#I think hopefully it will stay no3

[bsaka7]

not to post MORE ABOUT THIS STUPID PIERRESTEBAN FIC but it's. getting so long. there's so much to say. And I don't even feel GOOD about it yet.

[gerbiloftriumph]

Captive Crown

(also on ao3)

Someone wanted the newly crowned King of Daventry and all his friends dead. Someone got close, once.

(warnings for the whole thing: kidnapping, bruising, starvation, nightmares, healthy dosage of angsty musing, sicfic, story-coherent vehicle for all my favorite ch2 headcanons)

~*~*~

3/7

(1: to steal)(2: to hide)(3: to seek)(4: to find)(5: to break)(6: to mend)(7: to heal, and to end)

~*~*~

“Your Majesty, we’re sorry about earlier,” Royal Guard Number Three called through the door. The others stood clustered behind her, looking apprehensive.

(“He’s going to throw something at us.”)

(“He isn’t.”)

(“You didn’t see the look on his face. He absolutely will.”)

“We brought hot chocolate,” she persisted, knocking again. “After walking in the rain, we thought you might need to warm up.” Still no response. “King Graham, are you in there?” She shifted the tray from one hand to both hands and bumped the door open with her hip. Everyone huddled around her, peeking through the gap.

“He’s not there,” No4 sighed, relieved.

No3 pushed the door open all the way. The throne room was littered with socks and acorns, as they’d left it. “But it’s getting dark.” She thought about the monsoon gray sky and amended, “Late. Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“Maybe he’s staying in town. He used to do that a lot.”

“Yes, but that was before we crowned him.” No2 hesitated. “Is that allowed now?”

“It’s not like he’s a proper king, is it? I expect he can do whatever he likes.” No1 made some dismissive hand flapping gesture. “I suppose we should get this cleaned up or something. Hardly looks civilized. Doesn’t keep a very neat throne room, does he.”

“Does that mean we can drink the hot cocoa?” No2 asked hopefully.

No3 tapped her finger against the tray, not sure at all if she should—or even could—make a suggestion. She was the newest rank and file, just hired by the king. But he’d given her a job when she’d desperately wanted it, and…well, she felt wrong about all this. Like an unpleasant itch beneath her armor. Graham had looked so miserable when he’d left (fair enough��she’d heard the shouting even from the entrance hall), and he hadn’t come back hours later, and….

“What if I go to town and make sure?” she offered.

“Sure about what?” No1 said distractedly. He picked up one of the abandoned socks, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it once he had it, and he let it drop again.

“That he’s safe?”

“Safe? We’re in Daventry. It’s no Serenia or Llewdor. We haven’t had anything worse than a wedzel around for years.”

And that dragon that killed that knight, she thought, a touch rebelliously. And leprechauns and goblins and giants and…oh, never mind. “Still, sir, I think a spot of rust on the helmet will do me good. Get some practice marching in.”

“Ah, go on then. We’ll keep some cocoa warm for you.” He took the tray from her and wandered back toward the kitchens, trying to bat No2 away with his elbow without spilling anything. “Later, later. Let’s reheat it and get the rest of the lads in, make it fair.”

She looked at the empty room, remembered how distressed Graham had seemed when he pushed off into the rain alone, and she spun on her heel. She’d go to town. He’d mentioned Wente earlier; may as well start there.

No3 meandered along the road, that eternal Daventry monsoon rain drumming on her umbrella. She practiced what she might say to him, what would convince him to come back, to not give up on them, on her and her beginning career. If she could get Wente or Amaya or Muriel (not Chester) on her side, surely combined they could whip up an argument as solid as Wente’s brownie frosting.

But when she got to the town, and when she found half a broken flute, and empty houses, and a ton of churned mud, and shards of glass and splintered wood, and broken pies and cracked alchemical vials, and a complete lack of any king or villagers whatsoever, she flung the umbrella into the shattered bakery, sprinted back to the castle, and managed to completely ruin hot cocoa night in three words: “King Graham’s gone!”

*~*~*

Someone tapped on his hand, gently. “No, go ‘way,” he mumbled. “Ten more minutes.” The tapping persisted. He withdrew his hand and pulled it close under the blankets. “Five minutes,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly shut, though to his disappointment he could feel himself waking up. Something licked his nose, and he sat bolt upright. “Triumph?”

The glowing salamander on his pillow flicked its tail. Graham gaped at it for a split second before the pain hit in a horrible wave and he huddled forward, clutching the back of his head. The blanket (no, his own cloak) bunched around his waist. His probing fingers found the aching lump on the back of his head from where he’d hit it on the cobblestones yesterday. Yesterday?

Oh. Right.

He was sure he’d dreamed it. Prayed he’d dreamed it. But in the cold light of salamander glow it was undeniable. No point in pinching himself to make sure—everything already hurt.

Graham shifted, leaning against the stone wall behind him. It felt like he’d rolled down the side of a mountain (ha, again). His leg was uncomfortably stiff. Cautiously, he rolled back the fabric and found a horrible bruise on his hip, mottled purple and black and ugly in the gloomy light. The slightest pressure made him hiss. Sore, finger shaped bruises also marked the back of his legs and calves and even his arms from where they—the goblins, right—had gripped and pulled and thrown him into this cell. Stars.

Gingerly, he eased himself off the mattress, putting weight on his good leg before equalizing himself. His stiff leg shuddered, and he staggered forward, catching himself on the stone block that suited for a table. Newton chirped at him, and Graham breathed deep before pushing himself upright. Every bone seemed to creak and groan and pop as he did.  

For the next undeterminable amount of time, he limped in agonized circles around the room, half hunched over for most of it, stretching out aching muscles and trying to focus, to think. His steps sloshed—much of the water from the night (or whenever—how much time had passed, anyway?) had drained away, but the lower stones puddled. He guessed it was rainwater collecting in the caves. As long as it was raining on the surface, his little prison would be damp.

The worst part about this, he decided (other than the sharp bite in his hip every few steps), was the not knowing. Not knowing why they’d taken him, and not knowing what they wanted to do with him. The goblins’ faces (masks?) revealed nothing. He couldn’t ask without an interpreter—not that there was anyone around to ask, anyway.

It wasn’t like the kingdom had enemies, at least none that he could definitively name. Or, to be fairer, there were some, but he wasn’t certain who, or if there even was a who, to blame, and guesses were just guesses. But it felt so…drastic. Unnecessary.

Sure, he’d only just been crowned and perhaps someone was upset about not being chosen (fair enough; who crowns a royal knight with no proper training or, truly, all that much warning), but so what? He upheld an open court. They could have walked in and laid out their frustration, maybe even made a claim to the crown. Stars, after that debacle in the castle earlier, he might have simply given them the throne had they asked politely enough.

It could be a ransom demand, he supposed, but the kingdom was dealing with rotten budget problems brought on by Edward’s illnesses and badly implemented addendums in his final months, and neither Graham nor any of the guards had sorted out how the unlimited treasure chest worked yet. (If, indeed, it even was unlimited. It had the mark of the Merchant of Miracles printed on the bottom, so, not much hope there.) If someone planned on getting a ransom for him, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Hopefully send-him-home disappointed, not cut-his-throat disappointed.

Oh, shining stars. He ran his hands through his tangled hair.

To avoid losing Graham to the knife, the royal guards would have to strike up deals with the neighboring kingdoms. They’d have to relinquish the lavender fields to the highest bidder. Trade their goats and livestock. Open the King’s Forests for hunting. Daventry would be ruined economically and politically, just to scrape together a pitiful ransom for their stupid king.

It might just be best to forget the ransom, crown someone new (a King’s Tournament instead of a Knight’s Tournament? A tournament of speed could be the first to sign a ream of addendums) and forget Graham had ever existed. They hadn’t even had more than two sessions for the new royal portrait to be added to the Hall of Faces. It would be easy enough to hide him, a pathetic little footnote in the history books.

Which would make for a happy, thriving Daventry, but a not so happy pack of goblins, and, consequently, a less than thriving Graham.

He pressed his face against the barred window. No one was around. He looked down, trying to see what sort of lock held the door—a very large padlock, by the look of it. He wriggled a hand through the bars and twisted his arm until he had it in his grasp. Sturdy. Heavy. He tried to angle it to see the lock itself, but he couldn’t quite manage from here.

With a flash of delighted inspiration, he unpinned his brooch from his cowl. He flipped it over and studied it, but he felt his burst of excitement drain away again. The metal pin was far too small for the weighty lock. He’d just break the brooch off, and then the goblins would have to break down the door to let him out or just not bother to open it again.

He wandered toward the cracked mirror, to reaffix the pin straight against his chest, and stared at himself. With the dark rings under his eyes, he looked like he’d been punched in the face. Twice.

“Ahh.” Graham sank onto the mattress, the only properly dry thing in the whole cell, and wrapped his cloak tight. An opportunity would come, surely. He just had to be ready for it. Whenever it came. Whatever it looked like. He curled on his side, favoring his bruised hip, and tried to think of sunshine.

*~*~*

Graham fell into a sort of routine as time crept past on soft salamander feet. He couldn’t know how much time was passing, and he was reluctant to make a guess at it for fear of making the situation feel all the more helpless. Hopeless.

He took to reciting what addenda he could remember—he thought he might be mixing up some of the numbers (was it Addendum 78934 that was about pasta in royal guard diets, or 86752, or maybe he’d forgotten a decimal point), but he knew he had the content right. He’d been memorizing facts and sheets for weeks. It helped keep him grounded after he’d counted all Newton’s spots and every facet of every rock dozens of times over.

Every now and again, when his nauseous hunger felt overwhelming, he stumbled toward the pipes and gathered up a small amount of porridge. Stringy to the eyes, slimy to the touch, and rubbery to the teeth, he bit back on his gag reflex and swallowed handfuls of it as quick as he could with his eyes screwed shut. It didn’t seem to have much of a smell to it, but that was most likely because he’d gotten used to the wet-dog reek of his damp, lizard-infested cell.

But one day (the third day, had he been able to accurately number the hours—a proper fairy tale amount of time, which might have given him a hint as to who had done this), the horrible porridge stopped coming. Nothing oozed out of the pipes at all. Graham almost laughed. No more porridge! Ha! No more…oh, hang on. No more porridge means no more food means…his stomach snarled. Or was it the goblins outside his door snarling at each other?

Then, because the goblins didn’t want to do their own chores, he was freed. Or, at least, he wasn’t locked in his cell constantly. Every evening they unlocked the door and let him out to do their literal dirty work. This first night, they thrust an oily rag in his face and ordered him to clear spiderwebs. Well, fine. Chores would break up the monotony of his own thoughts, and anyway, it was a great excuse to explore every corner of this prison without getting tackled.

But his cleaning came to a screeching halt when he discovered, to his utter horror, that he wasn’t alone. All his friends were trapped in the shadows and the slime, too. Wente and his new wife, Bramble. Amaya. The Hobblepots. The Merchant. Even, bafflingly, Mr. Fancycakes. They were starving, bedraggled, as pathetic as he was. Worse than he was. And they were depending on him for survival.

He straightened his crown.

It’s a puzzle, Graham. Find a way out.

[burningbaal]

Order of operations

Putting this together is a process, so I want to think a bit about how this all comes together. Not only do I have to put together a new tank, but I need to keep the livestock from my 29 alive as they move to the new tank. And, I’m planning this complicated sand bed, and I have complications with the elevated fuge.

Here’s my plan:

Get reef-pi going on my 29g :)

Get the beginnings of the water station somewhere (outside?) and stick a pump and heater in a barrel with a little rock from my 29 (it has too much) and my new rock. Keep 6-9 flat-bottom base rocks dry. Might experiment with rockscape on a 6x2 table first so I can know where I want the base rocks (later). I expect to buy about 150lbs of rock and add about 10-15lbs from my over-rocked 29. Once the whole thing is in the new system, I’ll have over 200lbs of rock, but I’m expecting about 100 of that in the display, the rest in the fuge. 

I’ll periodically swap a couple small rocks between the barrel and my 29g to encourage bacteria in the barrel and make sure the salinity doesn’t swing too wildly (probably keep the barrel mostly sealed and check every couple weeks). I might put some old tank water from the 29 in the barrel during the 29′s water changes.

Wait for tank/equipment to be acquired, put the three tanks in place and dryfit plumbing. Check glass tank for water-tightness. Possibly sprayfoam-insulate the two stocktanks (going in a basement in the PNW, it probably needs help staying warm). 

Make faux sandbed (approx 1/4″ thick epoxy/reef-flakes mixture). After spreading it, before it’s fully cured, press the base rocks into the epoxy. They probably won’t be immovable, but it should be enough to minimize the risk of accidental and animal-induced movement.

Do the plumbing for everything, and fill with RODI (will probably take two days to fill from my RODI unit).

Turn on the pumps (don’t bother with powerheads) and heaters. Probably run this for 24hr to make sure it’s leak-free and warm up the water

Drain the fuge into my RODI barrel so I have it ready for topoff/etc. (remember the salt mixing barrel has rock in it)

Throw a couple powerheads (probably near FSB) in and add salt to the system. I figure I’ll probably have 225g of water (sump+DT), so I’ll probably put 150 gallons-worth of salt in the display and 50 gallons-worth in the sump, wait several hours, then add salt to get to 35ppt.

Turn off all pumps, start moving rock into the display and building the rockscape, water will overflow from display to sump. As the sump fills up, I’ll turn on the fuge pump transiently to move excess water into the fuge (which is empty, remember?)

Once reasonably satisfied with the rockscape, siphon out any debris that fell on the FSB, place fine filter socks in sump, then turn all pumps on 100% to stir up all the debris for several hours. Unused rock can sit on the faux sand bed or in sump.

Clean out barrel that had the rock, mix new SW from the barrel of RODI and make new RODI.

Move unused rocks to fuge (next to overflow, away from the lights), finish filling fuge with new water in barrel (already mixed to match).

Turn off pumps, add ~1.5″ of dry large-grain sand (hoping for 2-5mm, maybe tropic eden reef flakes). Let it settle with minimal water movement

Get lighting and other equipment set up as the tank settles in, start daily water changes between new tank and 29g to acclimate the inhabitants to the new water. I’ll do this as long/slow as possible, I’m hoping a month, but I might struggle with patience. I might move some rock from the 29, but some already was in the barrel for a couple months with the new rock, so it shouldn’t be too necessary

Make sure there’s a full barrel of RODI and a full barrel of saltwater

Move all fish from 29g to the 180, realizing I won’t get them all. Maybe move a couple more rocks if it doesn’t disrupt the corals in the 29g. continue daily water changes. Grab some of the CUC as well.

Wait a couple weeks, then move the corals and remaining CUC to the 180g and then the rock that isn’t buried in the 29′s sand to the fuge. 

Move all the sand from the 29g into a bucket as the new anoxic denitrifier, move the rock that was buried into the fuge. Put another 40lbs of sand as the clean dentirifier.

Toss a small ball (like...golf ball or baseball) of chaeto in the fuge. there’s very little nutrient in the system, but I want the algae growth here, so I’ll light it a couple hours every morning. 

Display lights on a few hours every evening, a hair low so the corals can acclimate to the brand-new lighting. Display lights ramp up over the course of a couple weeks, fuge lights ramp up whenever I see NO3/PO4 creeping up or algae growing in the display. CUC as needed, planning to end up with about 200 members eventually, including a couple tuxedo urchins, a fleet of trochus, cerith, and nassarius snails, and probably 50 hermits. Maybe a few fun things like emerald crabs.

The tank is big and clean enough it should buffer some of the issues with the moving livestock, and it’s receiving pre-cycled rock and the live bio-filtration from the 29g, so it should avoid some of the new-tank nasties, especially with the chaeto growing.

Wait as long as possible, hopefully 2 months to get through any tough new tank syndrome, then start populating the tank. probably start with some monticap and LPS down low and go from there. Bristletooth and yellow tangs, a couple blennies and wrasses, maybe a clown pair. then move on to a sailfin and blue tang, and someday a copperband butterfly, mandarin dragonets, powder tangs, and maybe...just maybe...my dream of an Achilles Tang can come true.