#also love getting to expand the context of fyrna and verin’s mentor/mentee dynamic

[stylographic-blue-rhapsody]

good morning it is again blorbos-from-my-game hours

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729 PD, Rosohna. Luminata Eve

Espen’s hands twitched behind her back, held in a stiff soldier’s attention to keep from picking anxiously at her hakama. She had attended Luminata Eve celebrations with nobility in years past, hosted by Den Beltune, but this was the first time she had been brought as a guest-companion to a ruling Den’s party. She had objected at first when Fyrna invited her along, but eventually gave in to the teasing requests and agreed. She regretted this lapse in resolve.

“And anyway,” Fyrna said with a grin, “That’s why I told him he should pick up a glaive instead. I know your Den’s traditional choice is the longsword, but you should see how he wields a polearm. It was a really clever use of an echo in combination with the weapon reach. Naturally talented, aren’t you, Lieutenant Thelyss?”

Verin Thelyss, eldest son of Den Mother Deirta Thelyss, blushed faintly over his stoic expression and demurred politely as his mother looked at him appraisingly. Espen’s nerves over being included in conversation with an Umavi had been soothed as soon as Fyrna had started talking: the Moonsage seemed perfectly content to be swept up in complimentary stories of her son by his martial mentor and ignore her entirely. Fyrna’s casual charm and self assured gregariousness made it easy to linger silently in the periphery.

A sudden crash and snarled insult in the center of the room interrupted the first words of Den Mother Thelyss’ reply. From Espen’s side, a thrumming burst of dunamis raised the hair along her arms and at the back of her neck like standing in an electrical storm. Espen stuttered, first towards the noise and then jerking back to look at her wife, only to find Fyrna absent: beside her was instead a shimmering, tangible shadow bearing an impression of Fyrna’s likeness.

A dunamantic echo. Espen’s hand flew instinctively to her unbelted hip in search of a sword that wasn’t there. Fyrna would not generate an echo without the presence of a real threat. Espen whirled back towards the commotion at the center of the room, seeking the source of the trouble.

The spectacle she found was not one of the sort of danger that had her heart racing in anticipation, but perilous nonetheless. At the center of the tableau stood Fyrna, grip tight on the wrist of a noblewoman whose palm was raised in a striking gesture. Usola Omrifar, Espen’s thinking brain recalled helpfully—politically powerful and friendly with the Moonsage. Behind Fyrna, an adolescent half-Kryn server was cradled in the arms of a second dunamantic echo, apparently having prevented him from falling into the mess of wine and shattered glass on the floor from a dropped tray. Belatedly, Espen noticed the dark, wet splash across Lady Omrifar’s kimono: a collision between the noblewoman and the server.

The room was still for a few heartbeats, the crowd collectively frozen with tension. In the hush, Espen couldn’t help the awe that surged in her chest and buzzed along her skin.

Taskhand Fyrna Beltune, heir to Den Beltune and Espen’s beloved wife, was so fucking beautiful. The demonstration of power via fine-tuned control of not one but two echoes was radiant and all-consuming. The shadow beside Espen was so dense with dunamis that her vision warped at the edges, creating a duplicating effect that made her feel as though she could see into the alternate timeline it came from if she could just focus hard enough. A pressure began to build in her sinuses, uncomfortable magical resonance flaring outwards along her Luxonmark.

Taskhand Fyrna Beltune was a legion of one, and resplendent.

Time seemed to jerk back into motion when Fyrna tipped her chin at Usola and said lowly, “Cool off. You dishonor your station, Lady.”

However quietly she spoke, the calm command carried easily to the outskirts of the room. The guests in immediate proximity to the scene stepped back, and if the mood weren’t so tense Espen might have laughed at the pair of Den guards at the entrance of the hall as they straightened unconsciously.

Lady Omrifar snarled and tried to wrench her hand away. Fyrna’s grip held fast, letting the older woman struggle futilely for a beat longer than necessary before letting go. Usola spat, “That clumsy, half breed brat spilled the whole tray on me! It’s ruined the silk!”

“The drink is easily removed by simple prestidigitation.” Drily, she added, “If you’d like proof of this, we can find another tray of drinks and dump it down my uniform as well. I am confident someone here will help us out.”

Lady Omrifar’s cheeks, which Espen noted were already flushed with drink and rage, grew darker. Her voice pitched upwards, and she said, “All that glass is dangerous! He could have hurt me!”

Fyrna’s even expression broke, mouth twisting in contempt. “But you were not hurt, and in fact, it was you who ran into him. If there is any redress to be made, it is to the kid.”

Did she run into the server? Espen hadn’t known anything was happening until the crash, but wasn’t surprised that Fyrna had had eyes on what happened. Her reaction speed made that clear enough. As Lady Omrifar sputtered, Fyrna glanced over her shoulder at the boy, now steady on his feet but looking as if he might throw up. “What’s your name?”

The boy jumped, hands fisting at the edge of his uniform, gaze darting between Fyrna and her echo beside him. “Um, it’s R-Rhiah, Taskhand. Rhiah Thalphen.”

Fyrna said coolly, “Lady Omrifar, you should apologize or take your leave. If you do neither, I pledge myself to Rhiah Thalphen to act as his sword, voice, or hand, should he demand an honor challenge.”

Behind her, Rhiah stammered a protest, but neither woman paid him any mind.

“This is not your home, Beltune. You are not an authority here,” Lady Omrifar hissed.

“I agree with Taskhand Beltune.”

Espen turned, surprised to see Verin Thelyss step forward. He glanced at his mother, and Espen could not parse the expression on her face, but Verin clearly could. He continued, “Den Thelyss does not endure abuse of our hands.”

“But she—”

“Come with me, Lady Usola.”

The murmurings around the room hushed completely in the wake of the Moonsage’s gentle, gravel-voiced command. Omrifar’s face paled to a sickly grey. She bowed stiffly, and the crowd parted to allow her to trail after Deirta Thelyss’ graceful, unhurried stride from the hall. She gave Fyrna a poisonous look over her shoulder before vanishing through the doorway.

Chatter resumed like a thunderclap once the two noblewomen were out of sight, but the crowd maintained a wide berth from Fyrna and the server. Verin strode to them, nodded at Fyrna and then offered a bow to Rhiah. The boy scrambled to bow back, stammering ungracefully through whatever formal apologies Verin was making to him, and fled as soon as he was given a dismissal.

As Fyrna and her protégé leaned in to speak together in hushed tones, Espen let out the breath she was holding. That could have gone much worse, if Verin and his mother had not backed Fyrna in the escalation of the conflict.

[Oh, the Moonsage is not happy about any of this.] Espen jumped at the voice ringing with laughter in her head. It took her a few scans, but eventually she found him—Jinoire Olios, beloved friend and traitor, wiggled bejeweled fingers at her in greeting from sixty paces across from her in an alcove at the edge of the hall.

[You read the Moonsage’s thoughts? Are you daft?] Espen thought back furiously as she pushed her way through the crowd to his hiding spot.

[Of course not, she has some sort of nondetection up. I got that from baby Thelyss.]

[Do not call him that, he’s your coworker.]

“I will call him whatever I please until he outranks me,” Jin said cheerfully when Espen reached speaking distance. “Which will be never, because the day he surpasses me is the day I retire.”

“You are not going to reach retirement, Olios, because I am going to kill you for telling me you were not coming and that I would have to attend this awful party alone, then showing up anyway.”

Jin scoffed, tugging her into a brief embrace and kissing her cheek. Up close, she could see the soft shimmer of cosmetic glitter on his skin and smell his peony perfume. “You weren’t alone, Beltune is here! And the party is quite nice. Have you tried the octopus? Apparently they had it magicked to keep it fresh all the way from the Emerald.”

“Like Hells, I ‘wasn’t alone.’ I have not spoken to a single person since I got here because Fyrna was occupied doing the Den Heir thing.” Espen pulled away more quickly than usual and straightened her haori. She knew the focus wasn’t on the two of them, uninteresting in comparison to the Heirs still at the center of the room, but it was instinctual: too many unkind things could be said—had been said—about her overt displays of physical affection. “Where’s Trestilya?”

“Khith has a stronger backbone than you or me,” Jin informed her. “They didn’t cave to Beltune. They’re spending tonight in the Coronas with Bas.”

“Bastard.”

“We should join them after this! I can’t imagine staying much longer, not after that display.”

The warmth Espen felt at discovering Jin at the party faded slightly as she glanced back towards Fyrna and Verin. “What did you overhear?”

“A bit of this and that. Enough to paint a picture.” He hummed and performatively inspected his fingernails, lacquered in sapphire blue. Disconcertingly, his voice once again echoed in her head, but there was no movement of his lips, or somatic gesture made with his hands, or even a telltale pulse of arcane energy. Espen would never get used to his ability to manipulate the Weave with nothing but force of will. [Thelyss thinks his mother would have preferred that to have been handled more subtly, but I imagine that would have been difficult, considering how intent Omrifar was on making a scene.]

“Elaborate, please.”

“Well,” Jin murmured, still picking at his manicure, “She was drunk, obviously. But just this month her sister was named successor to their mother as Den matriarch instead of her like she’d expected. Needed to take all that frustration out on someone inconsequential, I suppose.”

Espen’s mouth twisted with disgust. She said, “What else?”

[The Moonsage doesn’t like drama in her own home. She cares about subtlety. Probably would have preferred to have coaxed Omrifar outside first and made apologies to the kid later.] Jin raised a hand to cover his satisfied smirk with his fingers. “But Beltune decided to make sure Omrifar was properly, publicly shamed for it. Light, that was so sexy of her.” He peered out from the alcove to scan the room. “Where did she run off to? I need to propose marriage.”

Even as she worried for the social consequences, Espen couldn’t agree more. That Fyrna would fight this battle in someone else’s home—an Umavi’s, no less—without knowing whether or not she would be supported by the hosting Den made her so damn proud. And Verin! Espen was sure that his support had tipped the scales in her favor, forcing his mother to either show a united front with her beloved son or openly suggest friction within her Den. She might still reprimand Fyrna for it later, but for now, at least, they were on the same side.

“Taskhand, my precious demagogue!” Jin laughed as Fyrna found them at the edge of the crowd, bowing dramatically low over clasped hands when she approached. “Please reconsider the offer for my hand in marriage. I have so many relatives I would love for you to correct the way you corrected that hag.”

Fyrna grinned in reply. “You know, Olios, I don’t have to be married to you to be introduced to them.”

“But the sting would be so much sharper if it came from my wife,” Jin sighed wistfully.

She chuckled, and then her amusement turned softer as she looked at Espen. “Hello, starshine.”

Espen smiled. Light, she loved her. “Hello.”

“Khith is with Bas in the Coronas. Want to finish the night out at a party that’s actually fun?” Jin asked Fyrna.

“Will there be orc-stuff?”

He snorted. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Bas’s sister is hosting, obviously there will be orc-stuff.”

“Fuck yes.” Fyrna glanced over her shoulder. “I should probably wait to leave until Den Mother Thelyss returns, at least. Make my proper goodbyes and all that. Meet you both at Neref’s in an hour or two?”

“You got it, boss.”

Espen reached out to squeeze Fyrna’s hand before following Jin towards the foyer. “Good work.”

“Hush. Love you, too.”