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tenspontaneite · 4 years

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Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 22/?)

In which Callum and Ezran confront some of the implications of Harrow’s death; in Katolis, a meeting of the High Council is called.

(Chapter length: 15.5k. Ao3 link)

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Sarli and Cairon whiled away the hours with their work, waiting until such a time that a runner came from the castle. If there were any watchers in place observing them, they saw no sign of it, though that did little to ease their tension throughout the day. When finally they were called upon, they went, and did not make any particular fuss about it. It came later than anticipated; at a time ebbing closer to evening than afternoon. She wondered if there had been any difficulties that might have caused the delay.

They arrived at the castle and were taken to wait in a receiving room not far from where Sarli knew the Council hall to be. The thick stone of the castle walls blocked all trace of sound, and though she was sure the meet must already be underway, she could hear nothing. So she held silent and still, waiting in calm dignity for the inevitable summons. Cairon, for his part, held a silence and stillness that seemed very intent, as if he were trying to listen for voices through the stone. He would have had to have very good ears to manage it; the castle walls were thick indeed.

Finally, a guard came to lead them through, and the two that had been in the room stood up and followed. When they entered the Council’s grand hall, there had evidently been a great deal of talking already, and a great deal of resistance. Lord Viren was not in the monarch’s seat, but instead stood at the table’s end like a supplicant, cuffed, flanked on either side by well-armed Crownguard. She had a split second to guess that he would not take such debasement lightly, and then she saw his face.

The Lord Protector was tense with barely-leashed rage, his fists tight at his side and his frame set with a proud, furious rigidity that spoke well to his state of mind. He had encountered a challenge and a setback where he had anticipated none, and it had got the better of him.

His eyes moved and fell upon her, and tightened with obvious fury. Sarli stared back impassively.

“I call the Healer Sarli, and her apprentice, Cairon of the Acolytes of Mercy, to speak their testimony to the Council.” Opeli said, steely-eyed and intent. She did not betray any hint of satisfaction or victory, and Sarli respected that, too. One ought not celebrate a victory until it was in her hands. “By what would you be bound?” She asked of them, and Sarli answered without hesitation.

“By Mercy,” she said, and Cairon echoed ‘Mercy’ a bare second after her.

Opeli nodded, and then had them speak the vows in Mercy’s name that would bind them by honour to truth, and then without unnecessary preamble she had their testimony from them. Sarli described the circumstances under which she’d been summoned, what she’d seen of the Lord Protector’s secrecy and the conditions of his dungeon, what he’d said of his past treatment of his prisoner, and the evidence that Sarli had gleaned well from that prisoner’s health. She spoke of the amputation performed in the dark, hidden and faithless, and the insult she’d been dealt in having her patient taken from her. She spoke of the dark magic construct that had stolen into her House of Healing, and presented the ash of it that Cairon had saved in a tiny vial.

Cairon said his part, too, but by that point it was something of an afterthought. The Council adjourned briefly while a fresh party of guards, accompanied by a Councilman, ventured into the Lord Protector’s private dungeon and verified the presence of the prisoner, as well as the inhumane conditions of his keeping. They returned this confirmation to the Council-hall, and Lord Viren was asked to justify his actions.

He straightened, slowly, the rage in his eyes having banked in the interim to something colder and longer-burning. He had evidently been considering his words very carefully. “That elf is the assassin who murdered King Harrow.” He said, evenly, precisely. “And, to my belief, the leader of the party of assassins.” He was commanded to justify this claim, and elaborated at once on the differing position of the elf’s strange binding, the fact that he alone had borne the magical messenger-bird; the claim was accepted, and he went on. “This elf is the leader of a group of six – six – vile Moonshadow elves who somehow made it to the heart of the Kingdom without ever once being detected. A journey that surely must have taken them months – and they were not spotted. Does that not seem suspicious to you?”

The Council rustled. Opeli’s eyes tightened before she spoke. “Make your point, Lord Viren.”

“My point, as you put it, is that those elves constituted a security breach of the highest order,” said Lord Viren, voice coached in all the righteous, compelling concern that he could manage. “A Moonshadow assassin is unstoppable at full moon, but full moon does not account for how they travelled here undetected.”

“Moonshadow assassins are famously skilled.” Pointed out another of the Council, looking nearly interested now.

“Skilled, yes, but skilled enough to avoid all patrols and sentries along the way?” He shook his head. “The most efficient ways here from the border are heavily populated. No, Councillors; even if the assassins kept far from the road, they should have been spotted. Glimpsed, at least once. I’m sure they would have killed any scouts who did spot them, but we’ve had no missing scouts either, have we? They weren’t spotted.” He lifted an eyebrow, as if inviting the council-hall to follow him to his conclusion. “That implies knowledge of where to go to stay hidden – which routes are guarded and which are not – which paths an assassin might take to the heart of Katolis to slaughter its royal family.” The words were inflammatory, and deliberately so; many in the room stirred at the reminder. “That knowledge could only have been gained in one way.”

Sarli knew the word before it was spoken. So, judging by the sudden stillness of him, did Cairon. “Spies.” Concluded Opeli, flatly. “We know we have spies, Lord Viren. Every kingdom does. What does this have to do with your reprehensible conduct?”

The Lord Protector schooled his features into polite surprise. “You haven’t guessed, Lady Opeli?” He asked, falsely astonished. “Why, I have been trying to draw the information from the elf prisoner, of course.” He seemed satisfied as the Council erupted with mutters and rustling, eyes passing from one to the next with careful attention. “As the leader of his party, the prisoner will know how to contact the spies. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had made contact with a spy in the castle-city itself. Our king is dead!” he said, raising his voice, and casting his address around. Though shackled, he still had more than sufficient room to turn and enhance his oration. “Our heirs murdered! The Kingdom is in its hour of greatest vulnerability, and it is our duty to keep it safe. Security of information has never been more important.”

“…You claim your treatment of the prisoner was justified as means to draw information from him.” Opeli concluded, narrow-eyed, watching Lord Viren as though he were a particularly troublesome roach that had the temerity to refuse to die.

“Precisely so, Lady Opeli.” The Lord Protector agreed, voice lined with the artificial smoothness of someone who had lived too long at court.

Opeli did not appear impressed. Nor did her fellows, and Sarli could guess why. She waited for the obvious rejoinder.

It came, eventually, from the Councilman Saleer. “Lord Viren, I agree with your concerns of the security of the realm.” He said, turning a light frown to the man as he spoke. “The security of information must be one of our utmost priorities, and the potential for unearthing spies must be pursued. Your prisoner, doubtlessly, has very valuable information to give, and will likely only give it under duress. I agree that the duress is warranted.” He paused, looking almost disappointed. Sarli thought, by the look of him, that this Councilman might well have been Lord Viren’s partisan before this. Now, though? “What I question is why you did not apply to the proper channels to have it sanctioned.”

Sarli was nodding along as Lord Viren paused, his expression falling into a mask of polite indifference that seemed near-reflexive. “Pardon?” he inquired, mildly, with the look of a man who had been hoping very fervently that this topic would not arise.

Opeli took up the assault with an almost fierce cast to her eyes. “Under Law, Lord Viren, the use of exceptional measures in the questioning of prisoners of war may be granted by tribunal,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You cannot pretend you didn’t know that. There is no good reason, none, why you should have kept the prisoner in unlawful secrecy and unlawful conditions, when you could have simply requested a tribunal verdict. Do you think anyone would deny that this prisoner warrants it? It would be unanimous.” Her stare darkened to a glower. “But you didn’t even try. And I, for one, mistrust the intentions that this betrays.”

“I, as well.” Said one of the others. “It’s untrustworthy behaviour from the Lord Protector.”

“I support without reservation measures for the security of the realm,” said Saleer. “I dislike that I was not offered the opportunity to support this one. Matters of security should not be hidden from the Council. And, by reports, under your care the prisoner’s health has been declining rapidly. Such a valuable source of information should be kept more carefully.”

Opeli turned, abruptly, to Sarli. “Your verdict, Healer, on the prognosis of the prisoner.” She demanded, and Sarli blinked.

She took a moment to collect her impressions. “Under his current circumstances, without the care of a Healer…” She considered it. “If the records on his kind are correct, I would expect him to summarily expire beneath the new moon. In his current condition, and kept underground, I do not believe he would survive its privations.”

“And your recommendations for a course of treatment?” The question was quick.

“Access of a qualified Healer to his care and keeping.” She answered. “Moonlight; as much of it as possible, before the moon finishes waning. He must have a cell with an appropriately-placed window. And I strongly recommend against the use of any exceptional measures before the new moon has passed.”

“You consider it very likely that the prisoner would have died, left to Lord Viren’s care.” It wasn’t a question.

“I consider it a certainty, if he persisted in refusing access to a Healer.” Sarli said evenly. “If by some miracle the elf survived the new moon, he wouldn’t survive his infections without some moonlight to strengthen him. As it is, even should he receive a Healer’s attentions immediately, his survival is far from assured.”

Opeli nodded, sharply, and turned to Lord Viren. “Then we must charge you with endangerment of the security of the realm, Lord Protector, as well as breach of Law.” She said, and – that appeared to break through the man’s carefully-crafted exterior. He looked offended. “In risking the death of a potentially critical prisoner – a prisoner which you did not surrender to the official channels as you ought – you endanger the information security that you claim motivated you. I find your justifications poor and groundless, and call for the immediate confiscation of the prisoner, and sanctions upon your station.”

Oh, but that did not please Lord Viren. His eyes narrowed. His fists clenched, still cuffed, as though he were fighting to refrain from uttering something rash. She imagined she could almost hear the grind of his teeth.

Within minutes, Opeli’s call had the corroboration of the rest of the Council, and orders were dispersing for the appropriation and relocation of the prisoner. The soldiers who had aided the Lord Protector and not spoken up were due for trials of their own, and the Council was in agreement that Lord Viren should receive further sanction, to be determined at a later date.

“Healer, given your prior attendance to the case, I would ask that you take up the duty of the prisoner’s care.” Opeli said, which Sarli had been expecting.

“Of course.” She said, inclining her head, and did not mention that she would have been more than mildly irate to have had her patient given to the care of any other, and certainly would have made her ire the Council’s problem. “I will have the aid of my apprentice, I assume.” This was accepted without pause. Here, at least, the rights of a Healer went unquestioned.

Then she had the privilege of watching the Lord Protector escorted from the throne-room, to rest under guard in his quarters until such a time as he received his next hearing. As he passed her by, flanked by the pikes of the Crownguard, he turned eyes upon her that were venomous and graceless in defeat. “So much for the vaunted confidentiality of Healers.” He said to her, casting his voice so as to be heard, perhaps in some attempt to discredit her vows to the Council.

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Surely you’re not surprised, Lord Viren.” She said, and allowed herself a stirring of satisfaction in her gut, though it did not reach her eyes. “It was my duty.”

“Your duty?” He seethed, the guards pausing to allow the exchange.

“Yes.” She answered, and no more. If he had paid better attention, he would have known it. She owed him no explanation at all.

So, in the end, Lord Viren left the hall in disgrace, and Sarli returned with her apprentice to the mouth of the Valley of Graves.

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The snowshoes, by necessity, limited their travel speed quite a lot. Rayla seemed to be feeling more lenient than usual, or otherwise was treating them gently, because she barely hurried them or remarked on their pace at all. He asked her about it, an hour or so in, and she shrugged. “Never expected to get far today,” she said. “But we needed to get moving. For…morale, I guess, if nothing else.”

Callum thought of staying in that Mercy-forsaken cave for another day and shivered. He could understand that. It felt, in a very real way, like the place had been stained with the grief and turmoil they’d experienced there, and he was increasingly glad to have seen the back of it. “Okay, fair enough.”

The forced break in their travel had at least allowed his legs to recover a bit; this turned out to be a very good thing, because the going that day was almost entirely uphill. Rayla kept cresting the side of the mountain, looking out, and shaking her head. No safe way down to the other side yet. So they were still climbing, in a steady meandering path around the curving edge of Dorel, searching for a way forward.

The snow made everything harder. Going uphill in snowshoes meant having to stamp the snow twice or more before every step, to ensure it was packed enough to withstand weight, which meant that every step forward took three times as much effort as it ought to. And, of course, he periodically fell in. Less so as he got the hang of snowshoeing, but it was a definite setback. They were walking almost directly into the wind that day too, with the lingering malice of the storm scouring their cheeks until his skin felt red and raw.

After only a few hours of walking, Callum’s legs were aching, he was struggling for breath, and the straps of his bag were digging painfully into his shoulders…but, weirdly, it was still vaguely satisfying. There was a sense of relief to it all, like he was leaving something terrible behind. Like, somehow, if he walked far enough, the grief wouldn’t follow.

It helped that, walking on the outwards edge of an entire mountain, the views were usually incredible. At least half the times he tripped and fell into a snowdrift were because his eyes wandered to the scenery instead of where he was putting his feet.

Rayla had said they wouldn’t go far today, and was true to her word; she was obviously looking for somewhere to camp by mid-afternoon. The snow-clouds made it hard to judge the time of day, but he thought it was only about four by the time she stopped them, setting her bags down in a thick bank of snow beside some well-frosted pine trees. “This’ll do,” she announced, giving their surrounds a critical look. “It’s sort of sheltered, at least.”

Callum eyed the prospective campsite dubiously. The trees were not particularly closely-packed, but the snow seemed only knee-deep rather than hip-deep, so he supposed she was right. There was some degree of shelter here. “Nice view through the trees, too.” He pointed out, glancing through the sparsely-placed trunks to the silhouettes of the mountains. It was clear enough now that he could almost see some actual details past the haze. There was, sort of, a drop-off a short distance away. A slope steep enough that the snow hadn’t adhered to it particularly enthusiastically, in any case. He thought he could see some sort of forest further down.

She followed his gaze, looking vaguely taken-aback, as if she hadn’t even noticed the scenery. She blinked past the branches. “I was mostly just thinking about easy firewood access,” she admitted. “And not having to clear as much snow. But I suppose it looks nice enough?” She shrugged.

Ezran let Bait down into the snow, smiling a little as the glow-toad promptly dropped out of sight, too dense to do anything but sink in immediately. “I like it better than that stupid not-cave, anyway.” He announced, and kicked out some snow before setting his own bag down in the cleared space. “Are we setting up the tent?”

“Definitely.” Rayla said, eyeing a nearby tree suspiciously. She approached it and gave it a kick, then did a circuit of the other nearby trees to do the same. He wasn’t entirely sure what the purpose of it was, but she seemed more satisfied when she finished and added “It’s definitely still too cold to be a good idea to sleep outside.” Callum, who was already getting chilly now that he’d stopped walking, nodded ruefully, and bent to take his snowshoes off.

It was bizarrely, comfortingly normal to go about the camp-making process again. The snow occasioned a few extra steps, but Rayla mostly took care of that; she broke off a branch so large it seemed more like half a tree, still thick with pine needles, and used it as an improvised broom to beat aggressively at the thick snow in their vicinity. While they gathered wood for a fire, she exposed an area of frozen earth that would have been large enough for three or four tents instead of just the one. When she was done she stood back to observe it with plain satisfaction, discarding her improvised broom.

Callum inspected her handiwork. The edges of the snow, all pushed outwards, looked almost comically like some sort of perimeter wall. He half felt like he should be drafting Ez to go build a snow-fort with him. Instead: “Tent time?” he inquired, eyeing the cleared space, and she nodded.

“Tent time.” She agreed, and they all set to work.

Rayla had regained the use of her left hand since the last time they did this, and although it seemed weak enough to not be able to grip or brace things properly, it still made enough of a difference that she joined in on the tent-building with a vicious satisfaction, obviously soothed to have some measure of her capabilities back. He was glad for her, though he did spend most of the process worrying that the tent would catch on her arm wounds somehow.

After startlingly little time, they had a tent again. Right at that moment, he thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “I want to crawl in there and never leave.” He sighed, eyeing the open interior covetously. He hadn’t realised how fiercely he’d missed its dubious comforts until now. Sheltered or not, the alcove they’d spent the last couple nights in had been decidedly open to the elements, and the idea of being able to sleep in an enclosed space again was heartening.

“We can spend the evening warming it up. Putting hot rocks in it and stuff.” Rayla offered, and he glanced over to find her watching him with a slight smile. “Should be relatively toasty. At least for the first part of the night.”

“I’ll take it.” He said, wistful at the mere thought. “I don’t even remember the last time I felt warm.”

Ezran, who’d been slipping the egg out and resting it inside the tent, looked down at his boots. “I know what you mean. My toes have been frozen for days.” Bait inspected his own feet, croaked disagreeably, then crawled into the tent himself. Ez snickered at this, as though the toad had said something amusing that the rest of them weren’t privy to.

“Hopefully not literally.” Rayla said, finally dragging some of their wood over to arrange a fire. “Please, no frostbite. That would be so much work to deal with.”

“Seconded.” Callum put in quickly, stomach roiling a little at the thought. He’d heard stories about frostbite, and they weren’t pretty. “No one’s allowed to lose any toes.” After a moment, he went for the flint in his bag, moving over to hand it to Rayla. She murmured thanks and began casting the sparks, holding the left-hand rock very carefully indeed.

Ezran patted his feet, then stuck them close to the designated fire-area. “I think I can manage that,” he said. “So long as this fire picks up a little, anyway. My boots feel all snow-soggy.”

It all went weirdly smoothly from there. Callum wasn’t sure what he was expecting; some setback, maybe. Like the strong winds of that one other campsite, or an unwelcome thunder-clap. But nothing happened. It all just…worked. The first order of business, once they had a fire, was to start heating up some snow and pine needles for tea. The second order of business was to stash all the still-raw meat into the snow-walls around their campsite to ensure it’d stay frozen. With those more pressing matters dealt with, Rayla started hunting around for suitably-sized rocks to stash in the flames for heating. In what seemed like no time at all, they were passing pine-tea around, everyone except Callum grimacing lightly at the taste as they sipped.

And, just like that, they were sat quiet and idle around yet another campfire.

In the smooth, easy progression of the afternoon…there really hadn’t been any opening to sit and dwell on unhappy thoughts. Now though, the quiet fell for long enough to turn pensive in the air, growing heavier between one moment and the next.

“This is so…normal.” Ezran said into that quiet, after a long time. He was staring into the bubbling pot on the fire, looking conflicted. Rayla turned to watch him, eyes sombre with understanding.

Callum offered a low hum of agreement, heart sinking. It had been easier – when the travel and the campcraft had been distracting him – to keep his mind off of heavier things. But there was only so long that would work.

“It’s like nothing ever happened. Like nothing’s changed.” Ez went on, when neither of them spoke. “But…it has. It has changed. And I just…” he exhaled, lifting a hand to his face. “I don’t know. It’s hard.”

He laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I know.” He said, softly. “I - it does get easier? But…”

Ezran glanced up at him, and didn’t seem especially reassured. He just looked back at the fire. “I can’t stop thinking about – about how we weren’t there.” He said, arms tightening around his front, as though he wanted to hug something but had nothing there. The egg and Bait were both in the tent, after all. “For…a lot of things. Like…” He breathed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Like the funeral. That would have been a few days ago, right?”

Callum hadn’t thought of that. It was like a stab through his heart. “I – yeah.” He agreed, miserably, after a second of thought. “Seven sunsets. We passed that at least a couple days back.”

“And those memorial flames, in Verdorn.” Ezran went on, eyes shadowed. “And the flags. That was for him, too. Right?”

He winced. Those had both been signs he’d tried, very hard, not to think about at the time. “…Yeah. I think so.”

“And we just…” Ez shook his head. “We just kept going. Didn’t even know when the funeral happened, or – anything.”

Rayla was hunching her shoulders a little now, too. “Should’ve told you sooner.” She muttered, low and guilty.

His brother sighed. “Yeah, probably.” He acknowledged, seemingly too worn to soften the words. “But it wouldn’t really have changed anything.” He thought. “Maybe we could’ve lit a flame for him, I guess, if it was before the funeral. Now we can only do that at his grave. Or – at Ashtide, maybe?”

He saw Rayla frown at the word, apparently finding it unfamiliar. “That’d be a long way away, though.” Callum said softly. “We only just had Ashtide a few months back.”

Ezran was silent for a moment. “At his grave, then.” He exhaled. “I guess by the time I get a chance, I’m probably going to be King. Or, actually, I – I guess I’m already King? I…” He buried his face in his hands. “Callum, I…don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

His gut tightened. Ez was too young to have to be worrying about something this heavy. Too young by far to be King. But… “I know.” He said, quietly, and offered an arm. Ez eyed it for a moment, then sighed, shuffling closer and letting himself be pulled in. He huddled into Callum’s side. “If it helps…you can always pick a regent. The Queen of Duren’s still using her regent, and she’s a year older than you.”

“Regents. Right.” He blinked a few times, and the words did at least seem to have surprised him out of his misery for a moment. “Forgot about that. But…who would I even pick?” He frowned suddenly, like he’d had an unpleasant thought. “Do you think they already picked one for me? Because we’re – you know, here? It’s not like they can just leave the kingdom without someone in charge…”

“They might have, yeah. A temporary one, maybe.” It was similar to what he’d been thinking earlier in the day. His arm tightened. “They could’ve crowned a Lord Protector instead, I guess, but that would be weird. There’s probably just a regent.”

“I wonder who it is.” Ezran said lowly, then huddled in closer, hunching until he seemed tiny. “Stupid,” he muttered, as if to himself, with an edge of upset rising in his voice. “Dad’s dead and I missed his funeral and I don’t even know who my regent is.” There was a self-castigation there that Callum was far more used to hearing from his own voice than his brother’s. Some King I am, it seemed to whisper.

Callum frowned. “Hey, none of that is your fault, Ez.” His voice came out a little more sharply than he’d intended. Rayla stirred a little, like she wanted to say something, but in the end she stayed quiet, watching them with sombre eyes.

“I know.” Ezran’s limbs furled tightly inwards, knees coming up to his chest. “I know it’s not. I just – it feels bad, okay? Now – it’s not just that dad’s dead, it’s – I’m supposed to be responsible for the whole kingdom too? And instead of being there, doing my job, I’m just…” He trailed off, then shook his head. Lifted a hand and gestured tiredly out at the campsite. “I’m just…here. And I don’t know who’s taking care of Katolis.” Before Callum could speak, he’d already gone on. “And that matters, you know? Because of this whole stupid war. What if whoever it is keeps fighting? My regent could be making things worse while I’m-“ he gestured violently around them, at the tent, at the fire. “-sat here, camping.” His voice went bitter on the last word.

Whatever Callum had been about to say died on his tongue. He wasn’t sure what he’d intended to say, but…

Rayla cut in, then. “You’re doing something important here, Ez.” She said, and though her voice was gentle, it was very firm too. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, since we’re mostly just…walking, and camping. But we’re taking the Dragon Prince home. And, coming from you…” She shook her head for a moment. “Do you know how much that’ll mean, for Azymondias to be returned by the King of Katolis? Not just by some human, but a king? That sort of gesture matters, Ez.”

Callum glanced at her, surprised. He’d not heard her talk about anything like that before. It rang true, though, and he could see it move Ez too. His pale eyes flicked back to the egg in the tent, expression twisted with indecision. “…Yeah.” He said, at last. “I can see how that’s important. How that’s…a big thing. But…” He went quiet for a few long moments. “But I feel like the kingdom matters too. Who’s controlling it. What if by the time we get to Xadia, there’s armies fighting again, because I wasn’t home to tell them not to?” His hands clenched in Callum’s jacket. “What if more people die?”

His gut twisted. “It’s a good point.” He admitted, after a moment. There hadn’t been all-out armed conflict with Xadia since, pretty much, Harrow had been crowned. But in the wake of a royal assassination on either side… “It’s – scary to think about. But I can’t help but think-“ he hesitated, and stopped, not sure if he should say it.

Ezran noticed, of course, and frowned up at him. “Think what?”

“…I can’t help but wonder if it’d actually make a difference. You telling them not to go to war.” He admitted finally, throat feeling tight. Ezran stared at him, confused and almost a little offended, so: “It’s not like child kings are unheard of, Ez. But – sometimes, if people think they’re not making the right decisions, and they’re not ready to rule yet…they’re forced to take a regent anyway. At least for a few years.” He hesitated again, and added, more quietly, “Or they get deposed. Or…worse.”

It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. But kings were valid targets for assassination, as far as Pentarchy standards were concerned. Ezran was King now. It wouldn’t matter that he was only a child. If people didn’t like what he was doing…then there’d be assassins. Probably a lot of them.

There were always people who didn’t like what kings and queens were doing. That went without saying. But something like this?

Ezran’s expression had gone a little stricken, like he hadn’t thought about that. Callum felt like he had to elaborate, at that point. “You’d want to stop the fighting, right?” He said, quietly. “Make peace with Xadia. But – you’d need support for something like that, Ez. You’d need at least most of your council to think you know what you’re doing. Or at least a few important people who’ll back you up.”

He’d been pretty much raised with the idea that he’d be Ezran’s most trusted royal advisor someday. He’d never thought he’d have to start this soon. If he’d known, he’d have paid better attention. But now…he couldn’t help but remember some of his lessons, and think about what they meant for his brother now.

It’s not that simple, Harrow had said, when Callum demanded to know why he couldn’t just make peace, stop the assassination. Thinking of it made frustration rise and seethe in his throat, harsh with upset, because – for all his words, Harrow had had so much more freedom than Ezran. He’d been an adult, beloved by the kingdom, with a history of both peaceful and warlike actions. He’d surely have faced opposition, and assassins, if he made unpopular decisions. All kings did. But if he’d tried, if he’d just tried – Callum was sure he’d have had the clout to see it through.

But he hadn’t. And now the weight of that responsibility was on Ezran. Ezran, who was ten years old, and untried, and didn’t have the trust and support that comes from a decade of ruling. It would be so much harder for him. It wasn’t fair.

“I – I didn’t think of that.” Ezran said, into the silence, looking shaken. “But – it’s not like I can’t try to make peace. That would just be…wrong. But you’re saying…” he swallowed. “You’re saying they might not let me.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Callum hedged, head aching a little. He’d always disliked the politics lessons. But enough of them had sunk in that he was seeing the implications here. “It kind of depends how scared of Xadia everyone is at the moment. But…yeah, I think you’d need someone backing you up to declare peace, or you could lose control of the court.”

“Like who?” He asked, a little miserable now. It was plain he didn’t want to be thinking about this. Any other time Ezran looked like that, he’d be sneaking out of lessons to steal jelly tarts. But that wasn’t an option here, and he knew it. This wasn’t a responsibility he could shirk. Not without terrible consequences.

Callum thought. “Aunt Amaya would do really well, if we could get her on our side.” He said eventually. “She’s a war hero, you know, and everyone trusts her to defend us from elves.” He saw Rayla’s expression and added “Sorry Rayla. But yeah, she’d be a good choice. If she backed you up on the peace thing, a lot more people would trust it. It would just…be hard to convince her about it. She really doesn’t like Xadia.”

Ezran’s eyes were shadowed. “I know.”

Rayla exhaled, then spoke up. “I’m not going to pretend to know anything about your human court politics,” she started, and waited till their eyes were on her. “But don’t you think, maybe, that some sort of grand gesture, like returning the Dragon Prince, might win over your – council people, or whatever?” Her voice was more than a little sardonic, like she thought they were missing the obvious option, and she was getting a bit exasperated about it.

There was a slightly startled pause. “I mean, maybe.” Callum said after a moment. “It depends. But if you told it the right way, it could make people feel a bit less like we’re going to be attacked with dragons the second Ezran lets our guard down.” He thought. “Especially if we can get some sort of diplomatic thing out of the Dragon Queen. Some sort of agreement or gesture or something.”

Ez didn’t seem convinced, though. He looked back at the egg, troubled. “You’re saying that the best idea might just be to…stick with what we’re already doing.” He said unhappily. “Go to Xadia. Give the egg back. Let whoever’s running the kingdom keep running it.”

She shrugged helplessly. “Maybe so.”

He didn’t speak again for a while, only watched the egg with unblinking eyes. Then he looked away. “I want to just do that.” He admitted, lowly. “I want to stay with Zym, and make sure he gets home safe. But…I feel kind of like that’s running away. Like maybe I just want to do it because it’s easier than going home and being King, and not – because it’s the right choice.” He exhaled heavily. “I don’t know.”

Rayla made a face, like she understood uncomfortably well. “I get that, Ez.” She said softly. “I do. But…”

“I don’t know that I could let you go to court without someone I trust guarding you.” Callum admitted, uncomfortable. “And even then – it’s risky, Ez. It’s not safe.”

Ezran looked up, eyes uncannily pale. “No one’s safe,” he said, with a sombre gravity. “Not in this war. It’s my duty to stop that, right?”

“Yeah,” He acknowledged, gut twisting. “But you’re not going to do any good if you go home and make a mess of things and get killed because someone didn’t like the choices you make.” His heartbeat felt weird; too heavy, too hard. The thought of Ezran leaving made him feel sick. The thought of him being in danger, alone, made his skin prickle with cold horror.

“All kings have to deal with that.” Ez countered, but there was no heart in it. Just a rote objection.

“You’re not ‘all kings’, Ez.” His arm tightened around his brother’s side. “You’re ten.”

He ducked his head, ever-so-slightly, then sighed quietly. He looked away. When he spoke, his voice was very low. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s kind of a moot point at the moment, anyway.” Rayla said, and their eyes turned her way. “We’re up a mountain right now, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s not like you can go back alone, Ez. And I don’t know how long it’ll be until we’re near a town again, but-“ She squinted out past the trees for a moment. “-it’s at least three mountains off, I think.”

“No settlements in this part of the Belt.” Callum supplied quietly. “There used to be a lot of towns along the Rhodane river, a long time ago, but – not anymore.” He shook his head. “If we’re travelling down that way, the first ‘town’ we find is probably going to be Greatport. And that’s all the way over on the Bay.” He was hard-pressed to call Greatport a town, really. It was one of the biggest cities in the Pentarchy.

“There you have it.” She nodded, briskly. “No point worrying about this now when going home isn’t even going to be an option for weeks. And at that point maybe we can have a poke around your ‘Great Port’ and get some news.”

“Weeks,” Ezran repeated, in a very plaintive tone. “That’s so far away. I’m going to be worrying about who my regent is for weeks?”

Callum hesitated. “I…” He stopped, considering his words. “If it helps, there really isn’t a lot of people it could be. Not many people have the kind of reputation they’d need to get appointed without your decision.”

Ez blinked, looking up at him out of the corners of his eyes. “…Like who?” He sounded wary, but a little curious too.

Callum thought. “Opeli, definitely. But she’s got a lot of jobs already, so she’d probably have to pass one of them off to do it. Aunt Amaya, same. She’d probably need to step down as General. And…” he hesitated on the last one, gut twisting a little. “And Lord Viren. He…wouldn’t need to step down from anything, I don’t think. He’s just the High Mage. There’s not a huge amount of work with that.” He exhaled. “So, if I had to guess, I’d say…probably him.”

Ezran was silent for a few long moments. “I don’t think I like that.” He said, finally.

Rayla scowled. “Isn’t he the dark mage who killed the Dragon King?” She asked, with an edge to her voice. “The one who stole the egg? And-“ She broke off there, but Callum thought he could guess what else she was thinking: if her parents weren’t cowards, it would have been Viren who killed them.

“Yeah.” Callum nodded, shortly, and remembered the phantom sensation of a dark hand stealing his breath away. He lifted his fingers to his scarf, adjusting it uncomfortably, and – wasn’t sure whether or not he should say anything. Was it relevant? Did it matter? Was there any point in mentioning it?

He should have known better than to think Ezran wouldn’t notice his indecision. His brother turned a little to stare at him, frowning a little. “Callum?” He questioned, with sudden concern. “Is something wrong?”

He hesitated, then looked away. “…He was there, when I went up into the tower that night.” He said, in the end, not meeting their eyes. “Lord Viren, I mean. He was guarding the royal chambers with Soren, and the other Crownguard.” And that was a thought. Had Viren even survived? Had Soren survived? The other Crownguard had died so fast… “I tried to get him to let me in, so I could tell – dad – about the egg. But…” He trailed off, throat feeling tight.

“…He didn’t let you?” Ezran guessed, unhappy, and Callum shook his head.

“No. I mean – no, he didn’t, but-“ He clenched his fists. “He made it sound like Harrow already knew. And then he said some…stuff.” Mongrel, whispered his memory. Thinking of it made him feel so…confused? Angry? Betrayed? He had no idea. Viren had never seemed to be fond of him, maybe, but he’d not expected that. “And he used dark magic on me,” he concluded, quietly. “To stop me from calling out to Harrow. It didn’t last, but-“

“What?!” He and Ezran jerked with surprise at the vehemence of Rayla’s voice, both of their eyes snapping to her at once. She’d half-risen, looking murderous, like she wanted to spring to her feet and go for someone’s throat. Her hands were twitching for her weapons.

Warily, Callum repeated it: “He used dark magic on me. Some kind of spell to take my voice away.” She made a noise that was almost a hiss, a sharp exhalation of tightly-held air. She looked furious. “It didn’t hurt,” he hastened to add, which didn’t seem to reassure her at all. “I just – couldn’t call out. Couldn’t get through. When my voice came back I…ran. And then I found you guys.”

“He used dark magic on you?” She bit out, now actually on her feet, pacing around the fire like she was searching for something to fight, hands flexing at her sides. “That’s – you never mentioned – ugh.” She stopped, brought a hand up to her face in a brief agitated motion, then whirled suddenly on Ezran. “You are not going back there!” She snapped, almost angry, with a protective fury in her eyes that he’d never seen before.

Ezran was watching her with a measure of surprise. “…We don’t know if he’s the regent, though.” He pointed out, a little soothingly, and Rayla made a disgusted sound.

“He’d still be there. You can’t live in a castle with someone who cast dark magic on your brother.”

“I’m fine, though?” Callum attempted, and she whirled on him, staring fiercely down from where she’d paused in her pacing.

“That’s not the point, Callum.” She said, tersely, hands shaking with her tension. “The point is – if he did it once, he could do it again. Maybe not just to you. Maybe to Ez, too. You’re royalty, right? Isn’t it a big deal if someone does dark magic on you?”

“…It is, yeah.” Ezran agreed, before Callum could say anything. He looked sidelong at him, brow furrowed. “It is a big deal. He could get jailed for that, right? Executed, even, if it actually hurt you. I…had no idea Viren would do something like that.”

Callum opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a loss. “I…” he started, uncertain. “I – get the feeling he mostly just did it because he didn’t like me.” He remembered the man’s diatribe again, throat clenching. It hurt to recall, even though he’d never been close to Viren.

The remark didn’t seem to please either of them. Ezran scowled, and Rayla made a sound like an angry snake. She knelt down, and for a second rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Rested’ was the wrong word, actually. It was more like she was gripping it, fingers tense and tight. “You matter too, Callum.” She told him lowly, quietly furious. “It’s not okay that he did that to you.”

He stared at her, struck as mute as he’d been when Viren had stolen his voice. In the end Ez sighed and turned away, staring at the fire. “So, it’s not safe for me to go home.” He concluded quietly. “Not until I’ve got…court support, and – someone to make sure I’m safe. From assassins. And…maybe Viren.”

Rayla withdrew her hand, then sat down at Callum’s side as heavily as a dropped stone. “Sounds about right to me.” Her voice was still tight, her expression angry. Angry on Callum’s behalf.

Still he didn’t speak, looking away, staring at his gloved hands. Inanely, he observed that they looked weird fully-covered. He was more used to seeing them in his usual half-finger ones. What a stupid thought to be having now.

Ezran was right, was the thing. There were very, very heavy restrictions on when and how dark magic was allowed to be used. Claudia using it against Rayla that night at the castle would have been perfectly allowed and justified, but – Viren using it on him? That was illegal. That was really, really illegal. And…he was the prince. He didn’t really like to think about how important that technically made him, but – it was true. And Viren had used dark magic on him.

Could he be sure that Ezran was safe from that? That it was just a one-off, because Viren hated Callum specifically?

…No. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t be sure of it at all.

“We’ll find out more about what’s going on in the kingdom later.” He said, finally, when he found his voice again. “But…yeah, you’re right. If – if Viren’ll do dark magic on me, we can’t be sure he wouldn’t – that he won’t…” He trailed off, and shook his head. “It’s not safe.”

All of them sat in a very glum, very heavy silence after that. Ezran probably would have been perfectly able to brood on his thoughts for the rest of the day; Rayla, apparently, was another matter. She started to look agitated only a couple of minutes into the quiet, then finally said “Right,” and stood, going for their bags.

Ez turned to look at her. “What are you doing?”

She pulled out a jar. “There’s no point sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves.” She said, determinedly, and returned to the fire already struggling for the leverage to uncap the thing with her bad hand. She didn’t manage it, and Callum could see her frustration at that, flitting across her face. Instead, she switched hands, holding the jar against her chest with the left and twisting the cap off with her right. “Might as well have dinner. Some food should cheer us up a bit.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t look convinced.

“Well, worst case, we’re unhappy and full.” Callum offered optimistically. “Which is probably better than unhappy and hungry.”

“Exactly.” Rayla nodded resolutely, then started pulling the cooked meat out. After some prompting, Ezran begrudgingly admitted to a preference for eating it warm, so Rayla emptied the residual pot-tea into their waterskins and stuck the meat in it with only a thin film of water in there. Callum didn’t feel quite as picky, so got started on some of his while the rest was heating. In short order, they were all chewing on rabbit or venison, and it did make him feel a little better.

Ezran seemed a little more fixed in his preoccupation, though, and was eating his food quite unenthusiastically. He didn’t look particularly cheered. Rayla was adding a second batch of meat to the pot, insisting that they all needed to stuff themselves, when Callum had an idea. He inspected their surroundings, smiled a little, then sidled up to his brother to nudge him conspiratorially.

“You know, Ez, something just occurred to me.” He said, pretend-thoughtful, and Ez looked at him suspiciously.

“What?” he asked, wary.

In a dramatic, sweeping gesture, he indicated the thick snow-banks around their cleared camp area. “Been a while since we made a snowman, don’t you think?” He asked, and saw Ezran blink; first understanding, then sceptical. “And we’ve got plenty of sticks and spare scarves and stuff.”

“Really?” Ezran seemed very unimpressed, which was as good a sign as there’d ever be that he was determined to stay miserable. Callum had no intention of letting that stand.

“What, are you too old for building snowmen now?” He pretended to swoon in horror, and saw Ez trying very hard not to let his lips twitch. So, naturally, Callum piled on the dramatism as heavily as he could manage. “Alas! My little brother is all grown up and boring!”

“Nooo,” Ezran muttered, protesting half-heartedly.

“No what?” He prompted, aware that Rayla was watching them from her periphery, hiding a smile. “No, you’re not too old for building snowmen? No, you’re not boring?”

“I’m not boring.” His brother grumbled, folding his arms. “You’re boring.”

“Oh, am I?” Determinedly, Callum poked and prodded at Ez until there was enough space in his posture to reach out and tug him encouragingly to his feet. “Then I bet you’ll make a way better snowman than me.”

“This isn’t going to work.” Ezran told him severely, but didn’t really protest being frog-marched to the snow-banks. He eyed the packed snow with a look of extremely un-Ezran-like disdain. “I’m not gonna magically cheer up because of snow.”

“Oh really?” Callum asked…directly before he lobbed a snowball at his brother’s face.

It was only a little one, assembled secretively behind his back, but it did the trick. Ezran spluttered with shock, looked briefly outraged, then responded in the only logical way: he picked up a handful of snow and threw it back.

It seemed like more of a reflex response at first, or even almost genuine annoyance, but that didn’t survive the next rounds of the impromptu snowball fight. In short order Ezran’s eyes were alight with vicious glee as he launched his projectiles, crowing triumphantly when he nailed Callum in the forehead and dislodged his hat. The next ten minutes were a mad haze of chasing and throwing and falling over in snow; eventually Callum accidentally tumbled over the snow-bank, Ezran following a second later, and they both fell with a muffled oof into the cleared camp-space.

“You done murdering each other with snow yet?” Rayla asked them, eyebrow raised, looking very amused. She’d been watching the spectacle but hadn’t made any move to join in, and suddenly, Callum thought that sorely needed correcting.

He locked eyes with Ezran, who had just finished picking himself up off the ground. Slowly, both of them reached for more snow. “That depends,” Callum said, secretively, and saw her eyes narrow with suspicion.

“On what?” She demanded, then spotted what they were doing. Her smile widened into something closer to a smirk. “…If you throw that, you’d best be prepared for the consequences.” She informed them, watching in an almost challenging way. Daring, even.

Ezran never had been good at resisting dares.

Rayla dodged the first projectile launched at her face with almost insulting ease, then rose to her feet. “You have surprisingly good aim, Ez.” She said, ominously, still wearing that smirk. “But now-“

Callum interrupted her. With a snowball.

His aim wasn’t great, so he only got her in the neck, but her astounded face more than made up for it. He had a second to admire it and guffaw before she was leaping at them, and both he and Ezran scattered, shrieking.

In a bizarre parody of the day they’d met, he and Ez ended up fleeing Rayla through and around the campsite for the next fifteen minutes, creating chaotic trenches through the deep snow. Occasionally she threw snowballs after them; other times she tackled them down. Gently, but she made a point of it: flattening them onto their fronts in the snow, chucking a snowball at the backs of their heads, and then jumping off in pursuit of whichever of them was still up.

He and Ez did get a good number of hits in, but in the end Rayla sat triumphant atop a pile of the both of them submerged in snow. Literally sat, at that; she’d deliberately set herself down on Ezran’s back, who was in turn on top of Callum, and grinned victoriously at them. “I win.” She announced. “And now, your forfeit is going back to the fire and eating.”

Callum, who was now very winded as well as very cold, said faintly “Fire sounds good.” Ezran was giggling madly on top of him, so all told, the endeavour had been a marvellous success.

Rayla graciously got up and pulled them both to their feet, then ushered them back to camp to warm up and get stuffed full of food. “Meat isn’t great for keeping fed, so we’ve got to have a lot of it.” She informed them, ushering yet more of the stuff into their hands. “We need all the energy we can get. Especially if we’re going to be having snowball fights, on top of all the walking.”

“That was pretty tiring.” Callum admitted ruefully. “Fun, though.” He thought. “We never did make that snowman.”

“We can do that after we eat and warm up.” Ezran suggested, clearly thoroughly knocked out of his glum mood. It was a very Ezran sort of thing to find any excuse for messing around in snow.

“Take your outer layers off first.” Rayla ordered, peeling her hat off tentatively. She inspected it and made a face. “Think we’ve got ourselves all wet with the snow. Better dry that off a bit.”

So they all shed a sweater, their hats, and an outer pair of gloves. Callum was left with just one thin pair of gloves over his half-finger ones now, and flexed his hands over the fire, feeling them sting as they warmed up. That was normal enough; if you warmed up really fast when you were really cold, it did hurt a bit. It was only to be expected. But then he spotted Rayla starting to wince and cradle her arm, and- “Did you hurt yourself?” he blurted, alarmed, and she looked up. “In the snowball fight – did you open anything?”

That she didn’t answer immediately wasn’t reassuring. “Pretty sure I didn’t.” She said, after a moment, and twisted to stick a hand down the collars of her arrayed sweaters and jackets and shirts. She felt around the site of the wounds experimentally, while saying “It just got numb from the cold, you know? Didn’t hurt so much. And now it’s warming up again, so…” After a careful investigation, she seemed satisfied, and withdrew her hand. “Feels fine.”

He subsided a little, and for that moment was relieved enough that she’d not re-opened her wounds that he didn’t think of the other part. But then Ezran shot her a look, set his food down, and said “You can take something for the pain now, you know.”

Rayla paused, thrown. “What?” She asked eventually, but she was plainly thinking through it herself. Callum was thinking it through too, for that matter, and cursing himself a little for not considering it earlier.

“You can’t have the willow bark because it messes with your healing. And you couldn’t have the lilium earlier because we needed to travel, and it wasn’t safe.” Ez laid it all out very matter-of-factly. “But we’re camped now. We’re not doing a fire-watch, so it’s okay if it makes you fall asleep. And there’s nothing tricky or important to do, so it’s okay if you go weird and loopy again, too.”

Callum had expected her to be reluctant about it. She hadn’t enjoyed the loss of control associated with the lilium, and wasn’t keen on the idea of fostering a dependency. But instead of objecting, she just listened to Ezran speak, exhaled with plain relief at the words, and went at once for the bags. That, more than anything, told him how much pain she must have been enduring. She didn’t even offer a token protest, just extracted the bottle and returned to the fireside to measure the tiny dose out.

“Thanks for the reminder,” she said at last, dipping her fingertip into the tiniest drop of red. Callum had seen enough blood recently that the colour left him slightly uncomfortable. “I honestly kind of forgot.”

“More like you forgot to stop ignoring how much it hurt.” Ezran amended, and she flapped a disgruntled hand at him, setting the bottle down.

“Same difference,” she claimed, and licked the lilium off of her finger. If previous experience with that dose level was anything to go by, it’d take a while to take effect for her, but Callum was just relieved she’d not made a fuss over it. She’d been in constant horrible pain for days now. She deserved a respite.

“I can do your bandages once that kicks in.” He said, deeply relieved. He was fully aware that the whole process did hurt, given the fresh lividity of the wounds. “And your hand.”

“The hand doesn’t hurt anymore.” Rayla pointed out, flexing it. “Well, not really. Still aches a bit, but it’s nothing much.”

He paused. “And the…numbness?” he asked, carefully. He’d already observed that it still seemed just as weak as earlier, but…

She grimaced and shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “It’s cold, so it’s hard to say.” She said, dryly, then deliberately changed the topic. “Weren’t you two going to build a snow-elf?”

Ezran snickered at her. “Snow-man.” He corrected.

“Close enough.” Her lips twitched, and then she was prodding them all over to the snow-banks again. Apparently she had every intention of joining in from the start this time.

Callum and Ezran cooperated on the creation of the giant snowballs necessary for the endeavour, but even so, it started to feel an effort once the bases got heavy enough. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.” Callum admitted, pausing to catch his breath, one hand braced on the giant snowball that was to be his snowman’s base to stop it from going anywhere.

Rayla rolled her eyes at them, abandoning her own snow-boulders, and came to commandeer theirs. “Give that here,” she said, and proceeded to demonstrate that she was more than equal to the task of pushing snow around. Once she deemed that they were large enough, she returned with relish to her ‘snow-elf’, going at the task with an enthusiasm that surprised him a little. He watched her out of the corners of his eyes, smiling reflexively at the grin she didn’t seem to realise she was wearing, and wondered when she’d last had a chance to play around in snow. A lot less recently than them, he was sure.

In the end, after an hour or so, they each had a crude snow-person constructed at the campsite, positioned as if standing guard. Rayla had made use of a couple of large sticks to put horns on hers, and after a little packing and chipping of snow, Callum helpfully produced two pointy, icy ‘ears’ for her to attach.

“Thanks.” She said, after she got them affixed, and stood back to observe her work with satisfaction. “Suppose we can put the wet hats and scarves on these for decoration, since we’re not wearing them.”

“Won’t that mean they’ll just freeze solid?” He asked, amused, and she shrugged.

“We’d better take them off there before we go to sleep, yeah. Leave them close-ish to the fire. But for now…” She grinned, and went to fetch a scarf. He and Ez followed suit, and in the end, they had an array of snow-people that, amusingly enough, vaguely matched their party. In the encroaching sunset, they were shaded somewhat orange, braced against the darker reddish shadows of the trees.

“Mine’s a bit taller than I am,” Ez decreed, when this was pointed out, surveying their creations with interest. “But they’re pretty good. Yours is even a little bit shorter than Rayla’s, Callum.”

Callum blinked, and checked them. Ezran’s was in the middle, which made it a bit harder to judge, but… “I think you’re right.” He agreed ruefully, and after a second, arranged his snow-person so its scarf was more appropriately mimicking how he wore his own.

Rayla snickered, and said “Shame you don’t have any more of those half-finger gloves. That’d really complete the look.” He snorted, and glanced down at his hands. He’d already been reduced to just the one pair of extra gloves, and now that those were also snow-wet, he’d likely be down to just the normal half-finger ones in short order.

“I’d better make a snow-egg and snow-Bait.” Ezran decided, while Rayla was still scrutinising her snow-elf. “Or they’ll feel left out.”

“You do that.” She said generously, then stepped away. “I think I’m going to go sit and warm up a bit though. Starting to feel a bit…” She waved her hand a little, expressively, to evoke some sort of wooziness.

“Oh, it has been a while since you took the lilium.” Callum remembered, and eyed her with interest. “How’s it feeling?”

“Well, I’m cold-numb again, so still hard to say.” She said dryly. “But…better, yeah.” She glanced down at her arm, and flexed it a little. “Not so sore. Anyway, you two have fun.” With that, she adjourned to the campfire, a short enough distance from the snow-group that she glanced over at them periodically as they went back to work. She also apparently took the opportunity to carefully extract the heated rocks from the fire and take them, towel-wrapped, into the tent. She closed it up and went to find a new round of rocks to heat, and finally settled back at the fire while they put the finishing touches on their snow-group.

Progress was quick, all told. The egg was very simple to render. Bait was more or less just a lump with two rock-eyes and a grumpy face drawn on, so very easy as well. “Perfect,” Ezran declared, and then they were done. He went to retrieve the egg from the gradually-warming tent before sitting down, and Bait followed it out, going over to inspect his snowy facsimile with disgruntlement.

Rayla was pressing gingerly around the edges of her injuries when Callum and Ez finally planted themselves down beside her at the fire. She seemed to be testing the wounds, even through the various layers she wore. She caught Callum’s questioning glance as he sat down, and explained “Think I might’ve taken a bit low of a dose, honestly. It does feel better, but it’s still…” She made a face.

“Think you’ll take some more?” Callum offered, after a second. “You’re taking well under the…recommended safe dose. It’d be fine to take another little one.”

She seemed to seriously consider it, which was yet more evidence for how much pain she had to be in. She was reluctant this time, though. “Dunno.” She said, dubious. “That seems like a great way to go off my head and maybe start scratching these open too.” She nodded to her arm, and he winced.

“I think you’d probably have a harder time doing that with so many layers in the way.” Ezran eyed her, then reached out and touched his fingers to her neck; the most easily-accessible bare skin on her. He made a face even as she shooed his hand away with a glare. “Yeah, I think you should take some more. That’s…really not that much better.”

“Didn’t we talk about you empathy-ing my pain?” She demanded, irate. Callum thought uncomfortably about the discussion they’d had while Ezran was sleeping, and her observation that he was trying to manage them. He could see it a lot better now that he was on the look-out for it, and…yeah, he thought this was a pretty good example.

As if to wilfully reinforce Callum’s bad feelings on the topic, Ezran looked away, a little sulkily. “I was just checking on you.” He muttered, petulant. “It only hurts for a second when I do that.”

Rayla exhaled and seemed to be very carefully keeping her first choice of words in. “I appreciate you’re worried, Ez,” she said in the end, very precisely, “but there’s better ways to check up on me than hurting yourself, even if it is just ‘for a second’.”

“But you always deal with more pain than you need to.” Ezran persisted, glancing up at her with a stubborn and mulish glint to his eyes. “And…downplay it, if we ask. You don’t tell the truth if I ask a normal way.”

She twitched at that, looking genuinely annoyed, and Callum hastened to intercede before she said anything she might regret. This was looking like the beginnings of a potential sibling-argument again, and he was keen to interrupt before it got to the snapping and spitting stage.

“Ezran,” he opened, firmly, and both of them turned to look at him. They seemed almost surprised, like they’d forgotten he was there. That was what happened when two stubborn people got caught up butting heads, he supposed. The surprise was useful, though. It meant Ezran was listening, rather than stuck in stubborn-mode. “If Rayla doesn’t want to talk about – her pain or feelings, or whatever, then you just need to accept that, okay? That stuff’s private, and it’s kind of a jerk move to…empathy-read it on purpose when she doesn’t want to share it. So don’t do it. Alright?” Rayla shot him a grateful look for that. Ezran meanwhile had gone a little shamefaced.

“…Right.” He said, after a moment, eyes averted again. He held the egg tighter to his chest. “I – yeah, that’s kind of rude, isn’t it.” He glanced sidelong at her. “…Sorry, Rayla. I just…I get…worried. And…I don’t like it when you put up with stuff you don’t have to.”

She didn’t quite seem to know what to say to that, so Callum moved onto his second point, looking at her this time. “Yeah, and about that. Rayla-“ he hesitated for a second, then pushed on. “If you don’t want to take more lilium, because you don’t like the side effects, or whatever…I guess that’s your choice too. Just…” He exhaled, and rubbed at his temples a little. “Even if you take some right before you go to sleep, so there’s no time for you to act weird, and you can at least sleep better…I think we’d all be a bit happier.”

“It’s not like we’re going to judge you.” Ez spoke up, before Rayla found a reply. He glanced at her, still vaguely mutinous, and her eyes looked startled as they settled on his. “For acting weird when you’re on medicine. You don’t need to be embarrassed or anything.”

“He’s right, you know.” Callum said, after a moment. “You act kind of like you think we’ll judge you, or like…you need to be totally composed around us, or whatever. You don’t have to be.”

“…Easier said than done.” Rayla said finally, voice a little dry. She looked away. He could practically see her debating whether to speak or not, and then – finally – he watched her shoulders slump a little as she decided to open up. “Moonshadow elves…it’s not really just fear we’re not supposed to show. Fear’s just the worst thing. We’re supposed to be…controlled. Composed, like you said.” She shook her head. “It’s okay to be…emotional, around friends and family, I suppose. Even in public, sometimes. But you’re still supposed to be in control of yourself.” A grimace. “Most of the time, anyway.”

“…Most of the time?” Callum asked after a moment, unable to hold the question in. She glanced at him sourly.

“Full Moon.” She informed him, looking like she’d rather not think about it. “It’s…a lot more okay to be mad and emotional in public then. You’re supposed to be, even.” For a moment, she looked almost nostalgic. “We do these community dances every Full Moon, you know? Kind of like a party. Everyone’s plenty unrestrained at those. But aside from that…” He eyed her with interest, feeling the familiar thread of fascination at this latest revelation about elven culture, and wanted to question her further. It wasn’t the time, though.

“Being out of control of yourself in public is kind of like dropping your pants in public, huh.” Ezran guessed, and Rayla seemed to choke on her next breath, snorting with laughter.

“Yeah, not a bad way to put it, actually.” She agreed, with a little mirth.

“We do get that, you know.” Callum offered, after a pause. “We’re…royalty. We’ve had decorum lessons for years. How we’re supposed to act in public or whatever. It was pretty relaxed if we were at home – in the castle – but anytime there were dignitaries about, or we went out into the city?” He shook his head ruefully. “Not fun.”

“Oh, ugh, decorum lessons.” Ezran agreed with distaste. “I hate those.”

Callum very kindly did not remind his brother that he’d have to mind said lessons a lot better now that he was King. “Anyway, point is, we might not be as…” He searched for a diplomatic word. “…strict, as Moonshadow elves are. But we get the idea. And-“ He hesitated, glancing at her almost cautiously. “It’s…just us here, right? This isn’t exactly public.”

“And friends and family are fine.” Ezran added, with a stubborn set to his jaw as he looked at her. “You said.”

“I did say.” Rayla agreed, after a pronounced pause, voice a little rueful. “I know you’re not going to be weird about me being weird on pain drugs. It’s just…kind of a hard habit to break. And I don’t like being out of control of myself, even if I’m not in public. But…” She sighed, shook her head, and reached for the little bottle she’d set aside earlier. She eyed it consideringly.

“…Please don’t feel pressured into it, though?” Callum spoke, while she was still making a face at the bottle. “It feels weird to be trying to convince you to take something that’s technically the same thing as an illegal addictive drug. Even if it will stop your injuries from hurting. So, just…” he shrugged, awkward. “It’s your decision.”

She was silent for a few moments longer. Then: “I am pretty sick of being in pain all the time.” That sounded final. She opened the bottle, dipped her finger in it again, and imbibed a full drop. Still considerably lesser than the dose that fit into the little provided spoon, but considerably more than what she’d taken earlier. As she capped the bottle, she levelled a flat stare at the two of them. “If you let me pick my scabs open while I’m moonstruck, I will be annoyed.” She warned. “And if I start acting like an idiot again – well, you know what you signed up for.” He thought she still sounded a little uncomfortable at that last part.

“Well, if you just act dumb while you’re high, you’re doing better than Callum.” Ezran said, casting a mischievous glance sideways at him. “He acts dumb all the time.”

The only reasonable response to that was to hook his brother in and bestow a very firm noogie while he squawked. The hair was, as ever, quite a shield; but he had plenty of practice. Rayla looked very amused, both at Ezran’s comment and at its rightful rebuttal. “Is that so?” She asked, voice dry.

Callum shrugged, and didn’t bother to deny it. He wasn’t exactly the most serious of individuals, after all. “It’s a talent.” He claimed solemnly, and her lips twitched.

In the end, the second dose took effect noticeably faster than the first. Rayla started getting vague and smiley not fifteen minutes later, and responded to queries about her state of mind and pain levels with “nice” and “itchy” respectively. It did seem like significant lilium doses sapped pain and left a sort of irritating itchiness in its wake, because she kept lifting her hand to her arm to scratch and then lowering it with consternation. “It itches,” she complained to them, shuffling over to Callum unsteadily. “But I’m not supposed to scratch it. I think.” She frowned. “Right?”

He patted her on the forearm as she settled beside him, a smile pulling at his lips. “Right.” He agreed. “Good job remembering that. Keep it in mind, okay? No scratching.”

“Mm,” she accepted, and seemed to think about it. “I’d bleed everywhere again, wouldn’t I. That wouldn’t be fun.” She glanced down and pulled at her sleeve. “Don’t want to ruin any more clothes.”

“I’d be more concerned about the bleeding part than the stained clothes part,” Callum said dryly. “But yeah, that helps too.” He glanced at the sky, which was now very nearly completely dark. “Speaking of, I’d better get the bandages changed soon.”

“And my hand?” She offered, looking weirdly interested, and he nodded.

“And the hand.”

“Should we deal with your wrist binding again?” Ezran asked, and both of them looked over. After a moment, Callum understood the ‘we’ in question to be his brother and the dragon, whose egg was sat in his lap. “Is it getting tighter?”

“Mmhm.” Rayla agreed, indistinct, and the fingers of her right hand went to her wrist again. “Getting a bit sore again, actually. Well, it was earlier, anyway. Can’t feel that so much now.”

Ezran frowned at her and shuffled over. “You should’ve said,” he told her, almost admonishingly, and reached out to push his fingers up her sleeve to touch her binding. A second later, there was a little flicker of the bright light of the egg, and he leaned back. “There. Done.”

Callum blinked. Rayla looked startled as well, even as marsh-whacked as she was. “That seemed easier than before?” She offered, perplexed, and Ez shrugged.

“It is, yeah.” He rested a hand on the eggshell. “It’s getting easier for both of us. He’s still…all full of magic, from the storm. It’s not so hard to deal with anymore, but…he’s definitely awake now. Which does make it a lot easier to focus on stuff.” He frowned. “I think it’s gonna make it kind of annoying to get to sleep, though. Unless he sleeps too.”

“…Maybe being connected to you while you’re sleepy will make him sleepy?” Callum suggested, a little weirded out by the idea, and his brother shrugged.

“Maybe.” A pause. “Please let it work like that. I’m so tired.”

“Bandages.” Rayla reminded him, nudging him in the side, and he jolted a little.

“Oh, right.” He shot her an evaluative glance, wondering at her impatience, then reached over to help her with her layers. She was much more sluggish than usual about facilitating the process, and even clumsy; it took a fair bit longer, and he kept catching things on her horns. Weirdly, she giggled when he unhooked her shirt from one, looking a little light-headed. “You okay?” He asked her, dubiously, and she offered a lopsided smile.

“Uhuh,” she said, then mumbled something indistinct that he thought had the word ‘horns’ in there somewhere. She seemed to find this hilarious, and started snickering under her breath, cheeks vaguely flushed, while he finished pulling the shirt away.

“If you say so.” With her upper arms finally exposed, he reached out to untie the bandages, and had his customary look at the wounds. There hadn’t been much visible progress, but he supposed there had to be a lot going on under the surface, what with how deep the gouges had gone. He winced a little in sympathy, unable to imagine how much that must be hurting. “Well, nothing’s opened.” He judged optimistically, and had another look at the shallow shoulder-stab before wrapping it all up again. “And nothing’s infected. So I guess that’s the best we can really ask for, right now.” Something occurred to him, then: “How’s the bruising?”

“Hm?” Rayla seemed confused for a moment, as if uncertain what he was talking about,

“You know, those horrible bruises around your middle?” Ezran interjected helpfully. “From the chain?”

“Oh. Those.” She blinked, then leaned forward and pulled up her undershirt without further ado. It was almost a reflexive instinct that saw Callum looking away, flushing, but then he remembered he was supposed to be checking on her and made himself look back. “Can’t really feel them at the moment.” She reported, seeming very cheered by the thought. “Maybe I’ll be able to lay down without it hurting tonight.”

He hadn’t been aware that was an issue. But now that she said it…he winced, looking at the bruises in question. A couple of days hadn’t done much for their lividity. They looked dramatically dark, and still swollen in the lines where the chain had pulled so tight around her. They must be viciously sore to sleep on. “No problems?” He asked, a little anxiously.

Rayla shrugged. “Think I passed a little blood, the first day, so I might’ve bruised a kidney or something. Been fine since then though. Just….” She waved vaguely. “You know. Tender.”

“Sleeping on hard stone probably didn’t help that.” Callum muttered, with a twist of concern in his gut, and he frowned. “Do you think we can sleep on the cloaks again today? Or is it still so cold we need to wear them?”

It took her much longer to think through that than it ought. Plainly, the lilium was well and truly in effect. Eventually, she said “Could try it. But we might get cold in the night, when the…rock-heating wears off.” She squinted backwards. “Has anyone changed the rocks yet?”

“Er. No?”

She made a vague grumbling noise, then swayed like she was trying to stand up. “I should do that…”

Callum put a hand on her arm to stall her. She looked down at it as though perplexed by the sight. “How about you tell me what to do and I do it?” He suggested, not at all convinced that she was in a state where she should be allowed to extract hot things from a fire.

Ordinarily, she’d probably have protested. Under the artificial lassitude of the lilium, however, she just blinked placidly and said “Okay.”

In a vague, disjointed sort of way, she talked him through prodding the rocks out of the fire with a large stick and then picking them carefully up with the towels salvaged from the first round of rocks in the tent. The heat seared through quickly, and his hands were starting to hurt from it by the time he got them into the tent and placed them around its corners, refastening the door-flaps as he left. “Definitely feeling warmer in there.” He claimed, cheered by the thought, as he sat back down by the fire. “Should be a much nicer sleep than the last few days.”

“That’d be nice.” Rayla mumbled, already looking vaguely drowsy, and his lips twitched at her as he shuffled back to her side.

“Let’s get your layers back on, and do your hand, and then we can all get an early night.” He suggested, and she…perked up. Visibly. She instantly shoved her hand at him, and seemed a little confused when he pointed out that the layers should probably come first, or she’d get cold.

“…I’m not cold, though?” She offered. Beside her, Ezran was watching with interest, like he’d seen something that surprised him.

“Layers first.” Callum repeated, a little amused. “You’re probably just not feeling the cold because of the lilium, or something.”

She grumbled, but accepted it; so he helped her back into her various layers and then rolled up her sleeve a little, exposing the dark ring of stiff still-healing skin around both sides of the binding. “Hand now?” She asked, a little plaintively, and he eyed her strangely.

“…Yes?” He offered, perplexed at her insistence, and bemusedly accepted the hand she thrust at him. “…Is it sore, or something?” he tried, searching for some reason she might be so insistent about it.

“Nope,” she pronounced, with obvious satisfaction, and settled in to wait. Ezran was trying to hide a smile, like he had figured it out. Whatever ‘it’ was. “Kinda numb and prickly. But doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“…Okay. Good?” Callum accepted, a bit confused, but got to work anyway. He wasn’t quite expecting the pleased hum she offered at the first press of his thumb into her palm.

“Thought so,” she said, and then – entirely devoid of any sort of self-consciousness – shuffled closer and leaned comfortably into his side. A second later, she claimed “Feels so much nicer now. Last time, it still…sort of hurt. Ached? Doesn’t anymore, though.” She huddled down a little, and let her head drop against the edge of his shoulder. Callum stared down at her, suddenly and abruptly flustered, and didn’t realise he’d frozen until she flapped her hand impatiently between his. Still, he didn’t move.

He cleared his throat, heartbeat feeling strange, but didn’t actually say anything. He suddenly found himself sitting very rigidly indeed, hyper-aware of the way she was leaning on him, and oddly transfixed by the sight of her hair falling over his shoulder.

She grumbled at him when he’d been immobile long enough, peering up at him as though to check what the delay was. He found himself looking quickly away as her eyes fixed on his. He cleared his throat again, and finally found the wherewithal to keep moving his hands.

“…Were you looking forward to this?” he asked, finally, because that was suddenly the only interpretation he had for her behaviour.

He still wasn’t looking at her, not directly, but when he snuck a glance he saw her pursing her lips in thought. “Kinda, maybe.” She said, eventually, like she wasn’t entirely sure whether or not she wanted to be saying it. “It’s nice now.”

He had literally no idea how to respond to that, so…he just sort of didn’t.

“Makes sense to me.” Ezran piped up, and when Callum looked over at him, he seemed to be fighting very hard to keep his expression level. His eyes, meanwhile, were alight with a kind of mirth that made Callum intensely suspicious. “I mean, most people who have hand massages do it because it feels nice, not because they need to keep their hands healthy. Right?”

“…Right.” Rayla agreed, after a moment. “Guess so.” She glanced down at her hand, eyes half-lidded. “Still medical for me. But at least it doesn’t hurt anymore. That was…” She blinked a few times, vaguely. “Didn’t like that.”

“…I didn’t like that too much either,” Callum muttered, face feeling weirdly hot, hands over-warm on hers. She didn’t seem to mind, though. “Wasn’t fun making you be in more pain. So…” he coughed. “I’m – glad? That it’s better?”

“Mm.” Apparently done talking, she let her eyes fall closed, sighed, and settled her weight fully against him. It was…unexpectedly cosy.

There wasn’t really anything to do except keep going, so that was what he did.

Ezran kept shooting him amused, vaguely mischievous looks, so he sensed trouble brewing there. Callum was relatively certain that if Rayla wasn’t there he’d currently be receiving a lot of sibling-style mockery for something. He wasn’t entirely sure what, but he’d had a little brother for long enough to see it looming. He shot Ez a warning look, and in general tried to be less excruciatingly aware of the warmth of Rayla leaning into his side.

He held silent, tongue-tied through the whole thing, and tried to figure out why it felt so different to before. He’d leaned on her plenty yesterday, and even today, when she was comforting him. She’d leaned on him a bit the first time he’d done this, even, the first time she’d taken lilium. But…

He glanced down, flustered, and saw her head loosely propped on the edge of his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, and she was tucked into his side so thoroughly that he felt sort of like an upright human mattress. It looked weirdly comfortable.

Maybe that was the difference. He wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, he found himself tense in a way that seemed almost directly proportional to how relaxed she was, and it was almost a relief when he could declare himself finished and put her hand down.

She didn’t appear to notice for a while. Evidently, the lilium had well and truly gotten to her, and now she was drowsy enough that it didn’t seem to register that he’d returned her hand until most of a minute later. Slowly, she blinked her eyes open, looking drowsy. “Oh. Hm. You stopped?” She mumbled, sleepily.

Mutely, he nodded, and watched as she peeled her head from his shoulder.

“You’re quite comfy.” She informed him, and patted him on the arm as if to congratulate him for a job well done. Finally, apparently unable to hold it in, Ezran started snickering. Quietly, maybe, but he was definitely snickering.

Determinedly, Callum exhaled, reclaimed his voice, and ignored his brother. “You should get to bed,” he decided, pretending that nothing was unusual about this situation at all, and that Ezran wasn’t giggling at him, and that his face wasn’t still weirdly warm. “We all should, honestly.” When she didn’t seem liable to get up, he carefully took her hand and stood; she followed the pull automatically, stumbling to her feet. She blinked at him hazily, and then followed agreeably along as he led her to the tent.

The interior was surprisingly toasty by this point. He set Rayla’s cloak out for her and guided her to it, and much like the first time she’d taken lilium, her consciousness didn’t survive contact with the floor. The second she laid down she was out like a light, dropping instantly into sleep. He rather envied her that.

He went out to meet Ezran with unmistakeable wariness, and this turned out to be warranted. “Good job on being comfy, Callum.” He greeted him at once, grinning. “I bet you’re proud.”

Callum rolled his eyes, ignoring the weird unidentifiable squirming of his insides, and ushered his brother up. “I am, thank you.” He said, with great dignity. “Now, if you don’t mind, there’s two cloaks and a comfy tent with our names on them, and I’d like to get to sleep.”

Ezran followed along agreeably enough, egg in his arms and Bait at his heels, but couldn’t resist another remark. “Your face when she laid on you was amazing.” He informed, gleefully. “You went so red.”

Had he? He coughed, self-conscious, and wondered how much of this evening Rayla would remember. “Uhuh. I’m sure.” He accepted, steadfastly refusing to rise to the bait, and prodded Ezran into the tent. “Now get in there before all the warm air goes out.”

Thankfully, Ezran did calm down a bit once he was in the pleasantly-warm interior, glancing at the already-sleeping Rayla and shutting his mouth. Insistently, Callum poked him through the process of laying his cloak out, and then down onto the thing.

“Get some sleep.” He told him, voice low so as not to disturb Rayla. He wasn’t entirely convinced she could be disturbed, right now, but it only seemed polite to be careful. Finally, he laid down himself, body feeling astoundingly pleased with even the bare padding his cloak provided. He wondered how he’d feel when he next encountered an actual bed.

He listened to the sounds of Ezran rustling his way into a comfortable position, sighed, and arranged himself on his side. He spared one more glance for Rayla, soundly asleep, then closed his eyes.

It took maybe five minutes for the strange tumult of emotion to quiet. Five more for his body to remember how profoundly exhausted it was. And then, barely a second later, he was drifting off.

---

Sarli was quietly satisfied when she returned home. Some part of her that had lifted its hackles from the first moment Lord Viren had questioned her vows was now soothed. There had been an itch in the back of her mind that had been insisting, every minute of every hour, you have a duty. This cannot be borne. And now it was quiet, and she had done her duty, and she was satisfied.

Cairon…Cairon was not.

He was tense and plainly distressed as he swept the room, yet again, for shadow-bugs. Upon concluding his search he settled with plain unease into his customary chair, and sat there bristling as Sarli watched him. He’d held quiet and composed all through the Council meeting, but it had dropped from him like a burdensome cloak as soon as he was past the doors.

Perhaps driven by his plain agitation, he didn’t stay seated for long. Within minutes he was up again, near-vibrating with tension, fluttering through the motion of tidying away their things with an anxiety she’d scarce ever seen from him.

“Cairon,” She said to him, finally, when he failed to put words to his discomfort. He stilled, shoulders taut, and glanced at her with troubled eyes. “You would do well to speak of what troubles you.”

He exhaled, slowly, as though forcing some of the stiffness from his frame. Then, quietly, he asked “What just happened, master?”

“The prisoner was confiscated from Lord Viren according to law.” Sarli said, watching him curiously. “He will now be interred in a proper dungeon, under proper guard, in a cell with access to moonlight.”

“I know that part.” He said, with near-impudent impatience, pacing in shallow strides to and fro from the coat-hangings, straightening and rearranging the cloaks as if he found some new issue with them every time they passed his eyes. “But what about ‘exceptional measures’?”

She tilted her head at him. “I was under the impression that you were acquainted with the Millennium War Crimes Accords.”

“I am,” he said, with the sort of fervency that betrayed a particular interest in it. “But – I didn’t realise-“

“It did not occur to you that such a prisoner would become an immediate candidate for legally sanctioned torture.” Sarli concluded, and his head dipped glumly.

“It should have, I know.” Cairon exhaled, dropping into a chair and staring into the wood-grain of the table as though it might offer him answers. “I just…didn’t think of it.”

She inclined her head, thoughtful. “We will have to solve that.” She said, after a moment, and he lifted his head to regard her warily. “It occurs to me that I have perhaps been remiss in your education on the various philosophies of Mercy at work in the kingdom. All Healers should have a thorough grounding in religious ethics.”

He eyed her. “I’m not a Healer.”

“Plainly.” Sarli said, with an amused twitch at her lips. “But that is no excuse for lesser conduct from my apprentice. I will be called on to attend our patient’s exceptional measures tribunal, for certain; I will take you with me. I imagine it will be very educational for you.”

That, at least, seemed to interest him. “I’ve never heard about how the tribunals work,” he offered, after a moment. “Based on the name, there must be some sort of…council, or panel, of three people? Officials?”

“One representative of Mercy,” said Sarli. “One representative of Prudence. And then the final representative varies case-by-case. Usually it is Justice, and it may be so this time as well. The tribunal speak for their respective positions, and hear the arguments of those permitted to attend, and then take a vote at the end. Two votes of three are necessary to permit the use of exceptional measures in the interrogation of prisoners of war.”

“Mercy for the perspective that suffering should be alleviated wherever possible,” Cairon guessed, eyes narrowed. “Prudence to decide whether the suffering is worth its price. Justice for the legal perspective?”

“You have the basics,” Sarli allowed. “But the positions are rather more complex than that. Mercy’s, especially. As a Healer’s apprentice, you have dealt entirely with…face-value mercy, shall we call it. The representative of Mercy in a tribunal hearing must balance the suffering of one against the suffering of many, and that is a more difficult thing.” She watched the flicker of understanding on her apprentice’s face with satisfaction. No dullard was he, her boy. “Yes, you begin to see, I think. But enough on this for now. It grows late, and we have had a long day.”

He watched her. “And you’re relieved that your duty is expunged.” He guessed, a little impudently, but she allowed it.

“Yes, Cairon.” She agreed, a little amused. “It has been a wearying strain, these past days, and now that the weight is from my shoulders I feel I have earned my rest.” Her eyes turned a little watchful, then. A little penetrating. “And you? Do you not feel that your duty is done?”

He tensed, just a little, then let his eyes fall as if to study the wood-grain of the table. “…I’m concerned that we may face retaliation from the Lord Protector.” He said, eventually. It wasn’t quite an answer to her question, but it rang with truth regardless. “He seemed very angry. I think that he is the sort of man to do rash things when he’s angry.”

It was an apt character assessment, she thought. However: “That may be so,” she allowed. “But I think he knows better than to strike at a target that he has been caught fouling already. It is known that he sent dark magic for us; were we to be harmed, or to disappear, he would fall under such heavy suspicion as to dethrone him. I think that we will be safe.”

“Until the dust clears, maybe.” Cairon muttered, plainly not very reassured.

Sarli shook her head at him. “Keep to your caution if you prefer it, boy. Only remember that you are my apprentice, and an Acolyte of Mercy; not a guard. Yours is not the duty of policing the Lord Protector.”

He sighed. “As you say, master.” And that was all.

In the morning, no doubt, they would be called to their patient again; but for now, Sarli’s duty was to rest. She attended to it gladly.

---

End chapter.

Chapter Notes: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1OGBo7nKVDIfWjhxGe90fwaS3lP0IfQJ3?usp=sharing

Link to PIAJ chapter notes folder (Google Drive folder including worldbuilding, commentary, medical notes, research notes, and misc notes for all applicable chapters within this section)

This chapter's notes cover: provisions for ‘Exceptional Measures’ within the Millennium War Crimes Accords, Ashtide, and Pentarchy politics.

Timeline: https://docs.google.com/document/d/107eD8zmLAAFBWSOgsLyl8g4pAdQF4EgMh4rpN_m91U4/edit?usp=sharing Link to PIAJ Timeline Google doc ( to be updated as story progresses)

PIAJ Masterpage: https://tenspontaneite.tumblr.com/piaj Link to PIAJ Masterpage on tumblr (containing links to chapters, meta, art, Q&As, and resources) (Link may not work properly on mobile/app)

Author Notes:

Credits: one of Sarli's lines in this chapter is taken from a book I like very much, 'Even the Wingless' by M.C.A Hogarth. The original line is as follows: "Surely you aren't surprised, Most Exalted. It was my duty. Even the wingless need the sky." It's an extremely cool moment of the book and I couldn't quite resist using it where the vibes were so right.

Reminder: Callum and Ezran have no idea that the entire kingdom (plus literally everyone within communicating distance of Katolis) thinks they're dead. They also have no reason to guess that Viren pre-empted their dad's funeral, and would assume Harrow had his pyre on the dawn after the seventh sunset as tradition dictates.

Anyway, that sorts that chapter. At the moment it’s looking like 24 is going to have some of my oldest, most beloved scenes in it, so I’m excited. 23 has a while yet to go, but there’s not a huge amount pencilled in for it, so hopefully shouldn’t take too long.

I’m enjoying everyone being super sus of Cairon, by the way. Lots of fun.

#tdp fic #rayllum #tdp rayla #tdp callum #tdp ezran #piaj chapters

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