.

When he was gone, Manuel went back to staring at the letters on the page in his frigid hand, clumsily tracing his fingers over each each line, never certain of what each one meant. But he liked inventing meanings for each one, pretending that each letter he traced was another part of the message to him, the message he had long since memorized. As his shaking finger followed a circle, he imagined it was the part telling him about his young granddaughter's eyes, and his son and wife describing the way they shined when the baby was happy and content. When his finger later traced the path of a crescent moon, he imagined what the girl's hand looked like, curled up into a fist, which he imagined tapping her mother's bosom in her want to be fed. When he traced a letter in the shape of an R, he imagined it was the part telling him that the girl's name is Elin Ryer, and that she would be waiting for him when he returned from the war.

He spent some time tracing the letters before fatigue fell upon his eyelids, and the chill made him unwilling to continue. With effort, he stuffed the letter back into his shirt before laying down and closing his eyes.

Sure, he couldn't fight now, and his friend had to fight in his stead. But he was right. He would only see her if he rested now. He held the the image of his family in his head, clear as day for his son Philip and his wife Petra, more vague for the image of his granddaughter. But he'd meet her one day, and he'd find out what she looked like. And he'd be home, and he'd play with her, helping the young family with everything they needed to keep the farm.

It was that image that drove him on, that image and the idea of going home that had gotten him through battles before. He was sure that he would get through his injuries, and eventually go home at the end of the war.

* * *

But when Manuel Ryer woke up hours later from a nap he had taken, awoken by the thunderous tromp of footsteps as soldiers returned to the camp, he knew something was wrong.

The atmosphere hadn't changed much in the camp; if anything, it was lighter in tone. He'd heard word from the soldiers admitted to the medical tent that their army had gained the upper hand on the castle in Kabardin, and the soldiers maintaining the siege were confident that they would soon shatter what remained of the defense. But that mattered less to Manuel now. It couldn't matter when there was an ache in his head and a warm, painful throbbing in his chest that stemmed from where he was wounded. Unnerved and apprehensive, he moved his hand over the wounded area and pressed gently. He gasped in pain and cringed; the way it felt, he may as well have had his chest struck with a hammer.

“Manuel?” he heard a voice, and he turned his head to find Emmet sitting next to him, holding his wounded arm close to him. How long he had been there, Manuel didn't know or care.

“Emmet?” Manuel spoke normally before he cringed, and decided to speak quieter. “What are you doing back here? You hurt again?”

“No... It's this arm. I thought it was fine, but something's wrong with it. Got so bad I could barely use it without being in pain. Superiors told me to help take some of the other wounded soldiers back and then get it treated; they think it's an infection. I haven't been here long. But enough of that, what's with you? You look worse than before.”

Emmet's face adopted a look of concern. Manuel, meanwhile, frowned, uncertain of how to answer.

“I don't know,” Manuel admitted. “I was asleep the whole time you were gone. Woke up feeling like this. It's... the wound. Something's wrong with the wound.”

“Oh 'Woo... It's not an infection like mine, is it?”

“I don't know... Either way I feel terrible. The sooner we wave down a medic, the better.”

They were silent as they waited for a medic to be free enough to go over to them, and eventually, one did. Once he heard their complaints, the medic unwrapped each of their wounds. Both patients cringed at what they saw. Both of their wounds had swelled and reddened, grown tender in the surrounding area, and begun to blister.

The medic took a sharp breath at the wounds and the explanation of the other symptoms, Manuel's in particular, before grabbing a bottle of alcohol and dampening a cloth with it. “Both of your wounds have become infected,” he confirmed. “It may not look too bad now, but your wounds are deep enough that they'll get worse.”

Manuel merely shut his eyes and braced himself. “Ah 'Woo,” he moaned. He didn't have much time to mourn his plight before he felt the cloth pressed onto his wound. He couldn't resist crying in pain, his hands tightly clenched into a shaking fist. The medic finished quickly, but it felt like an age to Manuel, and he was still gasping for breath when the medic finished and turned to Emmet, doing the same to him.

“By 'Woo that stings,” Emmet breathed after the medic finished and proceeded to bandage them again.

“You'll have to live with it,” the medic said bluntly. “Hopefully this isn't too late anyway...”

Manuel and Emmet looked at each other, concerned looks on their faces. But they exchanged no more words as the medic quickly bandaged them and got up.

“Rest, and let someone know if it gets worse; we have other soldiers to tend to.” With that, the medic walked off.

“Isn't he an angel?” Emmet muttered.

“He treated us; that's good enough for me,” Manuel said. “'Woo, if it's really this bad...”

“Then there's not much we can do about it besides what he said,” Emmet finished for him. He stared with uncertainty down at his arm again. “...It doesn't feel much better.”

“Mmm.” Manuel pulled the blanket tighter around him. “Mine doesn't either. It even still stings.”

“...Seriously though Manuel, rest. You need it more than I do.” He looked at his wound grimly. “You've got it worse than me.”

“...You rest too,” Manuel muttered. “I may be worse, but that doesn't mean you're fine.”

Emmet only nodded and lay down near Manuel, staring blankly up at the top of the tent, the only protection between the soldiers and the snow falling from above.

“...I did get one of them for you, Manuel,” Emmet said. “Enemy tried to trip me up, almost got me and another guy. Gave him what was coming to him.”

“...Thanks,” Manuel muttered. “Wish I could've been there myself.”

“And I wish I was still out there,” Emmet said. “We're doing well, Manuel. We've nearly breached the castle, and once we do, it's only a matter of time.”

“Good,” Manuel breathed. He then looked around the tent. “But what matters to me is if we can walk away from it in the end.”

But deep down inside, Manuel knew—but didn't want to admit—that walking away from it all might be too much to hope for.

* * *

Manuel spent much of his time resting, but when he was awake, he tried to cling to the few things that made him happy when he was awake. The first thing was when he was moved to a proper cot, taking space from a more well-off soldier who would survive his injuries regardless and live to fight another day.

The second thing being that he woke up the next morning to the news that victory at the castle was assured, and would be theirs as soon as they dealt with the Sable nobles. Not more than two hours later, news came to the camp that Lord Vasilis Sable had surrendered, and him and his family had been taken into custody. The army was thus able to seize control of Kabardin with ease.

But in spite of the victory, Manuel and Emmet couldn't help but be in dour spirits. Over the next few days, in spite of the medics' efforts, their symptoms had worsened. It got to the point where Manuel didn't want to stay awake for too long, knowing that the alternative would be misery.

It was too inefficient to move every soldier to the town right away, especially the wounded and the ones who could not travel on their own. So for the moment, Manuel and Emmet remained in the tent at the camp. Neither of them were in any state to complain much about that.

One time when Manuel woke up, shaking from a fever, he was dully surprised when he realized that Emmet wasn't with him. Straining with the effort, he looked around, looking for any sign of his friend. By this point, more soldiers were relocated, so it was easier to search the tent, and easier to discover that his friend wasn't inside.

His stomach gnawing with worry, he tried waving down a passing medic. “W-where... where's Emmet?”

The medic paused, walking over to check Manuel's wounds but also responding: “The one who stuck with you?”

“Mmhm.”

“...He's getting emergency treatment,” the medic explained shortly. “We all decided it was best to not do it inside.”

“Why? Wh-what's happening?”

Before the medic looked ready to respond, but then suddenly looked towards the tent entrance. Manuel turned his head to find that two people had entered; he must've missed the sound of the tent flap opening. But it didn't take long for him to recognize one of the figures as Emmet, being escorted by another medic. It took him an instant to realized what had changed, a realization that made him gasp.

“Emmet...”

Emmet didn't respond at first as he was escorted back to his bed next to Manuel, and for a moment, he couldn't respond as the medics quickly came over and fed him medicine. Emmet's eyes were stuck on his arm... Or what was left of it. For his wounded arm was now a stub, heavily and tightly bandaged.

“No other choice,” Emmet finally muttered in response, his voice edged with shock. “I-it was that or dying. No other choice...”

“Sir, stay calm,” one of the medics reprimanded. “Your wound will still need to heal, and you need to rest if you're going to live.”

“I-I know, but... But it's gone. It's gone. I-I can't fight now, but then at home... I-I had a farm to take care of... I can't believe it's gone...”

“Sir, please. Just rest for now. It'll do your brain good too.”

Manuel wasn't certain of what to say at first. He could only watch as the medics treated him, ensuring that the amputation was clean and wouldn't cause complications before departing to let him rest. Once they left, Emmet turned to Manuel.

“...What am I gonna do?” Emmet wondered aloud to him. “I-I didn't think it was that bad. But then it got worse and then... I'm gonna be discharged for sure. I won't be able to fight anymore.”

“...You probably will be discharged,” Manuel said. “But you'll be alive. And you still helped win Kabardin and those other battles. You still helped in the war.”

“...Yeah, I suppose,” Emmet relented reluctantly. “Suppose that's all good... But when I go home, my love... I was going to propose to her some time after I got back. What's she going to do when she finds out? She has to know I can't support the farm as I used to. What if she decides she doesn't want to deal with... this?”

“Emmet... She loves you, doesn't she?” Manuel offered.

“She always said so,” Emmet responded.

“If she really does, you don't have to worry about that; she'll still love you. And she'll learn to accept it.” Manuel said. “It's true you both would have to work harder, and there are some things you may not be able to do, but you two can still manage.”

“You know as well as I do how much I wouldn't be able to do now,” Emmet said.

“Yes, you'll need help on those. But you still have a family at the farm, and you still have your love. They can help you. It's all about--” Manuel groaned, moving a hand to his chest at the pain. He spoke again, but softer and quieter. “How you function together.”

Emmet only frowned. “Still... I still wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish I wouldn't have to put so much on her...”

“...I understand.” Manuel shut his eyes, feeling the fever overwhelming his mind again, making it difficult for him to say much more.

“...And I wish it was better for you too,” Emmet said. “Yours is... You can't just cut that off like I can. Curse the Langean dogs that wounded us like this... But Manuel. Hang in there, okay? For your own family. For your granddaughter.”

“...Mm... I... I want to see them...” Manuel mumbled. “...And I should help you too, as much—or little, really—as I can...”

“...No, you're worse off than me,” Emmet said. “I'll rest. I will. Got nothing better to do. You... you just rest. Neither of us are out of the woods.”

Silence permeated the air for a moment before Manuel spoke up again. “Emmet... Don't worry about me. You still got your life ahead of you. I... I'll try to manage. But you try to manage too. Alright? Whatever happens to me, you manage.”

“...It's too soon to talk like that, Manuel,” Emmet breathed.

Manuel shook his head, if only slightly, and he cringed from the pain anyway. “Just in case... Remember that. Alright?”

“...Alright. ...But hang on, okay? A man like you shouldn't be in this state.”

“Neither should you...”

They grew silent after that, both growing drowsier over their respective conditions. But it was Emmet who fell asleep first. Manuel couldn't bring himself to turn over and look away from the sleeping form of Emmet, but then he could also barely keep his eyes open. It took a long time for Manuel to follow suit, as another wave of fever had hit him, calling the attention of the medics to attempt to stabilize him. Although they succeeded, it still took time for Manuel to finally sleep.

And as he drifted off, he thought of the future, both Emmet's and his own... If he had one.

* * *

Manuel didn't know what time of day it was when he woke up, or if it was even the same day. It wasn't light enough to be day nor dark enough to be night. It had to be either dawn or dusk. On any normal day, Manuel could easily figure out which based on where the light came from. But his mind was too muddled with fever, and he felt weak and chilled to the bone in spite of the sweat on his face, so he didn't bother with the mental puzzle. It didn't matter anyway, not to him.

He did notice that Emmet was absent from his resting place. What that meant, Manuel didn't know. Maybe Emmet was moved, perhaps to Kabardin for better care. Maybe he was called by a superior to receive orders to be discharged. Or maybe he just stepped out. Wherever he was, all it meant to Manuel was that he wasn't there, leaving the feverish man alone.

What Manuel did know, and what did matter to him, is that he felt no better... And if what he was feeling now was any indication, he wasn't ever going to get better.

As he lay upon the cot, his thoughts flitted towards home, and of his family back in Kine, working the farm and waiting for him to come home from the war. Of the farmer his son had grown to be, of the woman he had chosen to be his wife who now worked with him on the farm. Of the baby she birthed, that they cared for along with their farm duties, who might already have taken her first steps.

Once more, he reached his shaking hand into his shirt and pulled out the letter, again staring at the words he would never understand but gave a meaning that spoke to him fully. This time, he didn't bother tracing the letters with his finger, not feeling the energy to even do that, or pretend to find meaning in the symbols before him. Nor did he have to. That letter was still the only tangible thing he had of his granddaughter. For a man whose mind was drifting from the fever, to the point where he didn't remember the specific wording of the message he had memorized, that was enough.

After all, even if he knew that what he held in his hand was just paper, if he let his focus go enough, he could almost imagine that paper instead being infant in his hand, in all the appearances his imagination could give of her. He could almost imagine himself returning home, hugging his son and daughter-in-law, holding the little girl in his arms as she stared back at him, making sounds and trying to make conversation in the best way an infant could.

As long as he could still imagine that he was there, he would be happier.

Maybe she'll be strong, he thought to himself. Strong and stubborn.. Maybe she'll drive them up the wall in her childhood with her strong will, just like Philip. ...Like both Philip and Clare, really. Maybe she'll be the best farmer in Kine. Or maybe she'll be like her mother was or like Clare is, working as a merchant. Or a tradeswoman? What kind of girl will you be, Elin? ...If only I knew.

Manuel groaned in pain, and he let the letter drop to his chest. He thought he heard someone say something elsewhere in the tent, but he paid it no heed, instead dropping his hand atop the letter, wincing from the resulting pressure.

Philip... You'll be okay. You and Petra. Whatever happened before... You found yourself a good match. I know it. You'll be fine. ...Wish I could tell you that. Don't think I could say much of anything now. And Clare... You're already doing okay. I wish you got into less trouble, but you seem content. And that's fine. As long as you're happy. ...I wish I could've seen you one last time; you've been gone so long. Just please meet Elin sometime. For me?

He could vaguely hear the area around him. He was sure someone was coming closer. Maybe they were trying to talk to them. But Manuel couldn't focus; couldn't figure out what was going on. Nor did he try; it didn't matter anymore.

Elin... I guess I won't be able to meet you after all. Just be a good girl, have a good life. Don't worry about me. Maybe someday, we'll meet again in 'Woo's wings. Just... don't hurry, okay? That's all I ask... All I... ask...

He was certain someone was looking over him now, but his vision was fading, so Manuel merely closed his eyes, focusing his attention only on the paper on his chest, how it felt to him, the significance of it. When he just focused on that, and let his mind drift, then everything else, such as the pain... It wasn't so bad. He could barely feel anything now. Could barely even string his thoughts together anymore. It was alright though. Nothing else mattered anymore. He would just go back to sleep. That's all.

Marsha... I think I see you already...

* * *

Epilogue

There was a knock on the door to the Ryer household, and Philip was the first to answer. He and his family were already near the front door, sitting next to the fire to stave off the cold winter morning as they made breakfast. Petra was busy tending to the little girl at her side, who was slowly getting to her feet.

It wasn't long after Philip answered the door before he called for Petra to come. Scooping up the baby into her arms, she followed her husband to the doorway, and her heart sank the moment she saw the man standing outside. She recognized him, or rather, she recognized the outfit. It was similar to the one worn by the drafter years ago, the one who came to their house and told them that they had been selected to serve in the war. It was that moment that changed their lives, when Philip's father chose to go in his stead, leaving them alone to tend the farm and their then unborn child. He had promised then that he would be back, bringing many stories back with him to tell the town, before retiring to help out around the farm.

The drafter then had changed the lives of their entire family, and not for the better. So she knew from the start that this man could not be here for anything good. She held herself back from slamming the door in his face.

“Philip Ryer, I assume,” the man began. “Am I correct? And am I correct that Manuel Ryer used to live here?”

“...Y-yes, to both of those...” Philip said slowly, coming to the same conclusion Petra had, but with a hopeful note in his voice.

The man pulled out a letter, which he unfolded before glancing down at it. “I'm sorry, this is going to be hard to accept. He was fighting at Kabardin last November, and though he fought bravely, he was wounded in battle. We did all we could for him, but he suffered a wound in the chest, and though not fatal by itself, it became infected.”

Philip took a deep breath, putting a hand to his chest. Petra freed one hand from her daughter to put a hand on her husband's shoulder.

“Just say it,” she said somberly.

“...I'm sorry, but Manuel Ryer is dead.”

Philip next breath came out as a choke, and he looked away, shutting his eyes tightly and trying to pull himself together. Petra's grip on her husband's shoulder tightened gently. After a moment of tense silence, the baby in Petra's other arm began to fidget, reaching over towards her father.

“Dadaaaaa,” the baby whined.

“D-dada's busy, Elin,” Petra tried to reassure her.

“Dadaaaaa,” Elin insisted, barely reaching Philip's arm and patting it.

“...It's okay, Petra,” Philip finally breathed out, though it was clear his voice was strained. He turned back to the man, who spoke again.

“Please know you have my full sympathies,” he said. “And there's this letter. Most of it says the same I told you, but this last section is a message from a friend of his to you, who insisted on adding it. Would you like me to read it out loud?”

“...Alright,” Philip relented.

The man lifted the paper to his eyes and began reciting the contents of the personal section of the letter.

“I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Ryer, and Elin. My name is Emmet. You don't know me, but Manuel was a good friend of mine while we were in the army together. He was a kind man, always looking out for me and the others around him. He helped me too, when I became too injured to serve. We were injured at the same time, and I tried to keep him company when I could.

It was an honor fighting by his side, and sharing our stories together. I'll always think fondly of him. And he always thought fondly of his family, and always looked forward to seeing them again. I'm sorry I couldn't do more for him. Best of luck to you and your family.”

The man finished, folding the letter and handing it over. Philip reached out a shaking hand and took it.

“...Thank you,” Philip said, his voice strained, as if he were trying to keep it from cracking.

The man said his goodbyes and walked off the farm, likely to travel to the homes of other families to report news... or more casualties.

Petra shut the door as soon as the man turned away before leading Philip back to the cooking pot. They sat down, and Petra set Elin back down on the ground near them. “Philip... I'm so sorry.”

“...I almost don't want to believe it,” Philip nearly whispered. “...We all knew it was dangerous, but when he left, he was talking as if he'd come back to see us as soon as he could, that i-it'd all be back to normal, and now...” He kept his eyes on the ground, away from Petra. “Should've known it'd be too much of a risk...”

“I'm sure he hung on to the end,” Petra said. “And we all knew it'd be a risk. If we had any other choice...” she trailed off for a brief moment before shaking her head.

“...We didn't,” Philip said before sighing. “And now it's just us. He... he always knew how to run the farm, and what would be good for it. And he was helping you keep me from overworking myself.” He looked up. “...Now it's all on us... And I don't think it's going to be the same without him.”

“...No, it won't,” Petra said, gently grabbing Elin's arm and drawing her back to keep her from walking out of range. “But we've been managing this past year, and with a baby on our hands. And we've done okay so far. You said so yourself the other day. This isn't the first issue we've had to deal with.”

“But it'd be easier with him here...” Philip's voice cracked on the last word, and he shut his eyes tightly, composing himself. Petra put an arm around him, drawing him into an embrace.

“It would. And I wish it were different too. I wish it so much. I'm sorry.”

They sat like that for a time in silence, Philip's breathing becoming more staggered, but his eyes still closed shut. His attempt to remain composed was only interrupted by a tug on Philip's sleeve, followed by the feeling of tiny arms being draped around him, though not making it across his chest.

“Dadaaaa,” came the voice behind him. Elin's voice. He turned his head to see Elin, flitting gazes between her mother and her father as she adjusted her hug. “Mama,” she said one time as she looked at Petra, then as she looked back at Philip, “Dadaaa.”

Philip broke from the embrace to look down at Elin, hesitating for a brief moment before putting a gentle arm around Elin. “Right, dear. Just mama and dada... and you too.”

There was another moment of tense silence before he sighed, gently removing himself from Elin's grasp before standing up. “I'm gonna go outside and work on a few things, Petra; I need to think.”

“...Don't stay out too long,” Petra said. “I'll tell you when breakfast is ready.”

Philip only nodded before making his way outside. Elin took clumsy steps after him before Petra gently swept her up into her arms.

“It's alright, sweetie,” Petra said as Philip shut the door behind him. “I'll make sure he doesn't stay out too long. He's just having a hard time right now. ...We all might. But we'll get by. Your dada wouldn't have it any other way.”

Elin only blinked, confused, before babbling incomprehensibly and looking towards the nearby window, overlooking the field. Petra stood up, holding her in her arms before going towards the window, where they saw Philip walking through the field, carrying a bale of hay and going to feed the animals. Petra sighed.

“But he's right; it won't be easy. It never is, losing someone like that...” She frowned, biting her lip before she was pulled out of her reverie by Elin beginning to fuss, tapping a weak fist against Petra's chest. Petra sighed.

“Alright, alright,” she relented, freeing a hand to adjust the collar of her shirt.

As she watched Elin feed, she knew one thing for certain; the girl would have to grow up without grandparents. Her maternal grandparents had died years ago, and Petra had to learn to cope with that before Elin was even conceived. It still hurt sometimes, but after how much Marsha and Manuel had helped her when she was accepted into the family, she was more than willing to accept them into hers and Elin's life. Petra would miss them all dearly. But Elin would never have a chance to see them. And even if she had, she would've been far too young to ever remember them.

One day, they'd have to tell Elin about them. And both her and Philip knew it'd be a harder conversation for them to tell than it would be for Elin to hear.

[Gelquie]

A collab with Celestial! Takes place a few months after the events of Jisam, back in Medieville.

(Spoilers for Jisam.)

First Steps
(Canon Story
Timeline: Mid-late 1337
Wordcount: ~5.6K words)

SPOILER: Click to show

When he had first heard that Ivy had been rescued from Jisam, it was like an enormous weight had been lifted from Ambrose’s shoulders. Finally, she was safe. Ever since he had heard of her kidnapping, thoughts and memories of what Xavier had told him of his time as a slave in the Duval household kept flashing through his mind, unbidden, only with Ivy in Xavier’s place. Unfortunately, soon, he had learned that many of those fears had been realised. Worst of all, that had included the conditioning. Now, the girl who he had known since birth, the one he considered his granddaughter, was a shell of her former self.

But there was no question in Ambrose’s mind of what he had to do. Even before he had learned that Ivy was coming back to live in Medieville, he had resolved to help her however he could. There was nothing he could do about Ivy’s conditioning but the trauma she had suffered through was different. He had dealt with enough people, including her father, to know how to at least try to fix some of the damage that had been inflicted upon her in Jisam. It was either that or stand by and do nothing, a thought which did not even cross the Stallion’s mind.

Which is why, a few days after Ivy returned, a carriage pulled up outside Marson Manor. Ambrose climbed out of it, leaning heavily on a wooden cane to help him walk. He crossed the small distance towards the entrance and ascended up the few steps that led up to the door slowly and shakily. Nevertheless, despite the frailty brought on by his age, the old Stallion’s eyes were full of determination.

He knocked on the door and waited. Shortly, a servant opened the door and, upon seeing who it was, wordlessly admitted him inside. Ambrose had told them in advance when and why he was coming. She led him up to Ivy’s room and he followed.

Though the servant kept up a slow pace, no doubt for his sake, it still took some effort to keep up with her. When they got to the stairs, Ambrose winced internally but nevertheless tried not to slow down even as he ascended. Half-way, however, he could feel his bones and body begin to wear and he stopped, catching his breath.

“Do you want help, my lord?” the servant asked. “Or maybe I can get her to come down to meet you?

He shook his head. “No. I’ll manage, it’s alright,” Ambrose smiled weakly at the woman and continued his journey up, practically pulling himself up with his cane.

It took a while for them to at last arrive where Ivy was staying. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath, Ambrose knocked on the door.

“Ivy?” he called out softly. “It’s me. I’ve come to see you.”

There was no reply at first, though there was the sound of clothes and bedding rustling followed by footstep approaching to the door from the other side. There was a moment of silence before the handle slowly turned and the door was pushed ajar, and a hazel eye peered through the crack, gazing at Ambrose before the girl opened the door all the way.

“Grandfather?” the girl’s voice was quiet and somewhat raspy, and sounded almost as if she really wasn’t sure if the man she was staring at was her grandfather. She stood with a slight slump, her arms at her sides, the girl trying to gaze at the man’s face but unable to meet his eyes. Her hair was loose, hanging down a little past the middle of her back, but it looked unkempt, as if Ivy hadn’t bothered to brush it.

“Yes, it’s me,” Ambrose nodded, letting his eyes pass over Ivy. As they did, he could feel his heart sinking. The damage of her time as a slave was inscribed all over her, as much mental as physical. He knew the gist of what had been done to her and yet, seeing all this pain reflected in Ivy’s face and body now was agony.

The old Stallion suppressed an angry grimace at the thought of the Duvals. It was over, she was safe, that was all that mattered, and he should not scare her. He had come to help after all

“I wanted to check on you,” he glanced beyond Ivy, into the room beyond before smiling at his granddaughter. “May I come in? It’s just if I stand out here, I’m afraid it won’t be for long.”

Any evidence of Ivy’s hesitation was masked by the sudden look of concern on her face as she looked at her grandfather’s legs and then cane. Then suddenly, she turned around and hurried back into her room, grabbing a chair near a partially-cleared table and placing it over by the doorway, taking care to ensure that it was properly aligned.

“You can sit down here, Grandpa,” Ivy said, standing upright with her arms to her sides again. “D-do you need help?”

“I’ll be alright, don’t worry,” Ambrose smiled at her, not wanting to concern the girl. He was not so weak that he could not sit down, not yet anyway. Slowly, he crossed the short distance between the door and the chair and gingerly lowered himself down. An audible sigh of relief escaped him as soon as the weight was removed from his legs. “I’m getting old.”

He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose before turning to look back at his granddaughter. “How are you feeling today, Ivy?”

“I, uh…” Ivy hesitated, turning her head away as she touched a loose fist to her collarbone, covered by the high collar of her dress. There was an uncertain look on her face, clearly not knowing how to answer before shaking her head. “I’m okay,” she said, attempting to smile, but not quite managing it. “I-I got here a few days ago, so I’m safe now. I just… haven’t done much yet. And it’s… It’s good to see you again.”

She turned her attention to the room, the desk in particular, and her shoulders hunched more. “Sorry, I… I didn’t clean up in time. I-I still can if you want.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” Ambrose shook his head before looking up at Ivy over his glasses, unable to hide the sadness in his eyes. She was lying. The hesitation would have been proof enough but that fake smile and the way she hunched over, almost as though expecting to be hit, was further confirmation. That and the fact that the person in front of him was not the same girl he had known growing up; she was more subdued now, more hesitant...much more broken.

Blinking back tears at the thought, he sighed. “You’re not okay, Ivy, I can see that. You’re safe but I know that the damage is still there, still lingering. People don’t just recover from what you went through, and that’s alright,” the old Stallion smiled slightly at her, though unlike Ivy’s smile, this one was far more genuine and warm. “You don’t have to pretend for my sake.”

A thoughtful, uncertain expression formed on Ivy’s face and she was silent for a long time, her hand lingering and curling over her collarbone. “I, I…” She turned her head away before speaking in a near whisper. “But it’s a lot. And I don’t know if I should… Everyone tells me to talk about it, but there’s so much, and it’s so…”

She her gaze went to the ground, and there she caught sight of a stray piece of clothing, which she immediately bent to pick up. She proceeded to examine the dress to see if it was dirty before taking her time to fold it.

“Besides, y-you haven’t seen me in a long time, you probably want to talk about something happier than that.”

Ambrose watched her as she fussed over the dropped dress, inwardly wincing as she did. Everything she did was almost automatic, as though something in her mind overrode every other thought to turn her into a machine to do the bidding of her master. He had seen that before, many times, in his visions and in his current time. It never got any less wrong or repulsive.

“Ivy,” he spoke up. “It’s alright, let the servants deal with it. You can have a seat, relax, if you want to. I’m not expecting you to do any work.”

He smiled a little at her. “I know you’ve been through a lot and it’s a lot to talk about. But you have to start somewhere,” the old Stallion took off his glasses and began to wipe them shakily with his sleeve. “I heard you did not come back alone, you had a friend...Sarah, right?”

Ivy shook her head. “I-I’m almost done anyway,” she said, biting her lip as she continued folding the dress. Soon enough, she finished and slid it into her dresser. She then let out a sigh before turning back to Ambrose, occasionally eyeing a space on the bed where she could sit, deliberating. Then she hesitantly walked over and lowered herself on the bed, though she looked ready to stand up at any time.

She picked up a small empty cup from the nightstand and played with it in her hands as she spoke. “Yes. I met her while I was in--in Jisam, and traveled back with her. I think she’s going to live with the Finnegans now. She was pretty much my only friend there. She helped me a lot, with tasks we were assigned together and my Low Courdonian. ...I had to learn it while I was there. It was a lot, but I did.”

“So I’ve heard. But it was a blessing she was there to help you. No doubt you helped her too, Ivy. It’s always easier to go through awful things with somebody there to support you,” Ambrose kept his eyes on her, watching as she fiddled with the cup in her hands. He bowed his head for a few moments, thinking of how to phrase the next question. “If I may ask...what sorts of things were you both assigned to do?”

Ivy shifted where she sat. “We… Had a few different jobs, some things I did that she didn’t, or she had to that I-I didn’t…” She looked bothered as she said this, but quickly shook her head. “But most of the jobs we did were menial. We had to scrub the floors a lot, clear tables, dust rooms… Mostly cleaning. But sometimes we had special jobs. Like sewing and embroidering cloaks for the winter or… Or painting…”

Another uncomfortable look set on her face, and she unconsciously brought her hand to her abdomen, clenching it slightly. “...Painting shields was one of the last things I had to do,” Ivy explained quietly. “Before they found out what I was, and...”

She cringed at the memory, putting her hand to her forehead. “No…”

“It’s alright, Ivy, you don’t have to tell me about that if you don’t want to,” Ambrose said, his voice as quiet and as comforting as he could muster. He reached out a hand to her before drawing it back. It was probably not the best idea to touch her at the moment, especially so soon after her trauma.

In a way, it was a small relief to hear that Ivy had not been forced to anything too horrible, at least not before her conditioning. However, if it was not the tasks themselves, what was it that had reduced her to this?

Even as he asked the question of himself, Ambrose could already tell he knew the answer. It had been the very same thing that had broken Xavier all those years past: the very act of being a slave, of having your freedom taken from you. Except Xavier was born that way, whereas Ivy was forced into it. Knowing and then losing freedom was so much worse.

He sighed, raising a hand up to the bridge of his nose before turning back to her. “That was there, Ivy. Here, nobody is going to force you to do any work. You’re free and you’re safe,” Ambrose lowered his eyes. “But it’s hard for it to register, isn’t it?”

Ivy sat in silent contemplation before nodding. “I… I know it’s safe here, logically. But it’s still hard to remember. Especially when I’m thinking of then. All the times they yelled at me or beat me. Whether I did something wrong even if it was small or if Duval or Rhett were just in a bad mood…”

She looked away. “I… I had to resign myself to it. I couldn’t leave, not without risk. And my parents… I didn’t want them to come. I didn’t want them to risk their lives like that. I knew they’d want to, but I knew they weren’t ready to take Jisam, but they’d do it anyway for me, and then they could’ve died, and…” She shut her eyes tightly. “And they kept telling me it wouldn’t be my fault, but I don’t believe them. They were there because of me, so I know if they’d died, it would be because of me...”

“Whether you wanted them to come or not, Ivy, they had no choice. Your parents loved you, they still do, and your father knows what it is like to be a slave. He never wanted that for his children,” Ambrose sighed, keeping his eyes on her and his voice low. “And they did not die. They rescued you, and Sarah. You’re away from Jisam now, away from all the people who abused you and hurt you. Surely that has to count for something?”

He stretched out a hand. “You are alive, your parents are alive. Don’t blame yourself for what did not happen anyway. Believe me, it is better to focus on what is here and now instead of hypotheticals.”

Ivy slowly opened her eyes, staring at the outstretched hand, but not taking it. She still didn’t look up at Ambrose, a far-off look now appearing in her eyes. “I know… But I worried about it for months while I was in Jisam. Even if they didn’t die, there were some who did…” She bit her lip. “Like Sarah’s dad…”

She put her hand up to her heart, her fingers slightly curled. “...And it wasn’t the first time they had their lives risked. They have to stay down there now that they have a bigger army. And the day they sent me up here…” Her voice became strained. “Dad was attacked. A woman came and she was going to kill him. She was stopped and I’m sure dad was healed, but it could happen again knowing what the enkis do, and I-I just want them to be okay.”

Her voice broke, her eyes glistening with tears that she attempted to blink away.

Ambrose’s gaze remained on Ivy and he sighed deeply at her tears, wishing he had thought to bring a handkerchief. Instead, he shifted his chair just a fraction closer. “They will be fine. I know both your parents and they are very strong, I have faith in them,” he smiled a little at her. “And I know that they will get through this, Ivy. No matter what the enkis do, no matter what assassins they send, they won’t win.”

He leaned back, running his fingers over the handle of his cane. “You don’t have to believe me if it’s too hard to do so...but have I ever lied to you, Ivy?”

Ivy sniffed, sitting still for a moment to compose herself. “No, not really… But how would anyone know? I never expected to be like this and it still happened. ...Unless…” Ivy looked up. “Have you seen their future, then? Do you know for sure if they win, or at least live?”

Ambrose paused for a moment. “Well...I saw your father at least, He looked older, much older so I guess this was at the end. He was leading men into battle but it seemed like...like he knew what he was doing, like he was going to win. I did not see your mother but…” he smiled a little. “You know her, you know how strong she is. She could get through anything and still come out fighting. I believe she too was there somewhere.”

He kept his eyes on Ivy. “I don’t know how it happens but I know it has to happen. Have some faith in them. Their fates are in their hands, not yours, so don’t lose sleep over what you cannot control.”

Ivy stared at her grandfather, clutching the cup in her hands tightly as she considered his words. “...So my father lives that far...” she said quietly. “Th-thank ‘Woo for that, at least…”

But then she grew more pensive as she stared down at her cup again. “But what happens in that battle? And then my mom might not be there, and Aunt Lydia’s not, so they could be…” She swallowed. “I-I know my mom’s strong, so strong, b-but Courdon’s strong too. They did… So much.” At this, she put one hand atop her shoulder, moving her hand back enough so she could feel the top area of her back, and she couldn’t help but wince as she did so. “They’re… brutal, grandpa. I just… Knowing that they get far, that papa lives that long, it helps, but… I can’t help but worry, even if I can’t do anything about it.”

She let out a hollow laugh. “Haven’t been able to do much of anything, besides get myself kidnapped… And that’s not changing much now either. I can’t even leave this manor--or sometimes even this room--anymore without getting so afraid. And I know it doesn’t make sense, but I can’t help it. I just… freeze…”

“And that’s perfectly fine, Ivy,” Ambrose said quietly. “You’ve been through a lot, enough to break even the strongest person, so it isn’t surprising that you’re so deeply hurt by the experience. I’ve seen it happen many times and even if it’s awful, it’s perfectly normal.”

He kept his eyes focused on his granddaughter, watching her through his glasses. “You’re a very good, kind person for wanting to help your family and for being concerned for their safety but you cannot lose sight of yourself either. You need to focus not on what your parents are doing but on healing. There is nothing you can do for them, yet there is a lot you can do for yourself. It might seem selfish but trust me, worrying about people you can do nothing for when you’re already broken is the path to madness,” he held out his hand to her again. “And I don’t want that for you, Ivy.”

Ivy locked her gaze on Ambrose’s hand, a distant look in her eyes. Her hand briefly extended out, but she paused before quickly retracting it, bringing it back down to the cup in her hand as she resumed fidgeting with it. “...I guess so. It’s just hard not to worry when they’re fighting like that. And it just doesn’t feel right to not do anything. Especially after all they did just for me. And then after all Courdon did to me…”

Struck by sudden impulse, she got up from her bed and tugged the covers behind her so that it was smoothed out before she sat down again. “After all, I’m just… here. Living here, trying to get through deconditioning. Nothing else. Just too… broken to do anything. I still don’t feel it matters as much while the rest of my family is fighting the fight; doing something.”

“It does matter, Ivy. Overcoming your conditioning and the trauma you faced of being a slave, that’s just as important as what your family is doing. And it is going to take just as much strength from you to fight,” the Stallion replied, still holding his hand out and trying not to show his concern about how compulsive her need to tidy her bed had been. “Tell me, what have you done to try to get through the deconditioning process? I know Master Leif has been overseeing it, like he did with your father but….what have you done for yourself?”

Ivy’s hands tensed at the question, and she looked away. “...What can I do? There isn’t much I can do, with it pressing in like it is. I can barely even tell him everything he needs to know so he can reverse it because it… it…” She closed her eyes as her face scrunched up, and she quickly buried her face in her hands. After a moment, she looked up again, her face set neutral as if it were stone.

“Not much I can do. Not much I could ever do. Besides stay here. ...Which is fine.” She spoke too quickly. The side of her mouth twitched, as if she were attempting to smile, but she couldn’t manage it. “Bet life’s going better for you, anything new happen while I was gone?”

Ambrose narrowed his eyes at his granddaughter, shaking his head. “No, Ivy, I am not changing the subject. I want to help you but I can’t do anything if you give up,” he met her gaze, making the sadness and sympathy in his eyes apparent. “There is a lot you can do, even if it does not feel like much, but I don’t have to tell you how difficult every small thing will feel like.”

He smiled a little at her, moving closer but not close enough for her to get uncomfortable. “Start by working with Master Leif in the deconditioning, that’s as good a place to begin as any. Then, little by little, try to get out of this room. If you can’t, there’s no shame in it, try again later. Take it slow, don’t rush,” his smile grew wider. “Remember, you’re not alone in dealing with this. I’ll help you, however I can.”

An idea crossed his mind. “Actually, would you like to accompany me on a short walk? Just down the hallway, nothing much, but it will get you out at least. And with my joints these days, I could use the support.”

Ivy found herself staring at her grandfather, her false smile having since faded. She couldn’t stop looking at him, and slowly, a sad look reached her eyes, combined with her eyes widening in fear at the idea. Slowly, she reached her hand out, tentatively hovering near Ambrose, as if she were deciding.

“I… Alright…” she said slowly and quietly, almost hesitant. “I-if it’ll help your joints…”

She got up and walked closer to her grandfather in case he needed help standing. “I-It’s just hard, grandpa… A-and the worst part is that I know I’m better than this. But there’s just a lot, and… and it’s so confusing… And I feel like I should be faster. The enkis wouldn’t wait for me. The world shouldn’t either. I-I used to be faster, but n-now I don’t know how...”

“The key word is used to be, Ivy, but now you’re not because you don’t have to be. There’s no enki chasing after you and you don’t have to keep up with the world. You wouldn’t force yourself to run on a broken leg unless you absolutely had to, would you?” Ambrose asked as he pushed himself off his chair, leaning heavily on his cane as he did so. “I know it has to be frustrating, to feel like you can never be what you used to be. I remember that far too well, but there’s no use mourning that earlier strength, you should only see what you can do with your current one.”

He smiled and stretched out his hand to her again, this time hoping she took it. “Come on, let’s go. It’s only a short walk, and I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Ivy’s face settled at the thought, and after a brief moment of contemplation, she slowly reached her hand out towards Ambrose’s. This time, she gently touched his outstretched hand, feeling it before grasping it. For a moment, she did nothing else, merely stared at the hands clasped together. She then looked up at Ambrose, taking in his features before setting the cup back on the nightstand and slowly putting her other hand over the back of Ambrose’s hand. She gradually nodded before walking Ambrose to the doorway, her steps meticulous and careful. She freed one hand and reached out, but she paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob.

“Go on,” Ambrose murmured, giving her a gentle smile and squeezing her hand encouragingly. “It’s only Marson Manor. Nothing out there will hurt you, and I’m here for you if you’re scared”

Ivy briefly looked up at Ambrose, squeezing the hand back and nodding before turning back and slowly putting her hand on the doorknob. Slowly, her grip on Ambrose’s hand tightening, she turned the knob and opened the door. At first, she only opened it enough to peer out, looking up and down the hallway before taking a breath and opening the door all the way, leading her grandfather out and shutting the door behind her. He smiled at her and gave her a nod of approval before gripping her hand tighter and beginning to walk.

It was a quiet walk, and Ivy stuck close to Ambrose’s side, her hand clinging to his. They walked slowly, with Ivy looking around her all the way. Halfway down the hall, Ivy jumped as she realized someone had come out of a room, only to quickly discover that it was a servant. The servant gave a polite bow to Ivy and Ambrose before passing by them. Ivy paused, letting out a sigh of relief and clutching Ambrose’s hand tighter. Her grandfather glanced at her, his eyes running over Ivy to check she was alright before they continued.

They made it down the hall without incident, after which they paused, but only so Ivy could use a nearby wash room. When they were walking back, Ivy still seemed nervous, but she looked slightly eased. She still kept her hand clasped with Ambrose’s, as if it were her lifeline, but she no longer looked around so fervently. He kept watching her as he had done throughout their whole short journey but by the wide, warm smile on his face, he seemed satisfied with whatever progress she had made.

When they returned to her room, it was Ambrose who opened the door this time, holding it for her to come inside. As soon as Ivy had done so, he went in and closed it behind him before turning to her, leaning on his cane. “That wasn’t so bad, was it, Ivy?” Ambrose asked, his tone gentle and his face stretched into a smile to match.

Ivy let out a solemn nod. “It wasn’t. ...Thank you.” She moved her hand to clasp her upper arm. “It’s… easier inside; it’s safer inside. ...No, it is safe. I know that. ...I should do that more.” Her eyes trailed to the ground and she left out a small self-deprecating laugh. “When I’m not being silly…”

She then looked up at her grandfather. “Are your joints feeling any better?”

“They are. Walking is getting harder for me but it gets stiff when I don’t move. That’s the trouble when you reach my age,” Ambrose said with a soft laugh before his face became serious again. “It isn’t silly to be afraid, Ivy, it’s human. But you see, it wasn’t so bad, going outside. And you are right, it is safe, even if it’s going to take a while for that notion to fully sink it.”

He carefully removed one of his hands from his hand and stretched it out to Ivy's shoulder, ready to pull away if she flinched. “But this is the first step: little trips like that, just to get yourself adjusted to the idea. Then you can go further until you’re comfortable with that and then, eventually, try going outside when you no longer fear the inside. It’s not as hard as you think,” his smile returned to his face. “And as I said, I’ll be here to support you however I can, as long as I can.”

Ivy stood in place as she watched the hand fall upon her shoulder. She looked up at Ambrose’s face before moving forward and wrapping Ambrose in a tentative hug, resting her head against his chest. It took no time before he also returned the hug, wrapping one arm around her and holding her close, safe and secure.

“...I want to try,” she said slowly. “Even if you don’t think it’s silly, I… I still feel silly. And I need to be better than this. ...If I can.”

She looked up. “And… thanks grandpa. But… Coming here has to be hard for you too, right? I know you probably can’t come here all the time to help me… And you shouldn’t if it hurts you.”

“It is difficult, I admit, but some movement is good for me,” Ambrose said before shaking his head. “Plus I wanted to see you, Ivy, and I especialy wanted to do something for you. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t try to help my own granddaughter?”

Still keeping his arm around her, the Stallion lifted up his hand to stroke her hair. “Try, Ivy, and don’t be discouraged if you don’t get it right on the first attempt. You have a long road ahead of you, I won’t lie, but I have faith that you can do this,” he lowered his arm again and put it on her shoulder, “And I will be here to do whatever I can for you, as long as I can.”

Ivy briefly looked away, but quickly found her gaze returning up to the face of her grandfather as he spoke to her. She found her gaze stuck, nor did she want to take it away. Finally, she spoke: “I… I don’t know if I can… but I’ll try.”

Slowly, she brought her arms around Ambrose, moving closer for a hug, before looking up at his face again. “And grandpa… I really wanted to see you too. I’m glad you came.”

He gladly met his granddaughter’s gaze and returned the embrace now that she had been bold enough to give it. “I’m glad as well, that you’re here, safe, away from that place, where you can heal, and where I can see you,” Ambrose smiled widely down at her. “I was so worried about you ever since I heard. Having you back in Medieville is such a relief, and not just to me I’m sure.”

Ivy nodded. “Everyone wanted me back here. And… I missed it. It almost reminds me of before…” She shook her head. “But it’s not exactly the same without my family here. But everything else, my friends, or you… They’re still here. And… did anything new happen while I was gone? I want to hear about it. So I know. And it’ll give me something else to think about.”

He thought about her question for a moment, comparing it to her subject change from before. But unlike that one, this was not forced or desperate, just natural curiosity on Ivy’s behalf. That was something Ambrose was happy to indulge, especially because she was right: Jisam was going to be on her mind whether she liked it or not so a distraction was not only welcome but probably necessary.

Giving her a nod in return, Ambrose removed his arms from her and leaned his body weight on his cane. “It’s best if we talked about it sitting down,” he glanced back over to the chair and the bed before smiling warmly. “I’ll tell you everything, though you’ll have to forgive me; since I don’t go up to the Raven’s Keep often these days, I might be behind on what is happening in the court.”

Ivy nodded, offering to help Ambrose back to his chair. “That’s okay.”

Soon, they had taken their seats, and Ambrose began telling Ivy what had happened in Medieville while she was gone. Through it all, Ivy couldn’t help leaning forward slightly, absorbing Ambrose’s information as a sponge would to water. Whether the information was mundane or not, she took it in, asking following questions on them, focusing only on the conversation at hand. Though occasionally she had a distant look in her eyes as they talked about the life in Medieville she couldn’t have for the past year, she otherwise kept asking, desperate for some reprieve from what her life had given her, even if only for a little while.

And even when they were finishing the visit, both Ivy and Ambrose were even more glad that he had come.

[Gelquie]

Another collab with Celestial! Takes place 2 months after Breaking the Ice, and continues exploring the relationship between Elin and Ambrose.

Common Ground
(Canon Story
Timeline: September 1314
Wordcount: ~10K words)

SPOILER: Click to show

An array of golden leaves scattered across the ground as patrons to the Medieville harvest festival walked through the streets from stall to stall. It was an annual affair in Medieville, and a common time for farmers and workers to gather and sell their products or wares, or just make a general show of things. There were performers, but also those working their crafts, demonstrating their work to the populace to watch or to entice them into buying their wares after seeing the craftsmanship put into each object.

Elin Ryer was having the time of her life. She did have some share of official business; to go around to each of the craftsman stalls to talk to them and gauge their quality of life and whether it needed any improvements from the hands of the nobles. But it was a responsibility shared by other Shadow Councilors, and after she had visited the merchants she promised to handle, she went off to have fun with the rest of the festival until it was her turn to take control of the butcher stall from Clare. And she couldn’t help but enjoy it. The Harvest Festival was her favorite festival of the year, both in her hometown in Kine and when she moved to Medieville.

Elin also made sure to invite her boyfriend, Xavier Lynn, and planned to show him the sights as she went from stall to stall. But although she planned to meet with him soon, she couldn’t help but stop to watch nearly every craftsman at work. Sometimes she would only stop briefly, especially if it was something she had seen before or something she was not as interested in, but it would sometimes take her a long time to get going again. With their rendezvous coming soon, she knew she had to force herself away from the stalls eventually so she could meet with him. But for now… Well, she had some time, even if it was alone. So for a moment, Elin watched the metalsmith as he bent his intricate work into form. She was so transfixed that she hadn’t noticed someone else approaching the stand from behind her.

However, the newcomer had barely noticed her either. Instead he stopped just by her side, his warm blue eyes transfixed on the work of the craftsman in front of them, watching how easily and seemingly effortlessly the man molded the metal into the shape he desired. In his mind, he tried to anticipate the final product, figure out what he was making before the object itself was finished. Whatever it was going to be, however, watching the process of it being made was fascinating. The smith clearly had a lot of skill. It reminded him of the craftsmen back in Destrier: back there, the festival when they showed off their work was one of the few times he dared venture out of the protective confines of his castle home.The old man made a mental note to get the metalsmith’s name in case he needed to comission parts at a later date.

Somebody pushed behind him in the crowd, breaking his trance. He leaned forward on his foot, catching his balance, just long enough for his head to turn to the side and catch a glimpse of a familiar but unexpected face.

“Elin?”

Elin jumped, startled as she turned her head towards the one who addressed her. She relaxed a little at the sight of Ambrose, but surprise still lined her face.

“Ah! Ambrose…” she breathed out. She then took a breath and shook her head. “Sorry, you startled me. I was just watching him. Still haven’t figured out what he’s making.” She turned her head back to the metalworker as he continued his craft. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

The Stallion glanced back briefly at the man as he worked. “I...I think it’s a candelabra, judging by the curve of the metal and the cups on the handles,” he turned back to Elin, still blinking slightly as though he was expecting the young woman to just disappear at any moment. “I didn’t expect to find you here either. I didn’t know you were interested in metalworking.”

Elin kept her eyes fixed on the metalworker as she talked. “You might be right about it… Anyway, metalworking’s not really a hobby for me. But I like watching people work anyway, finding out how they do things. Teaches me in a way, in case I ever need to do something like that. ...Not that I’ll ever need to make a candelabra, probably… But still.” She hoped Ambrose wouldn’t pick up too much behind her words, including how what she did was involved in her spywork upon the Houses a few months ago. Maybe he already knew, but if he didn’t, Elin wasn’t about to inform him.

Ambrose’s brows shifted into a slight frown. The young woman had been vague but nevertheless, he suspected he knew what she meant; Alain’s spies during the Coronation had been very thorough in investigating the Shadows, especially in light of the information that Lawrence had provided. He knew there was somebody amongst them with unusual powers, though Ambrose had never been told exactly who. Could that have been Elin? Judging from what she said and how she was acting now-

-He was jumping to conclusions. After all, did he not learn how to make things by observation too, and whatever his powers were, Elin most certainly did not possess them. Regardless, it was none of his business. The Coronation was over and the spying was irrelevant now that the Shadows were a legitimate branch of government. There was no need to stir things up again.

So instead, he did his best to smile at her. “Life can be strange, you never know what sorts of skills you would need…” he glanced over at the metalworker again. “I personally just like watching the craftsmen work. Sometimes I get ideas for my own work too.” In more ways than one.

Elin briefly brought her gaze away from the metalwork to look at Ambrose, a hint of a smile on her face. “Heh... I’m the same way. I like to see them work, seeing how it’s done.” She turned her gaze back to the metalworker. “And it’s fun. Or at least, I have fun; I know others don’t feel the same way…” She gave a resigned shrug. “But I’m used to that.”

“Different people have different interests and you can’t blame them for that,” the Stallion remarked, still watching the man crafting in front of them. The candelabra was definitely beginning to take shape now that he was working on its second prong. “But I do understand that, Elin. It’s rare, if ever, that I find anybody who is interested in this sort of thing...or in my own craft, for that matter. Still,” Ambrose gave a small sigh and shrugged. “You don’t do a hobby just to get other people to pay attention to it.”

“It’s a personal thing,” Elin agreed. “And I’m not blaming anyone for it. I would like it if more people were interested like this…” She frowned and gazed away, but only for a brief moment, and she quickly regained her composure and attention. “It usually ends up being something I do on my own. Just the way it is.”

He could feel there was more to her words than just the desire to have somebody share her hobbies but Ambrose decided it was best not to delve too deeply into something which was not his business. It was unlikely his questions would be welcomed by Elin anyway.

“I understand. I usually do all my work alone as well; not many people are interested in what I do,” Ambrose sighed before an idea struck him. He turned to Elin, a tentative smile beginning form on his face. “But if you like this sort of thing, and we’re both usually alone in our hobbies…”

The Stallion paused, figuring it was best to explain himself first. “I…I make things. Or at least, I try too,” he gestured with his head at the metalworker. “Not like that though. Mine are more...complex,” he glanced down, suddenly feeling quite awkward at talking about his little hobby. “But if you like watching people make things, maybe....I could show you some of the things I’ve made?”

Elin’s attention was grabbed from the metalworker, and she looked to Ambrose with a hint of surprise and a smile on her face. “Really? You’d show me?”

She only seemed to realize a moment later that going with it would probably mean going somewhere with the noble to look at his inventions. She had suspected for some time that Ambrose had that as a hobby, though she didn’t know for sure. Though it intrigued her, she didn’t consider herself and Ambrose to be friends, even if Xavier got along with both of them. For a moment, she was uncertain about going alone with him…

But the moment was brief when she looked at him again and remembered where they stood with each other. Even before their factions had called a truce, Ambrose had always been the peaceful one, so she knew she didn’t really have to worry about anything from him. And it was a genuine offer. One that Elin couldn’t help but feel a little excited about. Especially if he decided to do any inventing while she could watch...

She turned away from Ambrose to look back on the metalworker, who looked closer to finishing. “If we can find some time--and a place--sure,” Elin agreed.

A smile appeared on his face and he nodded his head. “Of course. Things have calmed down since July, thankfully, so we should both have some time. I think...unless an emergency comes up, I have no work up at the Keep the day after tomorrow, and if I remember right, there is only one Shadow Council meeting then?” he lowered his eyes. “I overheard the schedule being discussed, I’m sorry. As for where…”

Ambrose clasped his hands together, looking around as he tried to think. What he had in mind would hardly be the ideal place for Elin, given how she felt about nobles and how she still did not seem to trust him, but he could not figure out any other place that would suit them both. Anywhere else and he could not show her as much as she would have liked to see. He swallowed, preparing for her annoyance as he suggested this.

“...would you consider...coming to Stallion Manor?” he turned his head away from her, looking down. “I know coming to a noble’s residence, especially that one, is probably not something you want to do but it is the place where my workshop is and since I keep my things there, I work best there,” he dared to glance back at the younger woman, watching her reaction. “But I understand if you don’t trust me enough to come to my home yet.”

Elin frowned, but only in contemplation. She had been to Stallion Manor before, just never overtly. She wasn’t sure if she was entirely comfortable going to Stallion Manor on her own, especially after what had happened there… But she at least knew enough of Ambrose to know his offer was genuine; he wasn’t really the sort for trickery. And since his workshop was there, going there to see what he built could open the opportunity to seeing him work. Besides, no one else in the Manor had to know she was coming; she had been there enough to know something of the places to hide if anything went wrong. Not that she really expected anything now that the factions were supposed to be at peace. If nothing else, she could tell someone where she was going, just in case.

“...Alright, if it’s better there, then I will. Just… as long as this is kept between us,” she said slowly. In spite of her decision, the memories of what happened to Briar when she went to Stallion Manor still burned in her mind, even if this was a vastly different situation. “The day after tomorrow works. You’re right; we just have one meeting that day. And it’s okay if you overheard; it’s not a big secret.”

Her attention was turned back to the metalworker, who seemed to be putting the finishing touches to the candelabra. Elin kept watch, but as he was finishing, she directed her words to Ambrose.

“I’ll meet you sometime outside the manor grounds after dinner, then,” Elin said. “For now, I’d better get going; I don’t want to keep Xavier waiting for me forever.”

Ambrose smiled. “You best not or he will get anxious. Say hello to him for me,” he lifted up a hand to the young woman to say goodbye. “I’ll be waiting for you the day after tomorrow, Elin. And I hope...it will be fun, for both of us.”

***

As the sun began to set in the sky two days later, Elin made her way to Stallion Manor as promised. While she still had her reservations about making a social visit to the Manor after what else had happened there, she knew it would be peaceful; it had to be. She also made sure to inform her aunt and Xavier about the trip, both to coordinate their schedules and to let them know where she was. This also gave Elin the convenience of spending as much time as she wanted at the Manor, which would especially be good if Ambrose decided to try inventing in front of her as she so hoped.

Elin soon arrived at the edge of the Manor grounds where they agreed to meet. She glanced around her for any signs of life--specifically Ambrose--and found none, concluding that she was the first to arrive. She sat down near the entrance, pulled a book out from the folds of her clothes, and flipped through it until she found a specific page. She spent her time staring at the drawings, occasionally tracing a finger over the lines as she waited for Ambrose to arrive.

It did not take long for the Stallion to appear. He walked hurriedly from the general direction of the Manor entrance, breathing heavily as though he had been running. Upon spotting Elin, he quickened his pace until he had arrived in front of her, stopping just short of the young woman and doubling over, catching his breath.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he gasped. “My great-niece and my brother both sent me letters and I wanted to reply to them as soon as possible. Except I realised I got carried away with my replies…” Ambrose lowered his eyes, clasping his hands in front of him before giving Elin a weak smile. “But...I suppose we’re both here now. Do you want to follow me inside?”

Elin looked up. “It’s alright; I’ve only been here a few minutes. And letters to family are important…” she trailed off for a moment, thinking of her own. It had been a long time since she heard word from her own family in Kine, not since before the Bloody Coronation. Though she and her aunt had finally sent a letter (after much hesitation given the heavy topics involved and deciding how much they should say right away) with the help of a scribe, but who knew how long it would take to get there… She pushed it out of her mind. That was a thought for another time.

“I’ll follow you; I’m ready,” she said, taking one last look at the book before shutting it and standing up, slipping the book back into the folds of her clothes. She then began to follow Ambrose inside while examining her surroundings, both to see if anyone else was nearby and to check the environment without the constraint of sneaking around.

The Stallion could not help but notice her gaze shifting back and forth as though she was a prey animal out in the open, expecting an attack to come at any time. It almost reminded him of how he was sure he looked sometimes as he walked through a crowd, nervous, awaiting a vision. Inwardly, he could not help but sigh, yet at the same time, it was not like he did not understand why she was so tense: the memories of the faction conflict, and especially of Briar were still fresh. Deliberately, he quickened his pace, going into the Manor and up the grand staircase, into the private quarters until he at last found the increasingly familiar door.

“Through here,” he told Elin, pushing it open to reveal his workshop. His toolkit lay on his workbench, rolled up but ready to be used, while fresh ink and parchment awaited the designs that would be drawn on it. Beside them, the parts that Ambrose had expected to use lay neatly laid out in a row. Chests were pressed flat against the wall beneath the window, containing other parts and materials but while they were not wanted, they remained closed.

Normally he was not so organised but since he had a visitor coming, the Stallion had taken the effort to clean it up. Thankfully, since he had only recently set up, the mess had been superficial. Turning back to Elin, Ambrose gestured inside. “Come in,” he said quietly, walking over to his workbench and pulling out his chair. Another one was situated off to the side, clearly meant for a visitor.

“Have a seat, if you like,” Ambrose remarked, gazing back down at the surface of the parchment. “What...would you like me to show you, Elin? Is there anything specific?”

Elin took a moment to look around the room, first to learn the sights of the room, then to look at what really drew her eye, including each individual part that might be used for the upcoming invention. It looked like he was going to show her his inventing, and she found herself getting excited again. But she tempered it enough to finally take her seat in the offered chair.

“You’ve got a nice workshop,” Elin admitted. “Seems like you have a lot… And all neat too.” She then turned down to his materials. “I didn’t have anything in particular in mind. I’d say whatever you have the parts for. Maybe…” She thought. If she was going to get something out of this, it should be something she could use… “Maybe something practical? If you have the parts for it.”

“Practical?” Ambrose clasped his fingers together in front of himself, thinking hard about this word. “What is necessarily practical to one person isn’t to another. An alchemist, you can imagine, uses very different tools from a farmer.”

He stared off into space for a long time, the regular blinking and shifting of his eyes being the only signs of awareness as he sifted through the many inventions he had created over the years. Not many of them could be labelled practical and those that were also had the disadvantage of being large and complicated, at least in how he had designed them. The few that were not required some small, very specialised parts, not all of which he had. But…

A small, hesitant smile appeared on his face as he turned back to Elin. “Perhaps I could show you the individual parts of my inventions? Most are fairly simple so I can assemble them in front of you but they do have a variety of uses that I could talk about. If you’d let me,” the Stallion swallowed. “I do...tend to ramble, and I’ve only gotten worse with age.”

Elin nodded readily. “That sounds great. We can start there, and then if we run out of those and we still have time, you can show me something bigger if you want. And don’t worry about rambling; it’s not off-topic yet.”

She couldn’t quite disguise a note of enthusiasm in her voice. He was showing her stuff openly--a thing that still did not quite sink in for Elin--and even if it was some of the simpler inventions, it was things she would have an easier time replicating if she ever needed to. Though she wasn’t sure if Ambrose would let her draw some of his techniques unless she was sneaky about it, which was difficult in this situation… She relented to the fact that she likely wouldn’t be able to remember everything Ambrose showed her. But it was still worth trying and paying attention. Passing up an opportunity to watch an inventor at work this close up would be foolish.

Her keenness was not lost on Ambrose. Returning her nod, he went over to his chest of parts, digging around in it for something he could show her. It occurred to him that this was the first time he was really showing this to anybody outside Alain, or Aveline all those years ago, and certainly the only time somebody had expressed such interest. Most of the time, he kept his work to himself.

His thoughts were interrupted as his fingers groped across the parts he needed: a spring, as well as the parts of a switch that just needed to be assembled, one that was very similar to the mechanism Alain had in his cane. Carefully, Ambrose pulled them out, depositing them in his lap and stood up, holding his robe up as a makeshift pouch for the pieces of the device. From there, he strode over to one of the chests, digging through the myriad of blueprints he had. The unwanted one fell on to the floor, scattering around like dry grass in the breeze.

“Give me a moment...there!” he pulled a small one out in triumph, holding it aloft. Thankfully, he had drawn the spring mechanism separately from his blueprints for Alain’s cane. Despite the truce, it was unlikely his brother would like a former rebel seeing how his weapon worked in detail.

Walking back to his table, Ambrose sat down, carefully laying out the blueprint and the parts on top of it. “This is a simple spring mechanism I designed. I mostly use it for switches,” he pointed to the design on the schematic. “When you press this, it releases the spring, and- actually, maybe I should just show you.”

He reached out with his left hand towards the toolkit, his fingers hovering for a second before bringing out a small, thin pin-like instrument and picked up one of the parts in front of him, beginning to fiddle with it. “So how come you’re so interested in this, Elin? I wouldn’t have thought you’d enjoy just watching somebody make things? Not a lot of people do.”

Elin watched intently as Ambrose began fiddling with the parts, not looking up at him as he worked as she looked at every last detail of his work. But even with her intense focus, there was a frown on her face as he considered his question. When he got to a repetitive part of his work, she continued watching but responded with. “Well… I’ve always enjoyed it, watching people make or do things. It helps me learn, I get to see and learn how to do things, and it’s just… I don’t know, I’m probably not explaining it well. Hard to explain how I feel about it.”

Not without telling you the whole story, she thought to herself.

She continued her vigil. “I noticed a lot of people don’t, at least not for as long as I do. A lot of people think I’m weird that way. And maybe I am, but I don’t care. It’s not just fun, it’s helpful.”

“It is,” Ambrose said with a nod. “And you’re not weird for it, Elin. If that is what you like, you should indulge in it. It’s not hurting anybody and in some cases, as you rightly pointed out, it might even help.”

He affixed the spring on to the framework of the switch, grabbing a pin from his toolkit and tightening the bolt that would hold it all in place. “I...I suppose in a way, I learn from watching people as well,” the Stallion’s face formed into a sad smile and he held up the switch mechanism for Elin to see better. “This is my own creation, but I started out just imitating what I saw. Or rather, trying to imitate it. Many of the devices I got to see were...incomplete, or at least their workings were unclear to me. I had to work it all out myself, and from there, I got enough experience to try to make my own things.”

Ambrose turned back to his work, putting aside the pin and picking up another bolt to attach the other side of the spring to whatever it was going to release. “A lot of it was trial and error. Mostly error at first, of course, but I had plenty of time on my hands,” he sighed, his eyes misting over for a moment. “I wasn’t good for much else back then.”

Elin’s was momentarily further intrigued, but it lessened back to normal as he went on in his explanation of how he imitates things. Still, she nodded along until the end, at which point she stole a glance at Ambrose at his sudden change in tone. Though she quickly turned her eyes back to the switch Ambrose was making, she remained silent for a moment before saying: “...What you were doing still sounds productive,” she said. “Still, you seem good at this now with all that work. You could probably put this to work to make a lot of good things, for yourself and others. ...Though I guess you’ve used this to your advantage before, at least,” she added wryly, if a bit more quietly.

Turning her attention back to the invention before her, she went on. “Watching and imitating’s a good way to start. Or sometimes just a good way to go. Depends on the situation. You can learn a lot either way.”

“You can, and you are right, I have made some things which were useful...and some which I would much rather forget,” Ambrose said with a deep sigh. He winced, pushing the thought out of his head and affixing the last part on to the switch mechanism, holding it up to the light so he could see it better. That looked about right, which was usually good enough as far as he was concerned: perfection was rarely something he expected.

“Until recently, however, most of my inventions have been confined to use by my House. Because I…” the Stallion paused, looking away from her and directly at the switch. “...I told you about my visions, back at the Keep? That’s where I see the things I later invent: in the future, whatever catches my eye, I do my best to make, however I can. As you can imagine, no guild or engineer would ever accept such creations, not with such origins. So I kept them to myself, more or less.”

A smile played at Elin’s mouth at the completion of the switch, and she took a moment to look over the details of the device. “Is that how you do it? That must give you some interesting ideas. I… I never thought about it much before, but I wonder what kind of things they’ve made in the future. ...Besides what I’ve seen from you, that is. I can’t understand why anyone would reject those creations, though, especially not if they came in handy, even if they didn’t believe your visions. ...Actually, that might help them believe you. And they’d get something out of it...”

She grew contemplated and went silent for some time, her eyes still on the device, but not focused, as if she were deep in thought. She still had a contemplative frown on her face when she broke out of her thoughts and continued. “Sounds like that comes in handy still, and I think people outside the House would still appreciate it, especially those struggling who may need the help. ...Though if there are inventions you made that you wish you hadn’t… Why make them, then? Or why not destroy them?”

“Sometimes I don’t realise what I am creating unless it is too late. When I do, I try to destroy it,” Ambrose’s eyes acquired a dull sheen, his fingers running absently over the fine parts of the switch mechanism. “Except sometimes the decision about the fate of my invention is not mine to make.”

He shook his head, dismissing a thought, before a smile appeared on his face again. “The future is...it’s full of terrors but also filled with the most wonderful technology, some of which I cannot even work out. Like a box that creates pictures, or a glass bottle that fills with light at a moment’s notice. It’s tempting to call it magic, but it’s definitely technology. I can only ever dream of replicating it. Unfortunately,” he sighed deeply. “All of these things sound insane to other people. The guilds refused to accept me so I did not bother. At most, I gave my blueprints away anonymously, or handed them to my brother to do with as he pleased. It was really all I could do back then anyway. Now, who knows?”

Ambrose shrugged and turned to Elin, holding the switch mechanism out to her. “Do you want a closer look?”

Elin’s previously neutral and contemplative expression immediately lit up. “I-Of course!” she proclaimed as she readily accepted the switch he handed to her. She took a moment to look over the details, trying the switch as she stared at it deep in thought. Ambrose, for his part, leaned back in his chair, watching Elin as she looked over his creation.

“...So this went in first, and then that attaches to… Right, got it,” she muttered to herself briefly as she moved her fingers along parts of the device and attempted to remember the procedure, repeating it in her head over and over again. It was a simple enough thing, but in case the mechanism came in handy for anything else…

Eventually, when she was confident enough with her memory, she handed the switch back. “Thank you. Seems like this could be used for a lot of things. ...Like the other ones you mentioned, particularly the light. It… It does sound unusual; I don’t see how that could be anything but magic. But if it could be done… I don’t know, I can’t imagine how that’d be anything but magic. I’d have to see it I guess.”

She bit her lip. “And what do you mean the decision of the fate of your disliked inventions isn’t yours? You’re the inventor. And if you destroy something before anyone else knows about it, who would know but you?”

Ambrose sighed deeply, thinking about how to respond to this, before rubbing his forehead. “I confess, I have a bad habit of speaking too much, Elin, and that is a poor thing to have when my brother is keen to take advantage of every opportunity that he gets,” he looked up at her, smiling a little. “I cannot begrudge him that, however. Despite our different opinions, I do love him, and I do know he appreciates what I do, even if he uses it in ways I do not always agree with.”

Quickly, the Stallion shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. Considering Elin’s feelings towards the nobility, especially towards Alain, it was not a good subject to linger on. His smile grew wider as he leaned forward, also looking at the switch. “I’ve not found much use for that thing aside from a few specific inventions, and certainly it would not help me make those miraculous things I described. At the most, it can-”

He gasped, his mind overtaken by the sensation of his thoughts being dragged away someplace else. Ambrose did not even have enough time to cover his eyes before the vision hit him, leaving him staring blankly into space, unaware of anything surrounding him.

Elin looked up at Ambrose’s abrupt end to his speech and caught him in the process of adopting his blank stare. It didn’t take long for her to realize what had happened, and though she frowned, she held herself back from doing anything. If she hadn’t seen this happen to him previously, she might have been confused and panicky just like before. But this time she remained calm. She knew he would be shock still as his vision went on, so all that was left for her to do was wait. So she looked back down to the switch…

And looked back up, briefly tilting her head as she stared at Ambrose. He was in the midst of a vision, she knew that, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was. Perhaps it was another idea for an invention, like the ones he was showing to her? It did allow him to see those impossible inventions from the future, ones he was so sure wasn’t magic… If that was the way to prove it to him, and he got so much out of it…

She rubbed her arm thoughtfully as she stared at Ambrose, examining at every detail on his face, how he sat so still and how his eyes gazed blankly at nothing, and she etched the visage of exactly how he was in her mind before waiting to see how he would come out of it. She didn’t know if what she had in mind would work, but if it did… Well, so much wonder if it did.

They sat like this for a few moments until, with a gasp, Ambrose’s body loosened and he fell forward, only arresting his momentum by grabbing the edge of his workbench. He leaned against it, sucking in a few deep breaths as he brought up a tentative hand to rub his forehead as though it would help in clearing away a vision from his mind. Once he seemed satisfied, he opened his eyes and slowly lifted his head up to Elin.

“I’m sorry, I wish that did not have to happen. I’m fine, don’t worry, I-” the Stallion immediately cut himself off when he saw the young woman staring directly at him. “Elin, what are you doing?” his voice quivered. “You know what this is. Why are you looking at me...like that?”

Elin, so intent in her staring and processing, hadn’t managed to disguise the look on her face before Ambrose saw her. Even then, she didn’t react right away, processing the last tidbit of information into her memory before blinking, trying to retain a neutral expression while frantically pondering how to explain.

“I-I uh, I, yes, I know what it is. That’s why I was trying to-- I mean, I…” Elin stopped and briefly berated herself in her head for saying too much. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s...it’s alright,” Ambrose said almost automatically but he could not keep the shaking out of his voice. “But if you knew, why were you staring at me? You’ve seen this before, it should not be unusual,” he frowned slightly. “And what do you mean by ‘trying’? What were you trying to do exactly?”

He swallowed, his head tilting to a slight angle. “What could possibly be gained by watching me when I’m...like that?”

Elin tensed, a million excuses emerging in her mind… But none of them more viable than the truth, even if the truth involved something she didn’t want to say so freely… She took a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking again.

“Well, I… Like I said, I learn by watching,” she started. “And I was thinking about what your visions could do. I know you can’t control them, but I thought… I thought if there was something I-- that could be repeated about it, something more controllable about the visions, that’d have to do with what you do when you’re struck by one, and then… Well, I don’t know if it’d work, but I was wondering if there was anything to what you did when you freezed up that’d have anything to do with… with the visions themselves, and I was just… Curious about that.”

“You were trying to...to replicate my visions?” Ambrose frowned, the lines of his face shifting into an expression of confusion. “But how? There’s nothing about my visions which could be learned just by watching-”

He suddenly what his brother’s spies had found out during the Coronation. The thought had occurred to him before, at the festival when they had met, but he had dismissed it then as baseless. Yet what Elin was doing now in trying to mimic something which could not be just learned, and with full knowledge of what she was doing...it could not have been anything else.

The Stallion gasped and grabbed the young woman’s shoulder. “Please don’t tell me you were trying to copy my visions, Elin? Including...oh Woo, you were also trying to get the magic behind them?!” he exclaimed, his voice full of unrestrained horror. “Please tell me I’m wrong. I would give anything to be wrong!”

Elin flinched at first when Ambrose touched her and started talking to her frantically, her hand briefly starting to flex into a fist, but she quickly relaxed it when it was apparent he wasn’t attacking her. She began to feel the edge of anxiety, hoping that Ambrose hadn’t figured out the whole truth behind her mimicry.

“I…” she trailed off at first, looking for the words before speaking up again, more quickly so she could get every word out before Ambrose could respond. “Okay, I was, but listen, if it worked, it would’ve been in a more controlled way, and I’d be able to try it whenever I wanted, not at random like it does to you.” She chose not to mention that it’d be whenever she wanted when she finally managed to control her ability properly, but she figured it wouldn’t hurt to learn ahead of time anyway for when that day came. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d think of or make that stiff posture every day of her life and risk accidentally triggering it that way. “A-and maybe if I did, if it could be controllable and not just to me, maybe that could help you too, so there’s that too. Not that I got much out of watching you, and I don’t even know if it’d work, but I figured it was worth a try.”

Ambrose’s jaw fell as he stared at Elin, slowly shaking his head as though trying to cling to the last scraps of denial. “Woo, Elin…” he murmured before immediately regretting that choice of words. “You have to listen to me very, very carefully.”

The Stallion lifted up his other hand to Elin’s other shoulder, holding the young woman and looking her in the eye, making it impossible to hide the panic that was in them. “I have been afflicted with these visions for forty-seven years. If there was some way to control them, I would have found it. But it can only ever be managed, which is what I do, and yet it still comes on unpredictably,” his voice hitched and he forced himself to take several deep breaths. “There is no way to control power like this.”

Elin stood still, meeting his gaze in full, not turning away not seeming cowed by the look. Still, she bit her lip, pondering for a moment before she spoke. “It just surprises me that there’s nothing that can be done. I’ve thought for a while that some types of magic couldn’t be done, but I’ve been proven more and more wrong lately. And maybe that goes for control too. You only recently found out what type of magic you have too, you said so a few months ago. And even if it’s uncontrollable for you… How it might work for me--if it’d work--might be different due to…”

She trailed off, not knowing how to finish that sentence without outright admitting she has powers. Sure, it’d be one less detail to dodge, but it was something she didn’t like admitting to other people if she could help it, at the very least for the sake of having an ace up her sleeve. And knowing his connection to Alain Stallion, Elin didn’t feel quite comfortable telling him. So she shook her head as if to shake off the last thought, hoping Ambrose wouldn’t press her on it.

Luckily for her, he did not. Instead, Ambrose lowered his eyes, sighing deeply. “Maybe it’s true but...this power is not to be toyed with. There is a very good reason why nothing can be done about it.”

The Stallion paused, grinding his jaw together in order to stop himself saying something before he could think about it. He needed to tell her. Even if he had not known Elin for long, Ambrose already knew how stubborn she was; their meeting in the rain in the forest was proof enough of that. If she had it in her head to copy his power, he needed to get that idea out, no matter what.

He gripped her shoulder even more tightly, bracing himself to stop the shaking that he could feel building up in his body. “Elin...what I am about to tell you might sound insane, but it is the truth. My powers...they are…” Ambrose swallowed, taking a deep breath. “They are the powers of a god. A long dead one but still a god. They cannot be used by ordinary humans, and they certainly should never, ever be copied. If you really do copy it, it...it could strike you down with what I have, or worse, kill you.”

Elin’s eyes went wide… and then she raised an eyebrow. “The powers of a… a god?” She repeated aloud, uncertain if she had heard correctly. When Ambrose made no effort to correct any mistake, her brow furrowed in thought. “I, is that… How would you know? And… Is that even possible?”

...Then again, I thought a lot of magic couldn’t be done before, she reminded herself. But she didn’t look less befuddled.

“Yes, it is possible,” Ambrose nodded, closing his eyes for a moment “My brother told me, and he would not lie, not to me anyway and certainly not about…” he waved his hand in front of his face. “This.”

He took his hands away from Elin and slumped in his chair, sighing deeply. “When I was six years old, my powers were transferred to me by an ancient Bernian time deity as she died. There is no way to control them, because a human cannot ever control a god’s powers. The only way I can get any kind of grip on them is for my own body to suppress them,” he glanced up at Elin. “But you don’t have that kind of suppression, and you do not have forty seven years of your body learning to cope with having that much power attached to you.”

Ambrose bit his tongue and looked away, bringing up a hand to rub his eyes. “Woo, this must sound insane,” he looked back at her. “But I swear, it is true. It’s all true.”

Elin blinked and frowned in thought, the confused look on her face not abating. “It… does sound a little hard to believe,” she said aloud. “...But then what you did that day, stopping time… If I hadn’t seen that, I wouldn’t have believed it. That would’ve taken… a lot of power.”

She was silent for quite some time, rubbing her arm in thought before she looked up at Ambrose. her head tilted. “But then why did the god choose you? And how did your brother know, but not you?”

Ambrose gripped the edges of his sleeves, staring firmly down at the ground. “As far as I understand, she ended up being accidentally killed on my father’s orders, and cursing us with her power was her revenge,” he swallowed. “Alain just happened to wake up and see her that night, which is why he avoided it. Over the course of his life, he’s been trying to find out what happened to me, and eventually, he did.”

A thought suddenly occurred to him and the Stallion looked up, meeting Elin’s eyes once again. “I can prove it if you don’t believe me still. There’s a book, here in the Manor, showing the deity. Do you want to see it?”

Elin looked up, her brow furrowed as she took in the information, but she nodded. “Alright, I’ll see it. It’s just… Hard to imagine. People and gods aren’t… one doesn’t see the other, they’re… not in the same place… So how can one do that to the other… Or kill a god… Or be cursed after she died...?” She shook her head; she was saying things all wrong. But then again, she had never really stopped to think much about the gods and exactly what they did or where they were. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe they existed, but to her, it was always this nebulous thing, and not one she really thought about, especially when things needed to be done.

“It is difficult to explain, at least without sounding like I am making up complete nonsense,” Ambrose shook his head, standing up. “It will be easier if I bring the book. Wait here, I’ll come back.”

With that, the Stallion paced over to the door and exited into the hallway, his frantic footsteps fading the further away he got. However, as promised, after a few moments, he returned, clutching a thick leather-bound book to his chest. Sweeping aside some of the parchment and parts lying on his workbench, Ambrose placed it on the wooden surface. Befitting its weighty appearance, it gave off a heavy thump as he did. He swept a finger down the edges of the pages, locating the space left by a bookmark and opened it up.

Even if it was just a drawing, the two golden eyes of Cebeline staring up at him from the page still sent a shiver down Ambrose’s spine. Turning away, he angled the book towards Elin, pointing at the creature.

“That was her,” he uttered and pointed to the drawing opposite, of a tree perched on a rock. “Most gods don’t come down to earth but, as I understand, she was the exception. In this world, she was attached to this tree and my father’s men cut it down. When they did that, they...destroyed her body, I suppose,” Ambrose pointed back to the humanoid being. “But this- her soul- had a little bit of life left, and she came to me and my brother when we were children. And as she died,” he put a hand to his chest, “She passed on her power.”

Elin leaned forward as she pored over the page, her gaze mostly focused on the deity depicted before her. For a long time, she didn’t look up, her eyes widened slightly in curiosity.

“She… was a physical god?” she said aloud. “...Though even if she was, I… Didn’t think it’d be possible just to kill her like that… Wouldn’t she fight back? ...Though I guess the soul splitting off would explain…” she briefly looked up at Ambrose. “...Well, what happened to you, I guess.”

She looked back down. “...Never knew she existed. I mean, I know there are gods besides the Woo. Spyder, Carricon, Ranumgen… Probably more I don’t know about. But her… Nothing. I don’t even know her name.” She stared at the page for a while longer before looking up. “What is her name? And what does it say about her in these letters?” She pointed at some of the text on the page and paused briefly. “...I can’t read.”

“That’s alright,” Ambrose said with a nod before looking back at the book, putting his finger on the text as he read. “Her name was Cebeline and it’s not surprising you’ve never heard of her; apparently almost nobody in Bern knows her name either,” his finger continued to trail down the page. “After the conversion of Bern was complete, Ivar, the first Abbot of Roan destroyed as much about her as he could to make sure nobody ever worshipped her again. Only a few records survived in the Abbey, which is what this book used at its sources. From there on, it describes her powers and worship which…” he swallowed, wincing. “You don’t want to know about it, Elin”

The Stallion turned back to the young woman. “I don’t know why she didn’t fight back against my father’s men when they cut her tree down, and Alain was not sure why either. Perhaps...she had simply lost too much power?” he shrugged and shivered. “Though in that case, I don’t want to think how much her magic would have devastated me at full strength.”

Elin had a contemplative look on her face as she listened to Ambrose and followed Ambrose’s fingers as he followed along with the text before looking back up at him when he finished. “The conversion to Wooism?” she guessed. “I… guess that makes sense. Especially if her practices are awful. Though you mentioned she was a time goddess… I wonder how she’d lose power in that case, but if it’s affecting you this much and this is not her full power…”

Her eyes widened in horror as realization hit her. “Oh ‘Woo, I… That goddess’ power… Any god’s power... I couldn’t begin to control that… Even if it did work. I don’t know if… No.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to find out what it’d do to me.”

Even on the off chance it was an elaborate lie--which she doubted; Ambrose’s reactions and the evidence to back up his claim all pointed to the truth--she knew it wasn’t worth the risk of testing it. She began to make efforts to forget details of what she saw to ensure that she wouldn’t mimic it later. As she attempted to do this, she looked up, rubbing her arm. “I… I’m sorry. You’re right; I shouldn’t have done that, or thought I could control it. It was a stupid idea.”

Ambrose sighed deeply and shook his head. “It’s alright, you did not know. I’ve not told this to anyone else,” he glanced back at the book, his finger tracing across the lines of the drawing inside it. “As you can imagine, this is...a crazy story, and I don’t want to be called a madman again, or potentially even vilified for this power.”

After replacing the bookmark, the Stallion closed the book, placing his hand over it before he turned back to the young woman. “But now you understand why I panicked. I have lived with this power for forty seven years, I know what it does to people,” he winced. “You’re young, with your whole life ahead of you, Elin. You do not deserve to have that life destroyed by this power.”

Elin stared at Ambrose, her mouth opening as if to reply, but no words coming out, and she soon closed it. Although it wasn’t the first time a noble-born said such a thing to her, few times those may have been, it still came as a surprise. Though the surprise was lessened when she thought about who he was, his willingness to listen, his willingness to show her things and warn her about this… Everything about him. It wasn’t the first time for her confusion either, yet she still found it an odd thing to consider, after everything... She pushed it out of her mind for the moment; she didn’t need to bring this up to him. She’d think more on it later. For now...

“I… I get why you panicked now,” she said instead. “I mean, I understood that it was doing terrible things to you… I was just hoping to find a positive side of it, especially knowing how you’ve used these visions, or how else they could be used. But if they’re this uncontrollable, and the bad effects are that bad and unavoidable… It’s not worth it.”

She looked down at the now-shut book. “It is a crazy story, though; I probably wouldn’t have believed you if it weren’t for… everything else. That and the fact that you really don’t seem mad to me. ...But I get why you didn’t tell people. I take it you don’t want me to tell anyone?”

“No, you must not tell a soul,” the Stallion said with a note of fear in his voice. “I am happy to tell people about my magic but this...this is different. It’s too insane and too blasphemous for me to be comfortable revealing. Only Alain and I know about this; I only told you because I had to. Having said that though…”

A smile began to creep across his face. “I’m glad you believed me, and that you listened to me. And I trust you, Elin. I have faith that you won’t tell this to anyone else.”

Elin blinked in two-fold surprise. The first on hearing that he trusted her so readily and the second that he had faith in her not telling anyone else in spite of her history as a spy… She absentmindedly wondered if he didn’t know. She was still fully intent on hiding her history, as her spying was still a skill that could come in handy, but she was surprised that word hadn’t eventually travelled to him after her arrest by the Jades.

...But she shook the thought out of her head. It didn’t matter. She instead gave a small nod. “I won’t tell. I don’t see why anyone else needs to know. I don’t think I’d be able to convince anyone else anyway.”

She then briefly paused before meeting Ambrose’s eyes fully. “But with that, don’t tell anyone else about what I was trying to do either. Not even Alain.” Especially not Alain, she thought. “No one else needs to know that either.”

She hoped she hadn’t said enough about her magic for Ambrose to draw his own conclusions, but she’d rather not have the hints flying around… Even though with rumors acting as they do, they might fly around anyway. Still, she wanted some assurance, especially since she was starting to see a bit more of his integrity, which gave her some hope that her insistence on this might come to fruition after all.

Determined to provide her with that assurance, the Stallion nodded almost immediately in response to her request. “It’s only fair; you keep my secret and I’ll keep yours, Elin. You’re right, neither my brother nor anybody else needs to know about your abilities.” Even if he more or less knows already. Ambrose paused, looking away as though afraid his eyes were going to betray his thoughts. Eventually, however, he looked back, smiling. “Though I must say, I never thought that of all things to find in common, rare magics would be one of them.”

Elin only let out a small nod, agreeing to both the deal and his analysis. She still felt uncomfortable knowing that he knew about her magic… But there was no taking back words or actions, and the secret was really only to keep an upper hand against others, which she wouldn’t need around some people, possibly including Ambrose. And he did promise not to tell anyone else. “Yeah it’s… odd. I never would’ve thought it either. ...Not that ours are similar; they’re different types and I don’t think mine’s caused by a god. It’s just rare.” She shrugged. “Or I guess mine is, but I don’t know. I’m the only one I know of with it, but there might be more somewhere, maybe outside Kyth. It’d be nice to meet someone else with it, but…” She gestured towards the window, not indicating towards anywhere in particular. “My place is here. My life here, what I’m doing for Kyth… That’s more important. So that’s what I focus on.”

“And you’re very right to do so. Take it from me, there’s no point in worrying about things that are beyond your control; that way lies madness- true madness, that is,” Ambrose’s shoulders dropped as he sighed wistfully before shaking his head. “One day you might find somebody else, you might not. But until then, you have things to do here, and people who care for you. That’s more than most people can boast.”

Elin nodded, staring distantly at the wall. “Yes… It is…”

The Stallion lowered his eyes. Considering Elin’s ideals and her work in the Shadows, she probably knew more about that than most people. He opened his mouth again before closing it and turning away, glancing back at his blueprints. His finger traced across one of the ink lines on the parchment and slowly, a smile began to spread across his face. “Elin...you might not be able to replicate my visions, but, if you think learning this would be helpful...” Ambrose turned back to the young woman. “Why don’t I just teach you?”

Elin turned back to Ambrose, blinking. “You’d… do that?” she asked aloud, unsure she heard correctly. She looked down at the blueprints Ambrose was tracing. “I-I mean, there are things about it that are useful that I’d like to know, about a lot of things, really, it’s just… well…” Elin suddenly rubbed her arm before blurting out. “U-usually no one offers. E-especially not… Well...”

She shook her head. “I mean… What I mean is, i-if you’re offering…” She smiled. “I’d like that.”

“I am offering,” Ambrose stated with a nod. “Few people care to listen to me ramble about my work, so if you’re interested, I would definitely be happy to show you whatever I can,” he turned to her, his eyes meeting hers. “I know that I am a noble but…” his hand drifted to grip the edge of his sleeve. “I am not like most; I understand what it is like to be marginalised, to be cast aside, to not matter. And if this is what you want…”

His smile grew wider. “I think it would be good for both of us.”

Elin sat in thought, slightly frowning in contemplation at the mention of him being a noble, a less fortunate one, if in a different way than the peasants. But she soon thought back to the learning at hand. It wouldn’t be exactly as Ambrose expected, as she still had trouble separating pure learning with her mimicry, so she knew to expect accidental mimicking… But she chose not to tell Ambrose about that just yet. She’d try to keep a hold on it, try not to use it as best as she could, and excuse herself for the night if she started to feel tired and pulled... Mostly to minimize the lectures she’d get from concerned friends and loved ones if she didn’t.

She adjusted her position in her seat and nodded before finally replying: “I think so too.”

“I’m glad, and thank you,” the Stallion replied, his voice swelling with as much warmth and kindness as he could muster. “Then I suppose, since you’re here, I might as well try to teach you. Let’s see what I have…”

[Gelquie]

A short Kinean Ryer fic!

Word from Medieville
(Canon Story
August(?) 1314
Wordcount: ~3.4K words)

SPOILER: Click to show

It was a normal late summer day in Canchim, if not entirely normal for the rural family that was visiting. The Ryers didn't go to Canchim often; only if they needed to send a message, if they needed to get supplies that they couldn't get in Wickerham, to see a doctor if they really needed one and could afford it, or—if they had a good crop year—to put their excess crops on the market beyond what they sell through their intermediary. They were going to town now for supplies, and the Ryers decided to make it a family trip, giving their two girls a chance to see the town.

It wasn't a huge city, but there were a reasonable number of trade goods there, and enough various inns and businesses for travellers going along the Cloven Road. Most travellers didn't walk the beaten path that would take them through the more rural towns and eventually Wickerham. After all, most travellers didn't make trade deals in those areas when they could make them in other, more profitable places. Even so, the town was busy enough to the Ryers that although they allowed the girls to wander around and explore, they told the girls to mind where they were and to meet back at a certain time.

So Philip and Petra Ryer were utterly surprised to see Nina and Mari running back to them shouting their names in the middle of the street in an attempt to get their attention as the parents walked out of a store. They supposed it would be possible to see them during the course of the trip, but figured that the girls would mostly ignore them unless they really needed something.

Petra furrowed her brow in concern. “Kids?” she asked aloud. “What is it? Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“W-we're fine,” Nina quickly assured her as she and her sister caught her breath. “It's just, we-we heard something... well...”

The older sister seemed to be struggling to decide how to explain it, so the younger sister gulped and explained softly. “S-something big happened in Medieville.”

The parents paused and gave each other a concerned look. Medieville, of all places... They'd heard news coming from there, of course, with the occasional message Philip's sister sent them, and Clare was usually not involved in anything too serious. But with their eldest daughter Elin living there... Well, Elin was a teenaged girl, not involved in anything big. Maybe nothing had happened to her either. But it couldn't erase their worries.

“What happened?” Petra asked again, a new fear rising in her voice.

The girls took a moment to compose themselves, and it was Nina who spoke first. “You know how we heard a week or so ago that King Starmey had died? Well, apparently the coronation of his daughter went wrong and... and...” She sighed. “I wish you were just there to hear it, it's so...”

She looked to her younger sister for help, but the girl was just as--if not more--mute about the situation, so Nina sighed and just spilled out: “Somehow, she died too.”

“...Woo above, the princess too?” Philip wondered aloud.

“There's rumors,” Mari said solemnly. “Some of them said that people from Courdon stormed the place and a-attacked during the ceremony.”

“Th-they're just rumors,” Nina said quickly, although her reassuring words didn't match her tone. Philip and Petra picked up on this and looked incredulous.

“But, that'd mean... We're at war with Courdon now?” Philip asked aloud. Petra gave another worried look as she couldn't help but ponder. If there was another war, if people were conscripted again... Would they try to take her family members again? And this time, they didn't have the excuse of raising young children or being a small family. If it happened...

Well, maybe they wouldn't conscript Philip, Petra thought, glancing down at Philip's leg and the large stick he used as a cane. He had never been able to work nearly as much as before ever since the accident, even if he always tried. So maybe they would let him go... Unless they thought what he could do was enough for him to serve in the army, or if they decided to recruit girls this time... Petra didn't know what was going to happen, and she couldn't help but worry that she'd have to steel herself for heartbreak again.

But Nina spoke up again. “No, no! It's... It didn't end that way,” she said quickly, mostly speaking to Petra, as if the girl picked up on her mother's worry, even if not the source.

Mari nodded and continued. “They attacked, but people fought back, and... We heard that Courdon's king died in the battle too. And after that, they just... left.”

“I think they had their prince there too,” Nina postulated. “And I guess he became king and... said he didn't want to fight?” She shook her head. “I don't know. But either way, there's no war. Or the herald would've said something about it.”

Petra had to hold herself back from letting out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank Woo,” she said aloud. “We don't need another war. Though without a ruler for Kyth...”

“No, we got one,” Mari explained. “Apparently, a local sculptor turned out to be Starmey's long lost older brother. He was reunited with his family and they're going to crown him. It's... I'd really like to know more about that, it sounds like an amazing story.”

Petra's eyes went wide. “Wow, no kidding. I...” She let out a small laugh. “I thought something like that was just from stories. But if they said it's so... Ha. I guess that worked out in spite of the tragedies. New king and no war. That's great news, Philip-- Philip?”

Philip had grown pensive, and Petra had to reach up to shake his shoulder. “Sorry,” Philip said. “It is interesting, and I want to know more, it's just... I can't help but think about something. They attacked the... ceremony, you said?”

The two teenagers looked at in each with uncertainty, but then nodded. “Yes?”

Philip put a hand to his head. “It's mostly a noble event, but if it's anything like King Starmey's coronation as Clare explained to me, they do let some peasants attend. Those who helped work for the coronation or those who won the lottery.”

Nina tilted her head. “Is that how it works? Well, then--”

Nina was interrupted by a loud gasp from Mari. “You mean... Daddy, you don't think...?”

Nina looked between Mari and Petra, and noticed that her mother had adopted an equally horrified expression. “What? So what if they invite--” Nina realized it as she said it, and her eyes went wide. “Oh Woo... So... So Aunt Clare... And Elin...”

“Right,” Philip said, as if to confirm it.

“...Oh Woo,” Petra put a hand to her mouth, and an astute observer would notice that it was shaking. “No, please, no...”

Almost automatically, Philip put a hand to Petra's shoulder. “W-we don't know if they were there, Petra,” he tried to reassure her. “Or that if they were, they didn't hide. Clare would know better than to fight in that.”

“And Elin?”

“She--” Philip automatically replied, but he glanced away. “If she was with Clare...”

“...Sh-she has to know better than that,” Nina said aloud. “I mean, she's... she's not dumb.”

“But they attacked by surprise...” Mari mumbled.

“And... Philip, we don't know,” Petra said aloud, visibly trembling. “W-we haven't heard anything and...” A strained look formed on her face. “Dear sweet Woo, please, have mercy, not again...”

“Mom, please,” Nina pleaded, as Mari moved in to hug her.

“No,” Petra protested, though not against the hug Mari gave her. “I-it's not okay, i-if there was even a chance that they were there...”

“They might not have been,” Philip tried to reassure her. But he couldn't disguise the tremble in his voice, the fear in his own eyes. “I-I wish we knew too Petra, but... we don't. We only just heard about this...” He turned to his children. “Did they say how long ago it happened?”

“Th-they didn't give a number,” Nina said with uncertainty. “They said a few weeks ago? One of them said about a month ago.”

“...And word is just reaching us now...” Philip mumbled. “That or it didn't reach Wickerham, but if it hadn't...”

“...Then it must not have happened long ago,” Petra finished, her voice low, as if she were fighting tears. They went silent for a moment, but soon, Petra spoke up, a hard look on her face. “We have to write to Clare. See if they're okay.”

Philip cut in: “Petra--”

“Don't start,” Petra scolded. It was sharp enough that Mari drew back from her hug, taking place at her sister's side again, her face contorted in concern. “The longer we wait, the longer we'll have to live with... with just this information. And I just can't do that. You don't have to come, but I'm writing Clare.”

“Yes, Petra, but look,” he tried to put in. “If something bad happened to them, shouldn't we have heard about it by now?”

“We only just heard about that whole incident right now,” Petra shot back.

“But maybe that's travelling faster than the post; maybe they've already written to us,” Philip said. “Clare has always been good about sending word about big things in Medieville, or things that really affect us. She'll write about this.”

“If she's alive,” Petra said glumly. “I-If either of them are alive.”

Philip grimaced and looked away. There was an awkward silence for a moment, with Petra stewing and their two children mutely gazing, eyes wide. Mari's mouth was half-open, wanting to put a stop to the argument but having no idea how. But just a moment later, Petra's eyes opened wide briefly before she shut them. “I... I'm sorry,” she amended. “I just... I'm so worried. If anything happened to them, and we didn't know, or didn't ever hear about it...”

Philip took a moment to respond. “...I know, but... I'd rather believe they're alive. ...Before we know. And I know Clare; she gets into trouble, but won't stick around for that kind of trouble. And if Elin was with her, she'd keep her safe. But we don't know and... I was thinking, we might well get word soon. There might already be a letter being sent to us right now.”

Petra stood in silence for a moment. “...If only there was a way to know that.” Then she paused and looked up. “Let's check the messenger's shop. Right now.”

“...N-now?” Nina asked aloud, finally finding her voice again. “Don't people just come to us?”

“Not all the time. Wickerham's not that close,” Petra said. “So if there's any chance they did send a message and they have it now... I'd rather know now.” She freed herself of her husband's grasp and began making strides towards the district with the shop. The rest of the family followed her, each of them sharing concerned looks for each other.

“...I really hope they're alive,” Mari whispered to Nina, tears below the younger sister's eyes. Nina looked to the girl and gave a short nod, unable to hide the concern from her own face.

“I really hope so too,” she said.

It didn't take them too long to reach the shop, at which point Petra insisted on the messengers searching for mail addressed to the Ryers. But despite a careful search, no message was found. When the Ryers made clear what kind of mail they were waiting for, the messengers assured her that if they got any word for Ryer farm, they'd send word to Wickerham at their earliest convenience.

That didn't do much to clear their heads, however. The Ryers glumly finished their trip and rested in a cheap inn for the night. None of them got much sleep, but they didn't let that slow their pace. Before they left Canchim the next morning, they checked the messenger's office again, but got the same answer as before.

The next few days were difficult for the Ryers. They attempted to distract themselves by throwing themselves into their work or play. When there was no chore left to do, they found themselves frequently visiting town so that each of them could see friends. Word of what happened at the Coronation inevitably spread around Wickerham, causing a buzz of discussion. But the Ryers tried not to talk too much about their worry over their family members' fates. They discussed this more with the Johnsons, who had nieces and nephews in Medieville. They tried to assure each other that Medieville was a big place, and that there was a good chance they weren't even at the Coronation. But without any way to know for sure, their fears were hardly settled.

Just when Petra was harboring thoughts of returning to Canchim on her own to check the messenger's shop again or finally send a message herself, there came a knock on their door one afternoon, nearly two weeks since they first heard about the Coronation. She answered the door and found a messenger before her with a note in his hand, saying it was from Clare Ryer in Medieville. Petra could hardly contain her excitement, feeling both ecstatic at the news and terrified of any bad news the letter may contain.

“Philip! Nina! Mari!” she called in. “Come to the door! The messenger's here!”

They didn't waste much time, and they were soon standing near Petra. The messenger patiently waited and began to read as soon as they looked ready.

“Dear Ryers,” he began. “I don't know if you heard, but life in Medieville was quite hectic for a few weeks.”

“That's how she worded it?” Nina mumbled, but she otherwise let the messenger continue reading the letter for them. Though she suspected that Clare would originally talk about what they already knew.

“King Starmey died of an illness, and they were going to crown Destiney as queen. So many nobles were in town vying for her hand, you wouldn't believe it. It got a little hectic. And then the coronation came. I don't know if you heard this either, but Courdonians came and attacked, killing Destiney, but taking their king down with her. That put an end to the battle. But I was there, or I was until a knight led me to safety, and... I don't even want to describe it. It was absolutely awful, and we're all very lucky.”

The Ryers looked at each other with discomfort. None of them had ever known the horrors of war, but two of them had felt their effects. They could only imagine what it was like to be in the thick of a battle, and they were sure that wasn't enough.

The messenger went on. “But don't worry, we're both alive and well. I wasn't even hurt.”

Everyone immediately breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the Woo,” Petra breathed, feeling as if an enormous weight had just dropped from her chest. Everyone else was wearing a similar look of relief.

“...I can't say the same for Elin,” the messenger went on. At this, everyone froze, silently urging the messenger to go on. “She got so sick during the fight that she had to get emergency care when it was over. But she's recovering and will be back to normal soon. We even have an idea for how to treat this. I'm hopeful.”

Petra let out another sigh, half of relief, half of accepting the bittersweet news. “Emergency care... But she never... Oh Elin...”

The messenger moved on in spite of the interruptions. “But she's also going to be very busy, or I'd send her over for a visit right now. There's a lot that she needs to explain to you in person. She got a second job of sorts, and she says she has to stick around until things are more settled. She doesn't know when that will be and I don't either. I don't want to press her on it too much now though; she has a lot going on and needs time. I'm trying to help her through it as best as I can.”

Philip merely nodded, though Petra was unable to hide her disappointment at not seeing her anytime soon. Mari gave a brief glance to Nina, who merely looked away.

“In happy news,” the messenger went on. “Elin's dating a boy in town.” This caused everyone's eyes to widen, but they otherwise waited for the messenger to say more. “His name is Xavier. I know him, he worked as a cook at the local inn. He's a good boy, if shy. Always eager to help. I'll let you know how that goes, but I have a good feeling about this.

Hope you're well,
Clare Ryer”

The room was silent for a moment, but soon, Petra let out a few short laughs, filled to the brim with relief.

“Ah Woo, it's not the good news I was expecting, but... Oh, they're alive, they're alive.” She threw her arms around Philip, tears welling in her eyes. Philip let out a small relieved laugh of his own as he put one arm around Petra, returning the hug. The kids just watched them, not joining in the hugs themselves, but letting out their own sighs of relief.

“...Clare already paid, so here you go,” the messenger said, interrupting the silence and handing over the letter, which Petra gingerly accepted with one free hand. The messenger then gave a respectful nod before walking away, heading back to Wickerham.

The family didn't even think to shut the door. Even if they had, they wouldn't have cared. They merely stood in silence, with the kids looking each other having a silent conversation while the adults hugged each other, soaking in the others' relief. None of them spoke for quiet some time. But it was Mari who eventually broke the silence.

“Th-that's still a lot to happen to her,” Mari mumbled aloud. “I mean, they're okay, but they were still there. And Elin never got that sick...”

“But Auntie also said they're trying a treatment for her,” Nina pointed out quietly. “Maybe it'll work this time.”

“It doesn't normally,” Mari muttered.

“Clare did say she was hopeful,” Philip put in. “And even if it doesn't work, if it got that bad, it can't really hurt to try. And if she comes to visit us, we'll get a chance to ask her what it is.”

Mari slowly nodded. “I guess so. And it's really more important that she made it.”

“She did,” Nina said with a sigh. “And it could've gone so much worse... But are we going to get a chance? You know what she's like, she wouldn't come before, and now she's working even more? How does she even handle all of that?”

“She's a Ryer; she's always been strong,” Philip said. “And I'm sure she'll come back to visit when she's ready. Don't worry about that, Nina.”

Nina only frowned. She was silent for a moment before muttering: “Well, she has a lot of distractions, at least...”

“Yeah, like her boyfriend,” Mari said with a soft laugh. “He sounds nice. I wanna meet him sometime.”

“Maybe we can,” Philip muttered aloud. “We can visit him or Elin can bring him along. I'd like to see what he's like too. Though if Clare likes him--”

“We can talk about that later,” Petra finally mumbled from Philip's shoulder, catching the attention of the other family members. “What's important is that they're alive. That's all that's important now. That they're okay.” She looked up at her family members, not bothering to hide the tears running down her face, accentuating her relieved smile as she glanced one more time at the letter in her hand. “No one else had to die.”

[Gelquie]

Sometimes I get ideas for little vignettes. Not stories in and of themselves, just random writing snippets that don't otherwise make a whole story. Or it can, but it's not something I feel I can fully write out for various reasons.

I wrote this today and decided to share.

(I'll admit that this was partially inspired by another story I just finished with. It brought this story snippet back into my brain and gave me a writing idea.)

Parting Words
(Canon Story
1356
Wordcount: 516 words)

Warning for discussion of chronic illness and death

SPOILER: Click to show

“I love you.”

They were words that Elin didn't used to say so much. She always felt it, she always meant it, and she would find instances to say it. But she wasn't in the habit of saying it too often. After all, her family well knew and reciprocated it.

Now it was a daily habit to speak these words, at least if she couldn't think of something even nicer to say.

She turned over on the bed, staring at her husband's slumbering form, his silver hair strewn over his cheek. She winced with effort as she propped herself up and reached over to gently smooth the loose hairs back towards the rest. Ages ago, such an act took barely any effort, even when she was at her sickest. Now, she slumped back down on her bed, holding her arms close to her as she felt herself wracked with pain from the strain.

It wasn't overall a bad day. In fact, it was a very good day. But she had a bad habit of expending her energy on good days, which inevitably led to more bad days. She would never realize her mistake until the end of the day, though, or if she did realize, she would stubbornly ignore her body's warning signs unless she knew something good would happen later. After all, she knew quite well that her time was short. When she had energy, she wanted to use it to make the best of the end of her life.

After all, there was no coming back from this. She had tried, her husband had tried, and so many others, solicited or no, had tried. But it had all been futile. And in spite of everyone's efforts, she only grew worse and worse. Briefly, Elin glanced at her bedside, where a multitude of bottles of various concoctions littered her nightstands, strewn atop of pages of spellwork meant for her illness. All they did was ease the pain or delay the inevitable. Not a single one of them would save her.

This was her reality. And the more the days dragged on, the more she knew that her time was coming soon. It wasn't a question of if; it was when.

She had long since accepted this. She had no choice.

She suddenly let out a horrid cough, onset by an ill advised shift in bed that filled her with pain. It caused Xavier to stir, and Elin did her best to stifle the cough. Thankfully, he didn't seem to fully awaken from her disturbance.

“I'm alright,” Elin whispered, putting a gentle, careful hand on his shoulder. “Just sleep.”

As he seemed to let himself be taken back by the thros of sleep, Elin gently moved herself closer to his side so that she could whisper to him once more before trying again to sleep. She didn't know how awake he was, but it didn't matter. For him and any member of her family, she took every opportunity to tell them, just in case it would be her last.

“I love you.”

[Gelquie]

I wrote this little drabble today. I don't know if it's canon or solid yet, or if it'll stay, but just posting it for now.

(If you don't like bugs, this is not the fic for you.)

Slimy, Yet Satisfying
(Setting: Sometime during the famine, but before The Summer Sun
Wordcount: ~1.3K words)

SPOILER: Click to show

“Ciro? Ciro, get back!”

“No! I wanna show you something!”

“Ciro, we shouldn't wander off!”

“It's not far, promise! Now c'mon!”

Elin sighed and jogged to catch up with her little brother, who continued to walk towards a pile of rocks near the brush. They had already gone too far from the farm, and were only in town in the hopes that someone would have extra food for sale, hopefully at prices they could afford or that they'd be willing to make a trade. She'd gone with her father to help keep an eye on Ciro, who really insisted on going for reasons she suspected were related to this current endeavor. It turned out her father needed all the help he could get watching Ciro.

But Elin had to admit that she was rather curious about what Ciro had to show her. It probably wasn't anything too interesting; probably just a plant or a bug. Elin didn't understand his fascination with bugs. She had her phase when she was about his age, but she quickly decided only a few months later that she was done with that. After all, they only got in the way, or worse, bit. She hated it when they bit. But even as a kid, Elin was stronger than them.

In any case, Ciro's fascination hadn't ended in the span of just a few short months as Elin's had. She wondered if he'd be keeping this up for the rest of his life. Her parents assured her that these phases were normal and it might not be permanent, but if they were, there were worse fascinations for a little farmboy to have.

Sure enough, Ciro's destination wasn't too far, and he knelt down near a pile of rocks. Elin raised an eyebrow.

“Rocks, Ciro?” she asked. Was this a new phase? Was he now into rocks, now that the plants and bugs were gradually dying since the abysmal harvest last fall?

“No, better!” Ciro gleefully assured her. He reached over to one of the big rocks and struggled to lift. Elin quickly moved over and offered a hand, giving Ciro the leverage he needed to move the rock onto its side. Below revealed...

“Ew!” Elin cried. “It is bugs!”

“Yeah!” Ciro nodded before taking a free hand to try to catch some. His grin gradually faded as he got a good look at the area that the rock revealed. “Huh... Not as many as before.”

“As... before?” Elin asked.

“Yeah, there used to be lots,” he explained. “I wanted to share, 'cause we're all doing bad.”

“...Share? Ciro, what do you mean?”

“I'll—gotcha! Show you.” Keeping one hand on the rock, Ciro turned, showing off a little beetle in his hand that he'd caught. Then he popped it into his mouth and crunched down.

Elin recoiled. “Ciro! That's gross!”

“No it isn't,” Ciro said, trying to smile as he chewed the beetle. “It's food! More food! Except... not as many... Just try it!”

“No!” Elin took a step back. “They're gross, at least for eating, we don't...” She trailed off, suddenly bringing her hand to her stomach as it made an audible growl. They'd already had to cut back on meals due to the famine, and as the days wore on, she could feel it. It was harder to go on for as long as she did during the day, and it was only worse whenever she got sick... She found herself staring at the scattered beetles below.

“Try it please?” Ciro insisted. “They're not that bad. And I heard you rumble.”

...I guess it couldn't hurt, Elin thought, though she still moved slowly as she knelt down near the rock. She took hold of the rock with her free hand to allow Ciro some rest before grabbing a beetle of her own.

...Try everything once, Elin told herself. Then she closed her eyes and bit down on the beetle.

She couldn't help but grimace. The way it popped in her mouth almost made her not want to eat. But she persisted, chewed, and swallowed. Then she took a moment to consider.

It was only a little beetle. Not very much. But after her scant meals the past few days, she could feel some relief washing through her, the feeling she got when she was finally being given a meal previously denied through their rationings.

Ciro must've seen the change in Elin's facial expression, for he grinned. “See, told you!” He reached for another one. “I wanted to show the rest of you, so we could get more food! There used to be a lot here. ...But now not so much.”

“Probably because you kept eating them,” Elin commented, a rueful smile on her face.

Ciro looked down. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright; I don't blame you. ...Although this is a long way for you to go out by yourself.”

“I just found it one day!” Ciro insisted. “I only came back because of these,” he said, lightly squeezing another beetle.

Elin sighed. “You know you're not supposed to go out this far without someone with you, right Ciro? Mom and Dad said so.”

“But I'm always fine! And there's always something out there,” Ciro muttered. “And more bugs and plants a-and everything else...”

“I think you just like wandering off,” Elin smirked.

Ciro paused for a moment, then pursed his lips as he looked up at Elin. “So do you.”

“I can handle myself,” Elin said, waving a hand.

“So can I!” Ciro assured. “I told you, I've never gotten in that much trouble before!”

“Yet,” Elin sighed. She knew that one day, just one day, he might sneak where's he's not supposed to with someone who will care more, like Roland Smith. And then he'll get reamed for it by the impertinent man, just like Elin did. Maybe then, at least, Ciro would learn.

Ciro pouted for a moment. “...I did get you food.”

Elin pondered. It wasn't exactly the kind of food she liked. But...

“...Yes, I guess you did,” Elin assured him. “Maybe there's more places we can look around the farm, closer to home. They don't all always go under this one rock. Maybe you can help us look; okay?”

Ciro brightened. “Okay! See, I knew you'd like it!”

Elin gave a forced smile as she grabbed another bug. “...I don't. But you know what they say; beggars can't be choosers.” She slowly set down the rock. “But let's not be too long, or dad'll be mad at us.”

“Not if he knows what I've found!”

“Uh, maybe we shouldn't tell daddy; just in case he tells us not to.”

“But it could help him too!”

“I dunno what he'll think; lemme find out first, Ciro. Now c'mon, or he won't let us go next time.”

Ciro sighed, but relented and began walking back to the town center, crunching on the last beetle he had in his hand. Elin did likewise, feeling a hint of strength coming from herself as she did. It was true, it was not by any means good food, or tasty... But she'd take what she could get. Technically, it was food.

And maybe beetles weren't the only things they could eat before the crops improve...