#does it imply an embodied elf (him) could return to a spirit form?

[thebookworm0001]

thinking about how anaris turns elves into demons

it’s not a possession

they become demons

that’s fucking insane

[feynites]

More Four Kingdoms AU!

Aelynthi, Melarue, and Victory belong to @justanartsysideblog, Selene and Des belong to @selenelavellan, and Adannar (mention) belongs to @scurvgirl.

Glory is indebted to Melarue.

 Melarue killed Falon’Din.

 They do not know the specifics of it, of course. They are not trusted that far - Melarue is cautious. They have wrestled an empire away from the likes of Mythal, so, their caution is merited. But they know that the firstborn prince of the empire died, and that it was Melarue’s doing. They felt it, when the claws of magic he had sunk into their being finally abated. Officially, Falon’Din is only missing.

 Glory knows he is dead.

 But his death didn’t release them from the confines of their physical form. It didn’t halt the breaking process that was already well underway. But their Desire spirit, who had left to find help, returned to them with her being bolstered. No shattered or embodied. She stayed with them as they were captured by Melarue’s people; as Prince Aelynthi rescued them from being claimed by Princess Andruil, who seized most of her brother’s territories and followers in his ‘absence’.

 Those that did not throw down their arms and bend their knees to the Black Serpent, or flee for Dirthamen’s lands, anyway.

 Glory had felt themselves unraveling. Had wished for it; wished, so fervently, to go back to the Dreaming. Where things made sense, where their prison of flesh could no longer confine them. They were still fractured, but with Falon’Din gone, it felt more peaceful. The prince had placed them in his own carriage as their spirit rebelled against its form. As they sickened, and broke out into fever, and felt Desire wrap around them. Their beloved spirit trying to answer their wants, trying to help them find an internal resolution.

 Glory does not recall exactly what happened, on the journey from Falon’Din’s estate to the serpent’s palace. But at some point, most of them… left. Not quite shattering. Desire simply carried them away, in the end. Taking what she could back to the Dreaming, to where Glory can still feel it, sometimes. A presence connected to themselves, but distinct from what remained behind, too. They woke up in the Emerald Pavilion, with the prince’s healers arguing, while an unfamiliar man kept vigil at their bedside.

 The man was fair-haired and lovely, big and strong-looking. He held Glory’s hand, when they woke up, and told them not to worry.

 He gave them a feeling like Desire did. Gratitude, that someone would try and help, even as most of them was fearful and resigned to an unpleasant fate. They did not know what the prince had planned.

 They were not prepared for the possibility that the prince was just… helping.

 Some days they still wonder if things will change, on that front. Trust is difficult. Melarue has their gratitude but so long as there are secrets, Glory cannot give them more faith than they themselves have received. Aelynthi and Thenvunin, though, are easier.

 They are both terrible liars.

 Which endears them to Glory, but doesn’t avail them much in the intrigues of the imperial court. As they recover, and adjust to the absences in themselves - the loss, but also the sense of relief, like a burning thing has been plucked out from under their skin - they find that lying comes to them far more easily. Even General Selene has little aptitude for it, but Glory can lie as easily as breathing. They lie about little things - how they feel, what they think, what they’ve seen or heard. They lie about big things - where Desire has gone, why their magic seems different, if they know what happened to Prince Falon’Din or not.

 They never used to be good at lying. The Old Glory was terrible at it. But the New Glory is smaller. Simpler. They understand their own limitations, and they feel no guilt in deceiving most of Melarue’s vipers. The majority of whom tend to treat Glory like some splendid trophy that their side has claimed in the conflicts besetting the empire.

 Many of the court advisors think that Glory should be kept at Melarue’s side. As a reminder of their ability to win over even the most vital parts of the empire.

 To Melarue’s credit, they rarely take that advice.

 Instead, Glory finds themselves approached by Treachery.

 If anyone in the empire has a more mythic reputation than Melarue themselves, it is probably their spymaster. The rumours whisper that Treachery, as a spirit, influenced Melarue into killing the Princess Sylaise. That Treachery inspired most of the intrigues that followed, and even now, as an elf, whispers wicked thoughts and sinister plans into the Black Serpent’s ear. Scheming and beguiling, a wicked creature if ever there was one.

 Glory knows of wickedness. Treachery wears their reputation like a mask, but whatever they might have been, they are not a spirit anymore. Just like Glory. They cannot only be one thing, and buried beneath their mask, they seem to be a clever but lonesome elf who is not nearly as good at planning as their reputation would imply. Though they are good at lying. And gathering information. Those two things mainly comprise their duties anyway, and when they approach Glory, it is with an offer of a job.

 A role of their own to play.

 “Melarue worries for their children,” Treachery says.

 “They ought to,” Glory agrees. Every being close to Melarue or Mythal is a target in this conflict. Children, consorts, friends, lovers.

 “Aelynthi in particular needs a better guard.”

 “Because he’s terrible at fighting,” Glory surmises.

 That’s not an entirely fair assessment. The prince knows how to handle a bow and a blade, he knows his forms and he works quite hard at them. But whereas General Selene can face down foes and show no hesitation, defending herself and her own guards only to suffer a crisis of conscience after the fact, Prince Aelynthi freezes. Glory noticed it in hunts, but also in his combat training. He always stops before he lands a blow, always waits too long before he takes a shot. The imperial court is full of lies and misconceptions, but the rumour that the prince has his father’s soft heart seems true enough.

 Glory themselves probably attests to that. The prince has given them so much ground, they did not even need to break any locks to find his personal journals. Even Thenvunin at least kept his own in a warded drawer.

 Not a well warded drawer. But still.

 “Our illustrious leader has no desire to see their son and heir fall victim to his own kindness,” Treachery more or less confirms.

 “Prince Aelynthi has a personal guard. He has Venavismi, and he is rarely far from the sight of General Thenvunin, provided the latter is not on deployment. Melarue is not satisfied with this?” Glory asks.

 Treachery does not beat around the bush.

 “No.”

 Ah.

 Well.

 Glory does not know much about parenting, but they suppose that is reasonable.

 “So you’ve come to me. Why?” they ask, getting to the point of it themselves.

 Treachery sighs.

 “Because. Melarue worries. They worry for the prince, and for their ward, and they even worry for General Thenvunin. And you are uniquely positioned to help assuage a great many of those worries. All of those people, as it happens, seem to like you.”

 Glory considers this, and is willing to concede that things do appear to be moving in that direction. General Selene is frequently away, riding out with Consort Faunalyn to attend to the grim work of warfare. General Thenvunin leaves the court less often, instead coordinating with the other battlefield commanders from their base of operations - though he, too, rides out when need be. And Prince Aelynthi chafes, at times, to be the one left behind. Attending court with their Nanae, studying and advising and sniping with the less agreeable attendants and councilors in turn.

 “You want me to be a General again,” they surmise. “A war leader. Someone who could ride out with any of them, if needed, and not raise an eyebrow. But someone who could also stay behind, and keep the prince safe without him feeling ‘guarded’. Because he likes spending time with me.”

 Treachery does not deny it.

 Glory decides, after a few days of contemplation, to take the job.

 It is mostly practicality, in the end. It’s not as if they won’t try and protect people they have some attachment to, and despite themselves, it seems they are developing attachments to these people. So they may as well get official sanctioning for it all. Becoming one of Melarue’s official military leaders, as they had been for Falon’Din, changes more about their days than not. Thenvunin tends to stick close to them throughout their first few meetings, and Aelynthi stands with Melarue for their official appointment to the rank and service. Selene starts seeking their counsel more often with regards to the ongoing campaigns. They can’t help but feel as though they are being looked after more than the reverse, but… they don’t really mind it, either.

 Some part of them keeps waiting for the floor to drop out beneath them. For someone to demand something of them that they don’t want to give, to press too far, to see right through them.

 It’s… nice, that it doesn’t happen. Though at times it also leaves them in a blind panic, in the dead of night, anticipating abuses that never come.

 One such night, they decide to get up and go about some of their guarding duties. Sleep is far away, and just sitting in their chambers seems tortuous. They get up, dress, and head for the prince’s chambers. The sounds coming from inside draw their curiosity - they can admit to some uncharacteristic naivety on their part when they open the bedroom door, wondering if the prince is caught in the throes of a nightmare, and instead find him tangled in his bedsheets with Thenvunin. The soft sighs and moans gaining fresh context as their bodies move in tandem.

 Glory is about to duck back out when Thenvunin spots them.

 His already flushed face darkens considerably, and his eyes go wide. At that precise moment, Aelynthi pulls away an interfering stretch of blanket, and gives Glory a very… memorable view, of the places where the two of them are entwined. Then the prince seems to notice that his lover has lost track of their activities, and turns, and notes Glory’s presence himself.

 There’s a moment as everyone adjusts to the situation.

 Thenvunin whimpers.

 Then Aelynthi gets a look on his face that, in fact, makes him resemble his nanae more strongly than anything, and carries on with their activities. Locking eyes with Glory, and making an inviting gesture as he rocks his hips and rides Thenvunin’s cock. The sex is remarkably different from the kind Falon’Din preferred. No blood, no chains, no struggling or choking or hitting. It reminds them more of the things they had glimpsed before, of intimacy and the glories of pleasure and passion.

 They aren’t repelled.

 Instead, after a moment, they decide to accept the invitation.

 Most of their evenings change, after that. In a way, it’s practical. It’s much easier to protect Aelynthi and Thenvunin when they have a plausible excuse to be in the prince’s room all night. But in many other ways, it’s… more. They like Aelynthi. They like Thenvunin. They like exploring their desires, and most of all, they like the way neither man really demands too much of them. Even when Thenvunin blusters or Aelynthi gets impatient, even when both of them are being bossy and touchy, as things settle in Glory finds that they themselves take charge more often than not. That Thenvunin yields beautifully to a firm hand and a sly compliment. That Aelynthi likes to be teased and prefers to see whoever is taking him. That even when Glory uses sharp teeth and nails and a little roughness to make things more exciting, the touches that come back to them are usually more gentle.

 No one wants to hurt anyone. No one gets excited by the prospect of taking something that another doesn’t want to give.

 Although occasionally Thenvunin will stare at Glory and Aelynthi together, and then make brave-but-tremulous offers to show himself the door, if they like. Reassuring Thenvunin is fun, though. Aelynthi rolls his eyes and drags him to bed, or to a secluded garden alcove, and Glory makes a point of being liberal with their praise as they take him together or go by turns.

 Aelynthi gets insecure too, of course. Usually he goes off and hides, or sulks, or stews in it until someone comes and drags him into careful embraces and sweet caresses. Touching him until the tensions melt out of him. Or holding him at night, pressing him close until the weight of warm bodies and the steady thumping of their heartbeats seems to offer him peace.

 Glory is not so good at being vulnerable. But they learn. Bit by bit. They let Aelynthi undress them, let Thenvunin kiss their neck, let themselves be held by both of them. Even let themselves be taken by both of them, eventually, as Thenvunin enters them with glacial care from behind, and Aelynthi pushes in from the front and seems to struggle to find words.

 Touches work, too, though.

 The court gossips. Because of course they do. They whisper and titter and spread rumours both good and bad, about the Peacock Prince seducing Falon’Din’s Glory into his bed. Some of the grasping social-climber types begin to emulate Glory’s ‘look’, which puts them uncomfortably in mind of Falon’Din’s harem. But whereas Falon’Din’s favoured had little to no say in the matter, the occupants of the serpent’s court are targeting the prince instead.

 It’s a strange reversal.

 Glory doesn’t know how to feel about it, the first time they catch young Lord Tineth trying to sneak into Aelynthi’s chambers, a rose between his teeth and nothing on beneath his silk robe. They have mixed sentiments as they dump him into the duck pond, though the next morning, Thenvunin only chastises them for disturbing the ducks. While Aelynthi just rolls his eyes and makes a few discreet moves to have the young lord offered a position at a different court. Glory reports the incident, but even Treachery just sighs and then shrugs about it.

 They keep a watchful eye out, just the same. Careful to ensure the safety of Aelynthi’s bedchamber, insofar as they can.

 By the time Prince Aelynthi is betrothed, in calculated move to secure the alliance between Melarue and Andruil, Glory has begun to settle into this life. Into themselves, and their duties, and the nature of this existence. They still struggle to sleep, and when they manage it they often dream strange dreams of Desire and bright light, of the deeper depths of the Dreaming itself; things that spill away from their mind when they wake, and leave them aching for something they cannot name. But there is more to their life than pain and misery. Much more. There are things to laugh over, and celebrate, and explore. Life is… good.

 The betrothal throws things into uncertainty again.

 Not for the reasons that Thenvunin worries about. When the news reaches the court, Thenvunin is crushed. Prince Arethfal is a distant figure, cloistered away from most dangers by his mothers. But rumours hold that he is beautiful and charming, a dashing hunter with Lady Ghilan’nain’s intellect, and Princess Andruil’s prowess. And, like Aelynthi, he is a prince. Thenvunin weeps in the atrium, surrounded by concerned and bewildered peacocks, and that ridiculous raptor of his.

 “We’ll have to break things off,” he fears, tearfully.

 Glory rubs at his back.

 “Don’t be silly. It’s just a betrothal, not a guarantee of anything,” they counter.

 “But Aelynthi’s been avoiding me ever since-”

 “He’s been avoiding everyone. He’s sulking because he hates this betrothal.”

 “But what if-”

 With a sigh, Glory turns Thenvunin’s face towards themselves, and presses a firm kiss to his lips. Thenvunin stills, mostly in surprise. But as they pull back he curls his fingers against their collar, and gives just the slightest tug. So they deepen the kiss instead, pressing on hand to the back of his head and letting the other rub at his shoulder. They follow up the first kiss with several more, softer ones, peppering his lips until a fraction of the tension in his back has eased up.

 “Even in the unlikely scenario that Aelynthi takes on look at Arethfal and decides to banish us forever, I won’t leave you,” they promise him.

 They’re a little surprised at themselves. Their loyalty, after all, is owed to Melarue first and foremost, and Aelynthi secondmost. But of course, if Aelynthi banishes them, what else would they have left besides one another? So they suppose it is simply the truth.

 Thenvunin swallows.

 “It won’t come to that,” he tells them, changing his own tune, as if he is suddenly worried that Glory themselves fears being ousted.

 They nod in agreement, and brush some of his hair back.

 “I’m going to go speak to him,” they decide.

 “Do not tell him I was upset, it would be unfitting,” Thenvunin insists.

 Glory hums, fully intending to tell Aelynthi that very thing - upsetting Thenvunin has a way of bringing the prince back down to earth in a hurry - but not wanting to cause a fuss. Instead they just lie, without technically lying, and leave to go and track Aelynthi down.

 Not that he’s hard to find.

 It works, of course. Glory mentions Thenvunin’s distress and Aelynthi snaps out of his downward spiral of frustrations, going and reassuring the fretful General - and himself in the process. It takes care of one problem, but leaves others. Like Glory’s own pressing concerns, about what this Prince Arethfal might be like.

 Falon’Din’s nephew. Andruil and Ghilan’nain’s son. Mythal’s grandchild.

 It was Andruil and Ghilan’nain who trapped them, after all. Who put them in a body, and gave them to Falon’Din. It was Andruil who tried to seize them, in the chaos of the prince’s ‘disappearance’ - who Aelynthi rescued them from. Glory is not an expert on parents and children, they know that they can be similar but also different, that there is a concept of ownership and responsibility tied to the position, but that it is complicated. Akin to the relationship between spirits who are born from elves, and said elves. Like mentor and student. There is room for a lot of variance, but…

 They do not understand it well enough, to know with confidence that Arethfal is not like Falon’Din.

 And if he is like Falon’Din, or Andruil, then Glory must protect Aelynthi from him at all costs.

 Still, it is a long while before they even manage to meet Aelynthi’s new betrothed. Once the contracts are made, the matter is mostly put aside, and focus is instead placed on the war and the relevance of the alliance to it. The assassination attempt is alarming, but more guards are hired, and no other attempts follow it. Aelynthi and Thenvunin are both disturbed, however, unnerved by how close they came to total disaster.

 Glory starts bringing them courting gifts, then.

 It’s not a choice they recall making with any degree of deliberation. Just… something that they begin doing in an effort to create pleasant distractions. They start gathering wild flowers on their excursions. They bring back trinkets from various places that the war bids them ride out to. They leave little poems in the prince’s desk, or Thenvunin’s satchel. Small things, at first, but they find that they develop a taste for it. They enjoy the way Thenvunin blusters but reddens over gifts, protesting that it is much ‘too obvious’ even as its clear that he delights in them. And the way that Aelynthi doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with little presents, and ends up keeping them all. Dried flowers pressed into his books, trinkets lining his vanity, notes carefully tucked away into a bedside drawer.

 It becomes a little bit addicting. Reassuring and pleasant. Glory lets it escalate, once they find a jeweler who is to their liking.

 Adannar is one of Melarue’s many official dressers and artisans. His work has an innate grace and charm that makes it very appealing, but the man himself is possibly the least threatening elf Glory has ever met. He radiates peacefulness and happiness, unabashed, not overtly exuberant or demonstrative, but kind. They like him, and it is a fortuitous discovery to learn that he has been seeking new clients - Melarue, of course, is a prestigious buyer, but many people vie for the privilege of clothing them. Not that Adannar seems hard up for work, there is usually plenty of interest in anyone who has dressed the Black Serpent - but it seems the man himself is very particular about his clientele.

 He has no objections to Glory. Or at least, none that prevent him from accepting their patronage.

 They have him make Aelynthi a jeweled hair pin, sharp enough to serve as a weapon if need be. The piece comes out beautifully, meant to match the cool browns of the prince’s hair, with soft blue stones to contrast. Aelynthi likes it, so Glory goes and procures a belt for Thenvunin, next. And then broaches, rings, pendants, earrings, bracelets, pins, bejeweled boxes, bird carriers, and even a full staff for Thenvunin - not battle fit, of course, but beautiful enough for their official meetings and councils.

 They also acquire a moonstone pendant for General Selene, for a birthday celebration. Shortly Prince Dirthamen’s surrender, and their subsequent betrothal.

 Glory does not like it.

 They do not like it at all.

 “He is Falon’Din’s brother,” they protest to Selene, after the announcement. They say it lowly, as they follow her back to her chambers that evening. Her consort, Des, raises an eyebrow at them; also walking with Selene.

 “Are you going to join us this evening, Glory?” he asks, with obvious ‘interest’.

 Selene makes a face.

 “No offense, Glory, but I would prefer not to sleep with one of my brother’s consorts.”

 Glory rolls their eyes.

 “I am not an official consort,” they remind her. Neither they nor Thenvunin are ‘officially’ warming the prince’s bed. With the complication of the betrothal, they would require Arethfal’s permissions for that kind of acknowledgement - and that seems to be far more trouble than it would be worth, right now. Though, if the situation persists, they might propose an official arrangement between themselves and Thenvunin. At least something should be… acknowledged, if only because Thenvunin wishes for it so plainly.

 “Still,” Selene says, with a look that conveys her boundaries on the subject.

 They shrug.

 “I am not here for that,” they say, while Des looks disappointed. “You aren’t listening. Dirthamen is Falon’Din’s brother.”

 “I know,” Selene assures them.

 They put a hand to her arm. It makes her pause, for a moment.

 “You don’t,” they say. “He is Falon’Din’s twin. The other half of his soul. I know what Falon’Din is capable of, what Dirthamen could do to you-”

 “Glory,” she interrupts. Firmly, but not ungently. “Prince Dirthamen is not his brother. I won’t pretend to have known Falon’Din’s… depravities as well as you do, but, whatever he may be, Dirthamen’s not like that.”

 “How could you possibly know?” Glory asks.

 Selene hesitates.

 After a moment, she lets out a breath, and then shrugs.

 “I fought him,” she says. “You learn a lot about someone when you fight them. When you counter them on the battlefield, and see how their mind twists and turns, how they try to win - or how they accept defeat.”

 “That’s not enough,” they insist.

 “It’s… I won’t pretend I know everything about him. But I know enough to know that he’s different from his brother,” Selene argues, obviously frustrated. Glory doesn’t understand her frustration, if she’s simply trying to reconcile this situation - if it’s hope, that Dirthamen could be different, or if it’s something else. Denial, perhaps.

 They lean in closer. Shooting a look to Des, but, whatever the flighty consort may be, he’s always proven loyal to Selene.

 “If you get him into a vulnerable position, I can take him out,” they tell her, intently. “We can plan this. A particular scenario, one that won’t look suspicious-”

 “No!” Selene blurts, firmly. “We are not - Glory, Dirthamen is not Falon’Din.”

 “But if he-”

 “He won’t.”

 Her tone is firm, and her face is flushed. Her aura tight enough that Glory is not certain if it is from frustration, or embarrassment, or anger. They find themselves at something of a loss as their fellow General proceeds to her chambers. Des hesitates in passing, just for a moment. Then he nods at Glory.

 “I’ll keep an eye on her,” he promises, quietly. “I always do.”

 Not for the first time, Glory wonders if Treachery ever approached Selene’s consort, the way they approached Glory themselves.

 Their anxieties do not let up, though. Especially not when it becomes apparent that General Selene… is almost eager for this betrothal. Glory cannot think what has stolen over her. They check for signs of untoward magic, or manipulation. Possession. Something that could be interfering with her thoughts or self-expression, even some sort of replacement. But nothing reveals itself.

 They think of the people in Falon’Din’s court who had actually been enamored with him. Those who had sought his favour, as more than just a necessity of survival. The ‘like-minded’ individuals, of course, but also the more regrettable types. The ones who saw Falon’Din as… something else. A figure worth pleasing, admiring, seeking the approval and regard of. Those who believed that love could change him, could grant them a power over him. Tame him, or, failing that, at least discourage him from causing them harm. Those who had envied Glory, in some twisted misunderstanding.

 The thought that Selene could be like them… it doesn’t fit, either.

 And then, Melarue decides not to have Glory accompany the wedding procession.

 It takes them three days to gain a private audience with the leader.

 “I thought I was supposed to protect your children,” they say.

 Melarue does not look up from the reports they are reading.

 “And you are.”

 “How can I protect them if you barter them off to Evanuris?” they ask.

 Not their most diplomatic approach to things, but the situation is becoming increasingly dire, by their estimates.

 The comment earns them a glance up from the reports, too.

 “No one is being bartered off,” they declare, with enough calm that Glory knows they are forcing some of it. “I will excuse your implications, because I know where your disquiet is coming from. But Aelynthi’s betrothal is little more than a contract formality, at this point, and Selene’s was her own suggestion. And I would not have approved it, if I believed Dirthamen was liable to behave like his brother.”

 Glory narrows their eyes.

 “You do not find his unexpected surrender suspicious?” they press. “You do not think it is strange that Selene is suddenly so taken with this idea?”

 Melarue tilts their head, and looks back at the reports.

 “Selene has been ‘taken’ with Dirthamen for years,” they say. “I had thought her fascination mostly competitive, but it is not so great a surprise that she has become enamored with her rival. You should read some of the reports on their tactical back-and-forth.”

 Glory’s jaw tightens, uncertainty and confusion making them uneasy, and giving rise to a directionless frustration.

 “He shares a soul with Falon’Din,” they protest.

 Melarue sighs. They gesture, and the room around them suddenly becomes heavier. Muffled, extensively warded against any possible listener. Their gaze meets Glory’s, sharp and shrewd but uncommonly frank, too.

 “If that were true, he would be dead,” they say.

 Glory stills.

 They knew, of course. But this is the first time they have heard Melarue themselves acknowledge it. They hesitate for a moment. Still torn by unpleasant feelings and premonitions. But there is something rare in Melarue’s expression. Some concession, that for some reason, they are willing to grant to Glory.

 After a breath, they sink into the chair across from their leader’s desk.

 “So he is dead.”

”Yes.”

 They close their eyes. Some final note of tension, that they had not even realized was still in them, seems to bleed away at the confirmation.

 “How?”

 Melarue puts aside their pen, and folds their hands atop their reports.

 “Does it matter?”

 Glory considers that question.

 “Yes,” they decide. To their credit, Melarue does not demand further explanation from them.

 “Slowly. Painfully. That wasn’t my intention - I wanted him gone, as efficiently as possible. But the spirits I conspired with had a certain method to their operations. I later learned that they were former associates of Dirthamen’s. They killed Falon’Din with enough care to ensure that the bond would not destroy his brother, and that meant they did it very, very slowly,” Melarue explains. “Something that would not have worked if they were as interchangeable as you believe.”

 Glory swallows.

 In their mind, they see… fragments. They aren’t sure, for a moment, if they’re trying to picture Falon’Din breaking, or recalling their own collapse. The uncertainty unnerves them. The parallel is disquieting. But, they would be lying if they claimed not to take a vicious satisfaction from the notion.

 “Which spirits?” Glory asks.

 Melarue shakes their head.

 No, they won’t say.

 After a moment, they let out a breath, and scrub a hand down one side of their face.

 “Dirthamen does not have to be an exact copy to be enough like Falon’Din to cause concern,” they decide. “Nor does Arethfal, for that matter.”

 “I am aware of that,” Melarue replies.

 “We should get rid of them. Both of them.”

 “When - and if - the time is right, we can discuss that option further.”

 The silence that follows that declaration is all the more stifling for the wards in the air.

 After a minute, said wards lift. Glory knows an order when they hear one, however tactfully worded. The instruction that the time is not right now, that things are just going to… proceed. Selene is going to marry Falon’Din’s brother. Aelynthi will remain betrothed to his nephew. And all Glory can do is watch, banished to the sidelines because they are a liability to that plan, and Melarue knows it.

 “I hope you don’t regret this,” they say, at last. Standing up, and straightening their robes. They offer a polite bow, more shallow than they usually offer, and make their way towards the door.

 They almost miss Melarue’s comment, as they pull it open. Barely more than a murmur, uttered with their gaze turned towards their desk again.

 “So do I.”