#npc drakemar

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 48

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 30. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47 Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

The morning of Elo's trial comes. Too soon, she thinks, but when has time been on her side?

From the court gallery, she's watched some of the minor trials of those who helped Brauma with his art fraud and the movement of weapons into and around the city. None of them have confessed to his end goal, so she supposes she'll never know the exact devilment he planned. But all of them so far have been guilty, and that's something to feel good about.

Now it's her turn, and the car is pulling up to the courthouse entrance. Farren twists from the front seat. "Are you ready?" "We can still pull around the side," Cobbleskater says, looking at her in the rearview, eyebrows raised. The way he's been so cautious in his driving makes Elo think he's more nervy than she is. But he's just being loyal, and she's grateful for it. Her ex-team and a handful of friends were the first to volunteer for this unhappy duty of escorting her to what feels like the gallows. She'd never admit it, but she's pathetically grateful they won't let her do this alone. "Thank you, but no. I won't have them thinking I'm a coward." She takes a deep breath, letting it out with slow control. "I'm ready." "Right-o," says Monday. He climbs out on the road side and makes a signal, as Yates is climbing out the pavement side, pushing people out of the way. Farren reaches in to beckon her out. "Remember," he says into her ear, "you keep your eyes on me, you ignore anything said by anyone that's not one of us, and you do not stop." "I understand." Then they're moving through the crowd, Monday, Yates, Hughes and Komens making a corridor. Elo keeps her eyes on Farren's back, her face empty, and tunes everyone out. There are seven steps up to the portico. Six green marble columns support the portico roof over two large oak doors, dark with age. Brass handles gleam dully with the patina of a thousand hands.

For her, they've pulled out all the stops. The doors are opened, and they're met at the darkened maw of the courts by a masked figure in a robe of claret. Farren states her name and the figure moves back, ushering in her in. Before she passes the threshold, Farren catches her arm. "I suppose it'd be too much to ask for you to stay out of trouble?" "Yeah, a little." Elo huffs out a laugh. "Brother, I'm already chest-deep and sinking in it. But you… You keep your feet dry, huh?" Anxious resignation settles on his face. He cups her face in both hands and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Know that you go in love," he says quietly. On tiptoes, Elo kisses his cheeks. She has to swallow past the tightness in her throat. "Despite all the waters ahead, I will find the bridge that brings me back to you." Farren gives a sharp nod and lets her go.

The masked figure leads her through the dark corridors, pausing to give her an opportunity to use the conveniences. Then she's led into the trial room, to the center of the floor, between twin puddles of light streaming from tall windows, high on the ancient walls.

For all they have clawed out of the dark ages and into civility, adapting and improving what is Law with each generation, for something tantamount to treason, things must be done in the traditional manner. The room is pentagonal. At its apex, towards which she faces, are three stern-looking wooden chairs on a small dias, and above them a small bell. Normally, the Magister would take center place. But today, given the nature of the offence, the Bank comes to the fore. General Strucker sits to the left, and Magister Clayrmantle to the right. Elo's eyes skate past who sits at the center, unable to look at him until bade otherwise. Behind her, without turning, she hears the Advocates enter and take up position. While she knows her defender, she will never see the face of her accuser, as is traditional. The doors slam closed behind them. The court is sealed. Another ancient rite – no one will enter or leave until the matter is settled. Any testimony will be presented in sworn affidavits and auditory recordings. For those present, there will be no rest, refreshment, or other comfort until a verdict is pronounced.

Drakemar clears his throat. "Elowyn of Toreguarde, Constable of Police Precinct Eighty-Eight and Freeman of Toreguard, you stand here today to bear witness as your fate is decided on the matter of the death of Lerrald Brauma, former Master of the Exchequer." Elo struggles to keep her confusion off her face; there is something… wrong about the man's voice. It is as light and benign as many other men's and yet she hears a rumbling beneath it, something that reminds her of old caverns and the growl of a tiger. Her gaze is fixed on the rise of the dias, so she only catches the shadow of his gesture to the Advocates. From behind her, a high, female voice says, "We, the people of Toreguard, claim the defendant is guilty of murder in the first, and move for the punishment to be hanging by the neck until dead." "Your Eminence, we, the defence, claim justifiable homicide and move for punishment to be commuted to community service," says Advocate Yevlyn. And just like that, they are off, like horses from the gate, galloping towards the post that will spell her freedom or her doom.

There are arguments and counter-arguments, and so many counters for the counters that Elo gets lost trying to follow it all. Evidence is brought forward – the book, the artefact, reports, statements and recordings. She listens to it all, numb, as they relive the case, watching the sun twist in the little pools ahead of her, sloping in from different angles as the day wears on. Tries not to feel the tremble in her legs, the pain in her lower back, the tension in her bladder as she shifts her weight again and again, determined not to crumble under the strain of this lengthy judgement.

The sun is little more than twin slivers of gold as the advocates fall silent. Everything to be said has been said. Drakemar stirs. Elo watches his feet shift and is surprised when he stands. There is an odd moment, as he steps down from the dias, where the fading daylight glints off his bluchers giving the appearance of claws. Then his burgundy suited legs enter her gaze and he clears his throat. Whatever comes will come, she thinks. "I have heard much this day," Drakemar says. "But there is one more I wish to hear speak." There's a discontented, confused murmuring from the gallery – because in a trial of this sort, only the Advocates and the Triumvirate are allowed to speak. "Detective, what say you to the arguments presented here today?" Elo finally raises her head – and promptly has to clamp her jaws shut to stop the expletive that wants to roll out of her feckless mouth. Because, just when she was about to write off all her memories of fairytale creatures as hallucinations caused by stress or grief or injury, one shows up here and now of all the places. And not just any old one, no no. This is one that, by all rights, shouldn't be able to physically fit inside the building, let alone this room. The space for his wings alone… It's strange though – none of the others have had this echo of themselves behind the physical front she's seen. If they had, maybe she could have stopped Brauma sooner… Her thoughts must show on her face because Drakemar gives a sly smile and a wink that could easily be the drooping of a tired lid. "Constable," Clayrmantle snaps, "you were asked a question." "My apologies, your Eminence," Elo says, her mouth forging ahead with little regard to her brain. "There have been a great many arguments this day. I would appreciate your exactitude as to which you'd like my comments on." There is a smattering of shocked gasps. Elo thinks that if they're going to send her to the noose, at least she's got five for five leaders insulted on her scorecard. "Of course," Drakemar says, inclining his head with an amused smile and gods dammit all, doesn't he have such long, pointy teeth… "I mean to have your opinion on the crux of the matter. Did you murder Lerrald Brauma, or was it a justified act?" "It was justified homicide. I still stand by what I said to my colleague while in hospital." "That conversation was entrapment–" Advocate Yevlyn starts. Drakemar raises a hand and the Advocate cuts off. He blinks down at her with eyes that nictate like a lizard's. "And what was it you said then?" "That I wasn't going to let Brauma become another Greydown. My job is to protect and serve the people of Toreguard. Unfortunately, in this instance, killing the suspect was the only way to do that. We still don't know why he was smuggling ordinance or what he planned to do with it, and maybe we never will. But at least this way I can rest assured he can't use it for whatever nefarious purpose he intended." "How do you know it was nefarious?" "Why would he have the ordinance if his intentions were pure? Why would he go to such lengths as killing a journalist, trying to kill me, to hide them?" "Apt questions. But not, I feel, relevant to the matter at hand."

Drakemar raises a hand, stepping past her to address the gallery, and Elo has to fight not to turn around, belatedly recalling she must not see the faces of the advocates. "So to the matter at hand, then. There is one fact that springs forth as abundantly clear. This woman, who stands accused of murdering Lerrald Brauma, your Exchequer and my Emissary, was willing to offer the ultimate sacrifice based on little more than a gut instinct to do her duty. "It pains me to say I had heard stirrings regarding Brauma's less than savoury activities and yet had not attended to them, believing I had time… Your protector has done you proud, saving you from what I fear may have been yet more wrack and ruin. This is an act which should be esteemed rather than vilified. "That being said," Drakemar completes his circle to stand before Elo, fingers steepled in a considering manner, "a life was taken, and penance must be paid." Slitted golden eyes regard her. Elo straightens her spine and raises her chin to meet them. "A year and a day of exile, as ambassador to Iceland."

Elo's shoulders sag. Her knees tremble, threatening to give way. She won't be marched to the noose. Didn't she say she would take a sabbatical after this anyway? A year is nothing. Strucker flies to his feet. "A year! Drakemar, I must protest– "Yes, I suppose you must…" "She has duties here! A life and friends–" "As I understand it she had friends in Fangthane as well." "A family who will miss her!" "Not half as much as I suspect she will miss them!" Drakemar rounds on Strucker – who, to his credit, does not back down from the fight. Even against a dragon, apparently. "This is a punishment, General. The defence requested community service, so here it is: service to the community she holds so dear – the whole of the City of Toreguard." "Not quite what I had in mind," Advocate Yevlyn mutters. Drakemar continues, "Commencing one week hence, Elowyn of Toreguarde will not be permitted to set foot on City soil for a year and a day. She will only be permitted to speak to the Triumvirate council, or whomever they assign receive her reports." Advocate Yevlyn clears his throat. Drakemar looks past Elo and inclines his head in acknowledgement. "Full and explicit terms will be outlined in writing before the week is out. She will be released under her own recognisance to appear at the Court jetty on the morning of her exile date." "Is that wise, your Eminence?" asks the Advocate for the People. He looks then at Elo, his smile as sweet as a carnivorous plant. "I think Detective O'Toreguarde can be trusted with this." She dips her head. "I accept my penance as mete and give thanks it was not harsher. I will be there." Clayrmantle rises with wearisome movements, leaning heavily on his cane. "The sentence has been issued, and the matter judged. Do we all find this trial settled?" "Aye," chorus the advocates. "Aye," Drakemar purrs, smiling like the cat that got the cream. "Aye…" Strucker says grudgingly. "Then so it is ended," Clayrmantle says, chiming the bell once.

Elo hears the court doors bang open. Drakemar and the Advocates leave amid murmurs buzzing from the gallery. She starts to turn. Her vision swims. Strucker catches her before her legs give way completely. Then she is outside, in the corridor, with Strucker passing her into Farren's waiting arms. She's given a sugar cookie and water with a salty edge. Yates and Monday keep the crowd at bay as Farren practically carries her out the side entrance to where Cobbleskater waits with the car.