#pc meredith gruksdottir

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 41

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

The sky is overcast, threatening rain, as Elo sits with Farren's phone, legs bunched on the green twill armchair, ear glued to the handset as she waits for the call to connect. "Emerald Star, Christopher speaking. How may I assist you?" "This is Detective O'Toreguarde, TPD. Could you put me through to room 1803?" The concierge pauses. "And may I enquire about the nature of your correspondence?" His Nibs is a high-profile guest; of course, they're screening his calls. "It's Triumvirate business. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose anything further." Another pause. "And whom should I say is calling?" Didn't she just–? But maybe the concierge is on her side… Elo sighs. "Lady Elowyn." "Very good, your Ladyship. Connecting you now." Elo can hear Farren humming from the bathroom, mingling with the drone of his electric razor. "Good morning, Lady Elowyn," comes a lilting, feminine voice. "This is Unka, His Majesty's personal assistant. What can I help you with?" "May I speak to His Majesty directly?" "I'm afraid he's still asleep at the moment. Perhaps I can help?" "I understand that making travel arrangements to return to Iceland may take some time. I thought, while that was completed, His Majesty and I could take in some more of the city sights. I'm still relieved of my duties as a policeman, and I suspect that neither of us is particularly keen to visit City Hall today." There's splashing coming from the bathroom now. The phone line stays quiet. Elo forges on, "Despite any implications made during yesterday's negotiation meeting, I have enjoyed His Majesty's company this past week, as a friend, and I have enjoyed showing him the city I love. If he's of the same mind, I would like to continue until he leaves." The silence from the other end of the phone continues, and Elo wonders if she's on speakerphone. In for a dollar… "I may also have a selfish motivation. The head of his security detail is my best friend. If these talks fall through I don't know when I'll be able to see her next. I already missed her wedding. I don't want to miss anything else. And His Majesty is the last link I have to my dear Aunt. I don't want to lose that either. "Please, Your Majesty, if you're listening, would you at least consider one final trip out with me?" The line stays silent. "I'm staying with Detective Breakwood at the moment. Or you can always reach me at the station." Elo gives Farren's number and her desk number, waits a few moments more, and sets the handset back in its cradle.

"Guess it didn't go well, huh?" Farren asks from the doorway. Elo scrunches herself further into the chair. "No. He wouldn't even speak to me." Farren bustles around the kitchen, making a cup of freeze-dry coffee. "You know, you were right. You're not expected at work or at City Hall." He keeps his back to her. "You could stay here and take a day?" Elo lets her head fall onto the backrest. Outside, central Toreguard is hidden by the haze of low clouds. The filigreed dome of the Theater d'Olidammara is a flat yellow. On the twin bridges, Comedy's traffic is nose-to-tail but Tragedy flows freely. She could take the day. But then do what – sit around and mope? At the end of Farren's street is a deli/bodega. Elo watches the crowds on the sidewalk dipping in and out with take-out cups or bags of cheap convenience, watching as they hurry on their way to a job or school or to care for someone. She wonders how many of them are also having a crappy week. How many of them also ache and grieve and have to push on. She shouldn't be so selfish. Elo uncurls and stands. "Just because I'm not expected, doesn't mean there isn't work to be done." Farren's shoulders slump as he gives a heavy sigh. "Yeah. S'what I thought you'd say." He turns and holds out a mug of coffee. "Here. Get this down you and we'll head on."

–––

At the station, Elo busies herself with the ever-increasing stack of paperwork in her in-tray; there's not much more to be learnt from Evie's journals, Cobbleskater tells her, and he can handle it himself. Elo suspects he's in a snit because she wasn't prompt with finishing the translations.

It's just shy of mid-morning, she's in the breakroom getting coffee with Ayton, when there's a stir in the bullpen. They peek out to see King Storri leaning against Elo's desk. Merri is idly pawing through the in-tray. Ayton looks up at Elo with a delighted grin. "Oooh, girl! Is that who I think it is?" "Yeah." "And just what did you do to get him to show up here?" Elo looks at Storri, back at Ayton, and presses a hand to her forehead. "Technically, it wasn't me. But I can't talk about it right now. Ask me again when I've got something stronger than coffee in my hand." Ayton's face drops. "Oh, shit. That bad?" "Worse." Elo takes a gulp of coffee, hands it to Ayton, straightens her shirt and steps out, once again fully aware that she has the attention of the whole bullpen on her.

"Your Majesty," she says, giving him a bow from the waist. "What can I help you with?" Storri startles upright, covers his startling with a cough, and inclines his head. "Detective O'Toreguarde. Is there somewhere more private we may speak?" "Of course, Your Majesty." Elo glances at her old companion, and adds with a bite, "Agent Gruksdottir, do you mind?" Merri waves from where she's now poking around in Elo's top drawer. "Not at all. On you go." Elo purses her lips and huffs. Merri glances up, sees Elo's face, says, "Oh," and sheepishly closes the drawer. Elo inclines her head in sarcastic thanks, then gestures the king ahead of her. "This way," Elo says, leading the way from the bullpen.

They find a free interview room, and Elo flips the marker to 'in use' as she ushers the king in. Elo stops on the threshold, but Merri gives a quick shake of her head; she'll remain out here. Elo closes the door and steps away, crossing her arms. "So," she says. King Storri draws himself to full height. "I have acted, to you in specific, in a most unbecoming manner. Having heard your words this morning and knowing that you were the butt of yesterday's farce, I have considered my behaviour and found it lacking. If you are still willing, I would enjoy a final day in your company to further explore the city you and my beloved call home." His beloved… Elo doesn't think she's going to get used to hearing anyone refer to Aunt Alexis as 'their beloved'. She loosens her arms. "Your apology is accepted. And I would love to show you more of Toreguard. I'd still like to apologise for yesterday–" Storri holds up a hand. "I think, perhaps, it best to leave politics aside. I understand your desire to have our two nations on speaking terms again, but," he turns his head away with a shake, "I cannot countenance it. Not anymore. Not after Drakemar, and after what they did to your Aunt, and now what they've tried to do to you. This is the final coffin nail." Elo swallows, allowing her gaze to fall with her shoulders. "I understand. I'll be showing you the city today, not as Lady Elowyn, but as Elo who could have been your step-child." Storri crosses the space between them and clasps her shoulder. "It is for the best." "Right. Well then," Elo looks up and forces a smile. "I know the perfect place to start."

–––

"They did love her, you know," Elo says. "Despite the Triumvirate bowing to the Business Consortium's wishes and placing the Edict, they loved her and the others enough to make these statues." They are standing on the quayside of the Ring Canal, bundled up against the spring drizzle, and staring across the busy water at the statues which stand sentinel at the edge of the City Hall Plaza. The Ring of Heroes, which Elo has delivered a short lecture on, is too far to complete on foot, so instead Elo has chosen to show him Alexis' statue. The gracefully carved marble gazes watchfully out over the city, the long rifle Foreign Policy resting at ease in her hands. A phantom wind twitches her trench coat and cornrows. "They love her still, too. There're always parties on the anniversary of Greydown's defeat. Always toasts to her skill and bravery. Although," Elo's gaze falls away, "with each passing year they love the legend a little more and the person a little less." Storri is immersed in a thoughtful silence. "Why are we not up there?" Merri asks. "Enezeag, Felix and Darrius are," Elo says. "Technically, you're a traitor, and I keep – ahem – forgetting to attend the sculpture sittings." Merri laughs and loops an arm over Elo's shoulder. "Never change, cridhe. Never change."

They move on to the City Museum. It's a beautiful building, made of red brick and terracotta mouldings, and filled with the story of Toreguard's rise, fall, and phoenix-like regeneration. Elo focuses their attentions on the parts her aunts have played in the city's history, how they fought for it and saved it. She draws Storri's attention, too, to the descriptions of Greydown – the man who thought himself above others and brought ruin down on everyone, including himself. The King smiles tolerantly, and Elo has to remind herself of course he knows about it already; it's much more recent history for him than it is her. Storri strides past the section on Drakemar and his emissary with barely a glance. Elo doesn't understand what his issue with Drakemar is. She can't see what's wrong with taking money from a wealthy benefactor and turning it around to rebuild the city and rehome all the people displaced by the bombs and subsequent fighting. There've been some small concessions in governance which benefit Drakemar and his people, she knows that, but isn't that acceptable when, without him, Toreguard would not be standing? But he said no politics, so she doesn't bring it up, and they move on to the museum restaurant instead.

Elo finds herself wanting to apologise to the staff and other patrons as Storri's security sweeps in to clear a whole corner – one with the best view, no less. To their credit, the maître de doesn't bat an eye, and lunch, with a complimentary bottle of bubbly, goes down well; the cheque that Unka hands over, with such a great deal of zeros, probably helps a lot too. They linger up there, with Elo pointing out the dome of Theater d'Olidammara, now glittering in the sunlight pushing through fat clouds, and the university buildings behind it. City Hall takes up most of the view from the other direction, but in the distance, they can just make out the obelisk-shaped spire of the Temple of Heironeous.

Then it's time to move on, but not without one last little stop. The way up to the restaurant is lined with portraits, which had Storri pausing by each to examine and read over the placard. So Elo steers them out via the Ovoxi Hall, a large room of which one wall is taken up entirely by the faux-renaissance painting The Casting of Challenge Seeker. The mighty canvas depicts five heroes standing with their backs to the viewer at the top of a crenellated tower, while around them are littered the corpses of demons. In the tumultuous clouds above a titanic, Olympian-esque figure is visible from the waist up. This Titan has his arm outstretched in the starry heavens, as if he has just thrown the silver sword which glitters like the north star just beyond his grip. Storri reads the info plaque next to the recommended-viewing bench, making noise of exclamation as he learns the piece is younger than Elo, that it was gifted by an anonymous creator and donor almost as soon as the museum opened, and just what it represents. He then steps forward to take in the details of the smallest member of the party, and once he is done, turns back to Elo with a solemn nod.

Outside the museum, Elo hails a punt and asks the punter to take them a circuitous route to the covered markets at Olmsafon. As they travel – down the North Trunk then turning East into progressively smaller waterways – Elo finds herself giving a running commentary of each district and item of import they pass. Sometimes it's a grand event, sometimes it's a silly memory, but it builds up into a verbal cloth, woven of all the threads that tie her, and tied her Aunt, to the city they both love; a cloth which Elo, with all the skills she can, drapes around Storri to show him Toreguard and her people are worth his attention and alliance.

The markets are bustling as the punter pulls up to the docks. As they disembark, Merri shoots Elo a distinctly unimpressed look, which Elo accepts with a repentant tilted head. It's possible, having lost track of the days, she hadn't quite thought this one through – with so many locals doing their weekly shop and tourists enjoying the ambience, it makes the King much harder to protect. But equally, Elo reasons, if someone deliberately meant to do him harm they would need to know his movements in advance; and considering that none of them knew an hour ago where they were headed, Elo thinks it's probably safe. And anyway, she thinks – as she wanders around with him, their arms linked like a step-child and father aught, pointing out things that take his fancy and she explaining some particular oddity brought by the city being such a melting pot of culture, chatting with the vendors, sampling victuals, and buying an increasingly extravagant amount of goods – he's relaxed and having fun. She does not like the amount of grief that he had been subject to by Brauma; Merri said he was here in part to take a break from everyday stress, and Elo should be facilitating that, not causing more.

It's just past four when they exit the markets. A car is called to take all the parcels back to Storri's rooms, and then they move on for afternoon tea at a rather hidden, and thus exclusive, cafe that Aunt Selene liked to frequent. Elo hasn't been here in a while – it's one of those places that, on a copper's salary, is quite a lot out of her price range – but it's just as delightful as she recalls. They're tucked into a snug by themselves, bestowed with pots of tea, stands of petit four and finger sandwiches, and told to holler if anything more is needed. So they sit and chat, and Elo tries to absorb having Merri by her side, storing up the feeling like a squirrel stores food for the winter.

They've been having a ribald conversation on the knife-edge of decency – the sort they used to have, back when they travelled together – when they both become aware that King Storri has not said anything in some time. He's staring down at the tartlet on his plate with some intensity. "Kóngurinn minn?" Merri says gently. He sucks in a breath as if he was very far away. "While I am aware it was I who requested no political discussion, I have been thinking…" Both women set down their cups and pay attention. "Elowyn, it has been a joy getting to know you this past week. You are an expert conversationalist, knowledgeable in many areas and the love you feel for your city is tangible. That you have anticipated my want to learn more about the home of my beloved is a grace. As you wished not to lose connection with Agent Gruksdottir, I too, should not like to lose connection with you. "Thus, I would like to offer you citizenship of Iceland." Elo feels her mouth drop open as she stares. "That is… an incredible offer. Thank you." The cogs in her brain whirr at this opportunity, and she pounces on it. "I would be honoured to accept… "Except, and I am in no way trying to downplay or dismiss what you're offering, but I must ask. What of Toreguard's people – don't they deserve to see Iceland too? To see her sprawling mountains, volcanoes and geysers. To eat puffin in Fangthane and drink brennivín made from glacier waters. What of those who want to watch an aurora in the spray of a waterfall?" Storri's brow furrows. "You never give up, do you?" At this Merri laughs. "She'd fight to the bitter end if you let her." Storri takes a bite from his tartlet. "And what of your own people?" Elo asks. "I'm sure they'd relish the opportunity to eat as you've eaten. Cakes and curry and the Conquistador's Revenge. Puffin gets wearisome for every meal." An eyebrow raise. "It's not that bad," Storri mumbles. Elo looks at Merri. "With respect, Kóngurinn minn, it does get tiresome very quickly when it's your main source of protein." "And that is nothing to speak of when compared to a village's grain being turned to hardtack right after harvest." Something shifts on his face then, brows furrowed as he stares at his tartlet. He remains quiet and thoughtful, and Merri makes some comment, and she and Elo take up whatever thread they'd been talking about.

Storri sets his tartlet down, half-eaten, his expression so serious that it is just shy of a glower. Elo and Merri leave off their conversation again. "I will not truck with either the Master of the Exchequer nor the Acting Magister," Storri says. "Even if your tastes swayed towards men, even if I did not see you as the child of my beloved Alexis, even then your age would not allow me to accept you as a spouse. I remain infuriated with those prune-shriven runions for their blatant disregard, disrespect, and cavalier, vinegar stunt. "The actions of those black toads aside, you have shown me this day that Toreguard is as fair as one could hope, filled with as exotic sights and sensations as any traveller could dream of. The vibrancy of her people and the care and enthusiasm in which you have shown these things has convinced me that perhaps not all hope is lost for this city. "I will persevere with negotiations, but only with yourself or Strucker. I have no desire to engage with any other of your council." The elation rising in Elo's chest during Storri's little speech dies a cold, hard death. "You are aware that, despite my pretty title, I don't have any real power? You will have to deal with Clayrmantle eventually. After Greydown, it was decreed that no singular person would ever have that much executive power again. So while the Senate can vote in favour of a resolution, in order to pass, it requires the signatures of at least two Triumvirate members. Something as large as this may even require all three." The King regards her with a flat stare, eyes flashing like embers, and Elo thinks she's screwed the whole thing again. But these are the facts and there is no escaping them. He says, "I will not deal with Exchequer Brauma. I cannot guarantee my behaviour will befit my station while around him." "Alright. I can sit in and moderate any meetings with Clayrmantle. And, while I can't guarantee this will be accepted, I can request that the Secretary to the Treasury be the Exchequer's proxy in meetings that would require him. Is that acceptable?" Storri lifts his chin, considering the colourful bunting along the snug's picture rail. "This is acceptable. With this in place, I feel we could finalise an accord between our two states." Elo smiles, letting out a slow breath, feeling her spirit soar. He turns his gaze back to Elo. "I have one final condition." She feels her heart still in its victory dance. "I would expect that I will have to return several times to complete this deal. At each of these visits, you will take me to a different eatery or watering hole, and let me dine in anonymity with you." Elo grits her teeth, assuming a grim expression. "Agreed. Then I also have a further condition. I request a new artwork featuring your country that I can display in The Shield and proclaim you the donor." Storri nods in regal consideration. "It is done then," he says. His eyes never leave Elo's as he speaks, though his lips tremble in the suppression of a smile. "Unka will have the contract drawn up when we return to the Emerald. I will have this deal in writing." From the other table, Unka says, with laughter in her tone, "Já, Konungur minn." Merri stifles a chuckle. At that Storri breaks, his grin wide and mischievous, his laughter a roll of thunder, starting small as a chortle and rising to guffaw, and Elo finds herself following right along with him. "Oh, my child. Your face – it was a picture!" King Storri chuckles, as Elo finds she has to wipe her eyes at the mirth spilling from them – such is her nervous relief. "You rotten old troll!" she gasps out, grinning. "You had me really worried for a moment there." Storri finally finishes off his tartlet. "I look forward to being able to festoon your community hall with the finest art my countrymen have to offer." Elo smiles widely at that. "And it will be my pleasure to introduce you to all the flavours my city can offer your palette."

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 26

CW: Alcohol AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

By the time Elo arrives at City Hall and the Triumverate's office level, she knows she's later than usual and will be interrupting a meeting if she tries to find Thazar or King Storri. So instead she heads to Strucker's office to check in with Evans. Plus, it's a good way to stagger out bollockings 3-6. Except, luck is not with her today, because Evans sends her straight to the Magister's office.

Elo takes a steadying breath as she knocks on the office door, disappointed her plan is about to go swirling down the drain. She lets herself in and quietly regards the scene painted in front of her. Thazar is supporting himself on the corner of his desk, elbow rising and falling in time with the mournful tune he's eking out of his violin. Johan and Storri are sitting on opposite sofas, reading something. Merri is silhouetted, gazing out of a tall window, with Yoruk reclining against the wall next to her, eyes on his king. Storri has some minor lacerations on the side of his face she can see, probably from where she shoved him to the ground. But he seems relaxed enough, given the apparent attempt on his life. That he was not the target is something that no one in this room, nor the wider City for that matter, need know about. Elo can do without having another ubiquitous black suit attached to her. Likewise, Merri's stance and Yoruk's indolent slump read as relaxed, even though Elo knows they must be anything but. Johan is markedly less relaxed, however. Hunched over at the edge of the sofa, his shoulders are scrunched up and his frown is deep as he reads from a red file folder. So deep is his concentration, that it takes his grasping hand several tries before it finds the handle of his coffee cup. Of them all, Thazar is the most tense. The tune he's playing is a Romanian folk song, about a woman scorned by her lover; it comes to a climax as the woman decides to take her own life, only for the tune to repeat. Elo knows he only plays it when he's deeply upset, such as when Aunt Selene announced her departure to Europe and his instatement as Acting Magister. To hear him play it now is concerning. Despite the radiation of worry and upset, with the light from the tall windows and the music, it's a delightfully domestic scene. For a moment, Elo considers leaving them to it and slipping out – but that will only defer the bollockings, and potentially make them worse.

So she closes the door with a touch more force than is required and gives a little cough. "Sirs, Agents." Meredith's spine stiffens. Yoruk gives her a sideways look. Thazar doesn't stop playing, only shifts his stance to look at her over his violin. Johan's head inches up, his shoulders inch down. Storri doesn't look up. "Kindly put the tray up on the concessions table." Elo gives the back of his head a small smile. "I'm afraid, Your Majesty, I've not come with any victuals. Only an update on my current case for Magister Clayrmantle and General Strucker." King Storri's head shoots up, but she ignores him and instead walks to place one of the reports on Thazar's desk. Thazar does not stop bowing, only tips his whole body as a nod of thanks. Elo nods back. She walks back to Strucker. "Sir." He eyes her expectantly. Elo hands him the report with the footnotes. "This is the latest update I have from my team regarding your daughter's murder. They've requested I ask if you have any knowledge regarding the cypher she encoded her notes with. There's an example at the bottom of the report." "Thank you, Lieutenant," he says. Elo stands to attention as he scans the document. Then his eyes flick to the bottom of the page. A flare of recognition graces his expression. "Huh," he says, "so that's where Bubbles got to…" "I wasn't referring to the cat, sir. Do you recognise the sigils?" Johan quirks a smile. "I'm aware, Lieutenant. Yes – or at least, ones very similar. I'm surprised you don't recognise them yourself." "Sir?" Elo asks, tilting her head. Johan leans back, looking at her over the report. "Don't you remember the secret code you and she used to pass messages in class? That was how I met your Aunt Selene, I believe, before I took over from Elmwood. A teacher caught you passing coded messages. When neither of you would reveal the cypher, he had you sent to the Principal, who called us. If memory serves, she thought it was rather humorous, but you and Evie were quite incensed about the whole thing." Thazar finally stops playing, the tune coming to a natural finish. "Oh," Elo says into the silence. She frowns – she doesn't recall the incident at all. "I must have a key somewhere, then. Or maybe I can remember it…? It's been a long time." She presses a hand to her forehead. "I should go and find it. Your Majesty, I'll see you at one." Elo turns away, gets all of five feet before– "I commend your dedication, Lieutenant, but you are not dismissed," Thazar says cooly from behind her.

Elo turns, watching as he carefully places his violin down. He crosses his arms, glaring. "There are a few matters yet to discuss." In Elo's periphery, Merri turns around and steps away from the window. "Rule number one," Agent-in-Charge Ironforge says, "Always remain with the Principal. It is your duty to ensure they are protected at all points." Right, then, Elo thinks. We're going to do this here and now. It is, of course, the lead agent's prerogative to debrief, assess, and challenge assumptions in the wake of an incident. This isn't the format she was expecting, but Elo will respond as is fitting and professional. Elo faces Merri and brings herself to attention before answering. "Yes, Agent Ironforge." "Explain to me why you did not." Elo isn't sure this is the time and place to point out that the night of the dinner her orders had changed. That night, she was not supposed to be part of the King's protection detail but his companion and the Triumvirate's political decoration. But perhaps, by tackling him as she did, she put herself back on protection detail. "I had every intention of remaining with His Majesty. But that was before I was waylaid by Schriber, the Master of Commerce. His Majesty was by then in the care of Agent Forhoksson, and I believed there were adequate protection personnel present such that I could deal with Schreiber and any other guests remaining on the terrace. It was fully my intent to follow on once everyone was safe." Agent-in-Charge Ironforge is glowering at Elo. "Your police training does do you credit there," she grudgingly admits. "However. Rule two: Do not engage a threat without adequate force or backup. That means you are to retreat and raise the alarm, not tackle the threat by yourself." "And I would have, had the threat not decided to engage me first. I was alone in the garden with no radio and no way to call for backup." "You stated at the time that you fell from the terrace. Why were you over there in the first place?" Elo ducks her head. "I was reaching for my sidearm. I dropped it when Schriber started hurranging me. I was helping one of the guests up, and thought since I was so close, I'd just quickly grab it." "It could have been replaced. There was no need for you to linger on the terrace." "Had I not been reaching for it and fallen into the flowerbed, you would be attending a funeral now, instead of getting the chance to yell at me." In her periphery, Elo sees Johan pale and Thazar shifts uncomfortably. She takes a breath, reminding herself to stick to facts and not indulge in flippancy. "Explain." "The sniper took two further shots – one I narrowly avoided by falling, the second forcing me to flee towards the wooded border. I was then cornered and forced to defend myself." "It was still foolish to go back for your sidearm." "Yes." And Elo can see tension flowing from Meredith's shoulders, as the redhead stops being Agent Ironforge and instead becomes her friend, Merri, who worries. "In future, you will remain with His Majesty's retinue no matter what. Is this understood?" "Yes, Agent," Elo says, and pauses, knowing she is about to be unprofessional. "I'm sorry, Meredith." The glower she receives is practically something out of legend. "Oh, aye. You're sorry now. That's fine and dandy now all is well, eh?" Merri growls. "Next time, do things in the correct manner and you won't find yourself having to apologise to all and sundry for almost getting yourself killed." "Yes, Agent," Elo says again, allowing herself a small smile. Merri gives her a curt nod, but Elo has caught the flicker of a smile on her old friend's face. As Merri steps back to her place at the window, Elo catches the briefest of an approving nod from Yoruk.

"Acting Magister," Elo says with a short bow towards him, "Is there anything you wish to add to Special Agent Ironforge's reprimand?" Thazar regards her for a long while, stern lines creasing his forehead and thinning his lips. "No," he says at length. "Only to say I am glad you took the suggestion on your attire for the evening. Perhaps," he adds with an aggrieved sigh, "a suit might be allowable for the next event." "Understood, sir," Elo says, giving him a quiet smile, internally crowing at the small victory. "You will be taking His Majesty out again for lunch at 1300h," Thazar continues. "Somewhere respectable this time, please, and with double the security. We feel, despite the incident, it is important we show no cowardice in the face of this attack. Until then, you are free to deal with whatever duties are required by your new position." He gives her a slight smirk then. "Congratulations, by the way, on your promotion. The red looks good on your collar." "Thank you, sir," she says graciously. "You are dismissed," Thazar says, and Elo gives him another bow. "We shall speak more at lunch then," King Storri says, his tone carrying the threat of another bollocking. "Yes, Your Majesty," she says and turns to go.

In the corridor outside, Johan calls out for her to wait, so she does. "Before I forget, here." He stands behind the open door to the office, and throws something at her. Elo catches it, and it's the keys to her dragon. "You were right," he says, "the spark plugs were shot. I added a spare to the tool kit under the saddle." "Thank you."

Elo takes herself off to Strucker's office and, with a nod to Evans, slips into the smaller office to ring up Cobbleskater's desk. "Constable Cobbleskater, Special Cases, how can I help?" "Hey, Irvine. It's Elo." "Lieutenant! What can I help you with?" "I got a bead on the cryptography of the victim's notes." "Oh?" "Turns out, it's something we made up in school, which means there should be a key in one of my old notebooks. I think I still have those at my Mom's house." "Your Mom kept the stuff from when you were a kid?" "Um, I seem to remember pitching a fit when she suggested getting rid of them, so they got shoved into storage. But that's not the point. I've got my wheels back, so why don't you and Farren meet me over there. I'll give you the address–" "Um. Lieutenant, I don't think that's wise. You're still injured." Cobbleskater's anxiety radiates down the line. "I promise I'll ride slow and careful." "Ma'am, I–" Cobbleskater cuts himself off. She can hear muffled voices through the hand he's plastered over the receiver. There's an echoing, scratching sound as if the receiver is being manhandled. "Bug, no." "Brek… Hi," she says in the most innocent tone she can muster. "Do not ride anywhere. You will pop your stitches. You might be back at work, but you're still not to do anything stupid. I will call Ironforge and ask if Agent Hembo can come sit on you." "Give me a ride then." "Can't. I'm catching Yates and Monday up on the case." "Send Cobbleskater," she says, frustrated. "His ride's in the shop." "Godsdamnit, Brek! This is urgent." "No, Bug. It ain't. Look." Farren takes a breath. She can hear his chair creak. "The vic was your friend and you're close to her Dad, so I get it. This case feels like the most important thing to you right now, and everything about uncovering her murderer is urgent. But for once, we don't have any other related bodies, so there's no press on to catch the guy before he strikes again. Plus, she ain't getting any deader, but you might. And every time you rush into something while you're still injured, you take that one step closer. So just – take an admin day. Show the King the city, and I'll see you for dinner. Got it?" Elo sighs, because, damn him, he's right. "Yeah. I got it." "Stay outta trouble." There's a hard, demanding edge to their usual light-hearted farewell. Elo huffs. "I will if you will." Farren hangs up, and Elo glares at a painting of a boat on the wall. Then she swears in her mother tongue and sets about collating the past few days into a set of written reports.

Evans, angel that she is, reminds Elo at 12:50 she's supposed to be taking the King out for lunch. Elo panics because she was supposed to get a reservation somewhere, but Evans just smiles and says to give her name at The Naughty Fork and laughs as Elo professes her undying love as she's legging it out the door.

So they go to the Naughty Fork, a place filled with decadent dishes and yuppies. Elo finds Evans has briefed the bistro about the security detachment and arranged for them to be in a private room. Elo will need to get her something to say thank you. While they eat, Storri gives an impromptu lecture on how to allow oneself to be bodyguarded, pointing out what she should have done differently that night and the day after with Hembo. It's a difficult thing, he commiserates, for someone as action-focused as her to put one's trust in what are essentially strangers. Elo finally gives voice to her divided orders on this subject – Clayrmantle telling her to be a guest, Merri thinking she was there as extra protection, Farren assuming she was on duty, her police training overriding everything. So bollocking #6 turns into less of a bollocking and more of a teaching experience, which Elo is grateful for; she's had more than enough people shout at her today. Before they leave, they discuss dinner plans. Elo tells him Farren wants her to come by, so is he okay with a home-cooked meal of questionable quality in Farren's condo? Storri is delighted by this prospect, and Anderssen doesn't think it will be a problem for them, so Elo excuses herself to use the restaurant payphone. "Breakwood's desk, Monday speaking, what can I do you for?" "Sargent Monday," Elo says, surprised. "It's O'Toreguarde. Is Breakwood not around?" "Hi LT. He's just gone to the little detective's room. Anything I can help with?" "Just a message, thanks. Can you tell him I said I'm bringing company for dinner tonight? Only one, so he'll be cooking for three." "One extra body for dinner. Got it." "He catch you up with the case yet?" "Sure did. Yates and I are gonna head down to Tattham docks, see if we can't dig anything out of the office there. Breakwood wants us to run down the ownership details. Cobbleskater's up to his arse in copy paper ready for when you get that key to the vic's notes, and your boy is being pissy about having to file his reports." Monday chuckles. "But, hey, what's good for the goose is good for the gander, right?" Elo huffs out a laugh. "Tell him he gets no sympathy from me." "Roger that, LT. See you tomorrow. And hey – watch your six." "You too."

That dealt with, Elo takes the King et al on a lazy punt ride down the south canal trunk and weaves east to Sœyler Blar. Though normally she would just hire a boat and punt herself, Agent Hembo and his threat of sitting upon her for stupidity are both in attendance, so she pays someone to take them. On one of the quieter stretches, His Nibs and Anderssen have a go at punting; miraculously no one ends up in the water. They moor up at the public dock, and Elo leads the merry procession down to the Sœyler Blar Brewing Company, explaining that as His Nibs enjoyed those craft beers so much, she thought he might enjoy a tour of the brewery where some were made. They wind up on a private tour, which ends with a lot of sampling and a lot of money changing hands for a lot of beer. Then they're being punted back to the Council landing, and driven in the Official Limo, calling past a wine shop on their way to Farren's and Elo didn't even know that wine could be that expensive. And finally, they are at her partner's condo unit.

[druidx]

having vague ideas for a fic where Elo gets to kiss Merri, but I can't decide if I want it set after DNS, or as a canon-divergence AU during the campaign.

The basic gist is Elo's knocked down by some enemy, Merri finishes the BG off and hurries to Elo's side to check on her - leaning over, touching her face, calling her name. Elo wakes up and takes leave of her senses at this angel above her, loops her hand around Merri's neck, leans up and kisses her.

Merri jerks back in surprise. Elo realises what she's just done and is horrified (because either Merri is betrothed at this point or actually married and Elo knows this) ...and there the idea peters out; I can't decide how I want to play the fallout.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 9

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannahcbrown, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

Before she is halfway across the room to announce her presence to Clayrmantle, the unknown person has risen. "So, you are Elowyn of Toreguarde," he says, his voice a low rumble, like lava flowing from an eruption. She halts on the rug bearing the city's seal, responding automatically, "Yes, sir." "Interesting," he murmurs and starts to pace around her.

He's clearly sizing her up, so she takes the chance to do the same. He is compact – not much taller than she, but far heavier set. He sports a large beard of the same lustrous black as his hair, also intricately braided and sealed with jewelled clasps. He is outfitted in a suit of dark green, tailored well to show off his figure. It is not until she spies the narrow circlet of malachite and gold, nearly vanishing in the tides of his hair, that she realises why he seems so familiar. Despite this, she cannot quell her annoyance at being eyed like livestock, and before he has completed even half his circuit, she raps out, "Do I meet with your Kingliness's approval?" She does try to keep the snark from her tone, because if he is here, then it is only to discuss matters of state and standing here, in the heart of the city, she feels keenly the cloak of representation which settles over her shoulders like an old and unwelcome friend. And if he is here to settle matters of state, then it will not do for her to jeopardise that with her appearance of incivility. As he continues his circuit, Elo can only hope that the familiarity is not mutual. This is not the first time she has been shanghaied by the Triumvirate, and she recalls with painful clarity the last time she was in his presence. When she, fresh from the field of battle, forgot herself and yelled at him like he was some basic footsoldier. Just because she was tired and sore, cranky from pain and trauma, hopped up on adrenaline and cortisol and fear – these are not justifiable excuses for insulting King Storri Norgandsson of Iceland.

"Majesty," he murmurs, coming to a halt in front of her. "Pardon, sir?" "My title. You should refer to me as 'Your Majesty'." He lifts his chin. "I will allow the oversight this time. I would not expect a police officer from a city-state with no royalty to know this, nor expect them to be adequately trained to comport themselves in a diplomatic situation such as this." She knows it's bait, she does. But sometimes her mouth likes to bypass her brain. "If we are going to be stiff about our titles, Your Majesty," Elowyn says, drawing herself up. "Then I feel it's only fair, that as one whom has the Freedom of the City, I should request you refer to me as 'Lady'." The King quirks an eyebrow. "Is that so?" In for a dime, in for a dollar. Elo draws herself up further– It's only then she spots the twinkle in his eye. Over the King's shoulder, Clayrmantle is smiling in a soft and hesitant way. In her periphery, the DA has stopped reading his report and is trying to suppress a grin. Elo doesn't bother looking at the Master of the Exchequer; he was scowling the moment she opened her mouth, and she doubts that's changed. But if Thazar is smiling, then it means this is teasing. Or at least that all is well. –Elo relaxes her pose. "Indeed, sir. However, it is not a right I generally pursue. Sargent O'Toreguarde suits me just fine." "Very well, Sergeant." He inclines his head in return. "As we are on more friendly terms than last we met, I will permit you to dispense with my title. You may continue with 'Sir'." Elo's mouth slackens. Heat rises to her cheeks. Her eyes go wide. She thinks she may have stopped breathing. The King chuckles. "Relax, Sargent. I do not hold against you that which was said in the fever of battle." His eyes harden a fraction. "I only require it to never happen again." Elo swallows, gives him a bow from the waist. "Of course, your Majesty. Thank you."

"Well," Clayrmantle says, stepping away from his desk, "I'm glad to see you both getting along, especially after your last encounter." He puts a hand on Elo's back and gestures for her to sit next to the DA. "I think now would be a good time to explain to Lady Elowyn why she's been summoned – and in such a secretive manner. I'm sure you have questions." This last is addressed to Elo as she takes her seat; she doesn't miss the twitch of Clayrmantle's eyebrows nor the emphasis on her title.

The King sits between Clayrmantle and the Exchequer on the opposite sofa. Clayrmantle begins, "You may recall, Madam, the incident a few years back which drove Iceland to break off trade with us." "Vividly," Elo murmurs. After all, she was in the middle of it, trying to prevent an all-out war. "The Icelandic government is now at a point where they feel ready to broach negotiations for a resumption in the Single Market." Elo tips her head towards the King. "Your Majesty is making a bold statement coming here in person." "I do not travel without a retinue," King Storri says. "But yes – in this matter, I feel, boldness is required. One must lead by example, my Lady, if one is to inspire action in others." "Quite so," the Exchequer says. "Semper audacior, indeed." "To that end," Clayrmantle says, "while his Majesty is in the City and not attending meetings, we want you to provide him with an escort." His eyebrows flick up – a warning not to be glib. "Security support will be provided by his own detail. I believe you know the special agent in charge, Meredith Ironforge?"

Elo's heart jumps into her throat. She follows the line of his hand to where a woman is stepping away from the line of ubiquitous black suits. She is not much taller than Elo, with blazing ginger hair and the body of a competitive weightlifter. Beneath the ubiquitous black suit, Elo can see the shape of her body armour, the tattoo of Thor's Hammer gracing the underside of her wrist. Elo swallows, doesn't know what to say. They haven't seen each other in years, parting on complicated terms. Merri's expression is neutral, no tell to show what the Icelander is thinking, doesn't say anything. Elo feels an uncomfortable weight in the air, knows she must break it. "Gruksdottir," Elo stumbles around the pulse in her throat. "It's good to see you again." Merri's eyes rove over her, culminating in a short nod. "Likewise, O'Toreguarde," she replies and moves back to her place on the wall.

Clayrmantle gives a polite cough. "Do you understand your duties, Lady Elowyn?" "Yes, Acting Magister," Elo says. She gives him something halfway between a smile and a grimace. "And, of course, it won't hurt for him and his to be seen in the company of one of the City's current heroes, letting bygones be bygones, so to speak." The withdrawal of allyship was not a one-sided affair, after all, and tensions among the people still rise when the matter is brought up. Elo will either do a lot of good with this or get into a lot of trouble. Clayrmantle raises his eyebrows. "Will that be a problem, my Lady?" Elo can't help the way her head tips in Merri's direction. "No, sir. Some of my favourite people are Icelandic." King Storri sits back with a pleased murmur. "She's astute," he comments to Clayrmantle. Merri snorts. "She has her moments, Herra." And, oh, if that sound isn't something that Elo has missed. "I try my best, your Majesty," she says instead. "Perhaps you could take his Majesty for an early lunch?" the Exchequer says. "We won't be beginning talks until the afternoon." Elo checks the time. "Sir, there is a personal matter I may be required to attend to soon." "I'm sure it can wait," the Exchequer says with a flip of his hand. Elo narrows her eyes. He must know what she's referring to. "Respectfully, Brauma–" Clayrmantle holds up a hand. "Let me call through," he interjects before things can escalate.

While the Magister makes a call from his desk, Elo keeps her gaze down. Ostensibly it's so she doesn't have to look at Exchequer or King, but her gaze catches on the papers the DA was examining. There's a lot of legalese, talk about 'precedents' and 'foreign incursions'. Someone has highlighted 'invasion force' and added a few tiny question marks between the lines. How very curious, she thinks. "Strucker will be delayed for another hour," Clayrmantle says. "You have time, my dear, to take his Majesty to lunch."

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 21

CW: Injury, blood AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

The Kass-whatever-the-hell-it-was-called has apparently not given chase. There's no crashing in the undergrowth but her. It's odd, she thinks; she feels certain that it could have hunted her down if it wanted to… But then she is stumbling out of the bushes and crawling through a hole in the chicken-wire fence and onto a brick-laid alley at the back of City Hall. And, gods above, she wants to stop and take a breather, but the other fairytale creature is jostling her upright with cajoling words about not dying in the gutter like a rat. It feels like it takes ages for the creature's words to seep through the pain and reach some survivalist part of her mind, and anyway, she's distracted by the thing. It has dark brown skin like hers, but some kind of condition makes it appear in whorls and ridges that seem familiar but she can't place it right now. It has mottled green hair and is dressed in a short green tunic of soft-looking cloth, clinched at the waist by a wide leather belt. "What are you?" she asks it. 🙢Alas, there is not the time to explain,🙡 it says, as it shoves her to her feet. "Do you have a name?" 🙢Willowsprout, Atnešė,🙡 it says. Legnok slings her arm over its shoulders and hauls her upright. Between the two of them, they drag her towards the corner of the alley, to where the light from City Hall spills onto the crowd milling in quiet panic, surrounded by cop cars and blood wagons. «Youse think you can make it on your own from here?» Legnok says. «Only, we's gotta skedaddle now.» 🙢Apologies, you'll have to manage from here,🙡 says Willowsprout. 🙢We can't let the twicelings see us.🙡 "Yeah," Elo says. "Sure. I'll manage." The two creatures melt into the shadows. «Remember your promise!» says Legnok. "Yeah, yeah," she mumbles. "I see either of you again, I'll buy you more than a cup of joe. A beer for each. Blood, bark, bond, et cetera."

And then she is stumbling into the edge of the crowd, and someone cries out at the sight of her. "Sergeant O'Toreguarde," she says, with a hiccup. "Checking in."

She sways on her feet, and someone is calling for a medic and someone else is practically carrying her to a bench and someone is trying to ask her what the hell happened to her. "Sniper," she says, because even in her own head that is more sensible than a giant man made of shadow with an incomprehensible name wielding a massive sword made of ice. "Got away," she adds, because otherwise people might start assuming she got whoever fired those shots and demand to see a corpse because no one in their right mind would let a sniper get away with shooting into a crowd of the most highly decorated and influential people in her city without some retribution. And then the crowd of people milling around her is swiftly moving to the side and she thinks she's seeing triple, because there are three large, angry-looking gentlemen bearing down on her – though when Strucker got here, and why Clayrmantle is shorter she doesn't understand – and they are all talking over each other in their morbid excitement and she cannot think and they are so loud and for all their loudness she cannot hear what they are saying and "SHUT! UP!" There is almost instant silence, and it ripples out from her in a wave as everyone in the whole damn plaza is suddenly very quiet. "You three– Just hush for a moment," she tells them. "I can't answer your ninety-mile-an-hour questions if you keep jabbering over each other. You're supposed to be rulers, not over-excited puppies, now bloody act like it and shut up so I can speak." She pulls in a breath, winces at the pain in her side, and lets it out again. "I'm fine. Well. I'm not fine. I've been cut. He had a sword. But I'm mostly fine. Despite the fact I'm wearing a stupid, nonsensical, now ruined, dress, I'm mostly fine. I went back to help with evac, lost my footing and fell off the terrace. Which is stupid, I know, but I nearly ate a bullet, and it saved my life, so, there's that. But I interrupted the sniper fleeing, and he didn't like that, so we had a bit of a tussle, and he stabbed me, and got away. I'm sorry, I screwed up, I should have waited for backup, I wasn't thinking. But I'm here and I'm still alive and fine. Mostly." She stops, thinks for a moment. "Could someone get me a very large glass of rum?" And then, despite her hurts, somehow she is being embraced by all three of them. She squeals as the pain in her side shoots through her again. "Alright, get away from her you feckless beasties," Merri is saying, and physically pulls Strucker away followed by Clayrmantle. She is a little more deferential to her king, but not by much, tapping him heavily on the shoulder and ordering him away a second time.

Then Merri is knelt next to the bench, a med kit out and something cold and alcoholic and oh dear fuck that burns, and Elo thought they were friends is being swiped over the rent in her flesh. She grits her teeth, eyes screwed tight, and yells as Merri repeats the activity, the cold stinging swipe getting less with each pass. Then something warm and dry is being pressed to the wound. "Andersen! Check if one of those ambulances is free, aye? Strucker, put pressure on this," Merri demands, as the medic wraps a bandage around Elo's waist, holding the dressing in place. Elo keeps her eyes closed – she cannot look, but this has happened enough times to either herself or one of their teammates in the Special Forces that she doesn't need to look, she knows exactly the procedure that Merri is following. When Merri sits back and puts a tired hand on Elo's knee, Elo takes a breath and marvels at her friend's quick work. "You need to go to hospital, cridhe," Merri says, accent thickening in worry. "This is just a patch-job, you understand? It needs stitches and a proper clean." Johan plucks a leaf out of Elo's hair. "All of her needs a proper clean." And Elo's best friend in the whole world squints up at her, a snarky grin on her face, and says, "We could dip her in a canal. Quickest and easiest way to get all that muck off her, eh?" Elo tries to snort a laugh but the action sends sparks of pain through her. "Easy, easy," Merri cautions, even as she's grinning unrepentantly. She runs her hands over Elo's frame. "Mer!" Elo says, mock scandalised. "Your betrothed is around here somewhere." Even if her tone is teasing, Elo can't quite fight down the flush in her cheeks. "Oh, shush. I'm checking you for more wounds. What's this?" Merri's hand has come away tacky from Elo's arm. "I dunno." Then Elo remembers. "I got bit by something?" Merri is back with that cold and stinging alcohol, swabbing the area. Then she gasps and swears in Icelandic. "You got bit by a fucking bullet. Thor's balls, you're lucky."

"What about everyone else?" Elo manages, after Merri has finished dealing with the scrape left by the bullet that nearly killed the King. She hasn't seen Yoruk or the Exchequer; while she's more worried about Yoruk, she has to at least pretend to be concerned about one of the Triumvirate. The light is hazy and too bright, she's inches away from falling asleep right on the bench, but she still has to know. "Your Acting Magister there, he caught a shot to the leg, but the bullet didn't do much damage. There were a few lacerations from falling glass, bruises and sprains from people fleeing and fighting each other in their haste, but aside from that, no. You're the only one who's taken any bad damage." "Good," is all Elo can think to say. "And when you're more lucid," Merri's voice drops to a dangerous growl, "you are going to get a refresher on how one performs close personal protection, and the correct procedures to follow during a sniper shooting." Elo giggles. She can't help herself. The titter comes out before she can stop it, and this time it won't be tamped down. "I knew this would happen," Elo says, gasping her laughter. "Y'all're gonna have to take a number." Merri gives her a confused glare. "Make an appointment, y'know?" "Appointments– What?" "So y'all get your chance to yell at me. Gotta have a booking slot, make it nice and orderly." Elo cackles again, clears her throat and tries to sound serious. "It'll have to be first come first serve, I won't make preference for rank or title." The pretence doesn't last long as she dissolves into hiccuping giggles. Merri stares, frowning, mouth agape. Then her eyes squeeze shut and she gives an incredulous shake of the head, following it up by yelling, "Anderssen! Where the fuck is my ambulance?" Elo's eyes snap open. "What, no, I'm not going–" "The fuck you're not. Did you not hear me? You need more than field medicine." "–I'm on duty." Storri turns sharply. "You're relieved, Sargent." "But–" Johan crouches down in front of her, gently touches her cheek until she's staring into those cloudy blue depths. "You're going to the hospital. No ifs, buts, or maybes. I will sling you over my shoulder if I have to, but you are going." Merri, she notices, has courageously abandoned her to being bullied by these leaders of, of – men, dwarves and elves – people. People! Just people, nothing else. Bloody fairy stories. "Elo, are you listening to me? I have lost one daughter this week to some greater cosmic accident and I will not lose another through stubbornness and thick-headedness. Do I make myself clear, young lady? I have lost my Evelyn. I will not lose my Elowyn too." And that's it. Elo's eyes mist up and the tears start dripping down her face and Johan's arms are around her as she quietly sobs into his shoulder.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 19

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18 Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

A cab ride takes her out to the Emerald Star, where she waits until the Icelandic contingent sweeps through the foyer. She watches, waiting for her opening to fall in step. His Majesty is wearing a fine velvet tuxedo in dark green with a sash of black and gold, ornamented with green ribbons and medallions. Behind him walks Merri in a combination tuxedo floor-length frock-coat. At her side, her husband Yoruk is similarly attired as King Storri. Elo counts an additional three ubiquitous black suits around the King and a further six around the foyer.

She falls in step with the group. The agent stops reaching for his weapon and blinks. "Apologies, my Lady, I hardly recognised you," he murmurs and allows her to step in next to the King. King Storri casts a glance as she does so. "You scrub up well." "Thank you. You're not too bad yourself." King Storri grins. "You seem to have taken Anderssen's advice." "Mhm. It was good advice. Please extend my thanks." King Storri inclines his head.

Then they are at City Hall, stepping out of His Majesty's limo to the startling flares of flash guns. It's unsurprising – this dinner is a Big Deal, and every journo and society rag in the city wants a piece of the action. Though, in the latter case, who is wearing what often overshadows the reason for the event. As they walk up the fan of marble steps, Elo finds herself missing Evie more than ever. Her friend had a talent for the crowd that Elo does not, something Elo could often hide behind as Evie flirted and blushed and gathered all the attention to herself. The King halts them at the top step, and Elo shakes away the past to position herself in front of his left as he waves to the crowds. She glances at Merri, unhappy with the King being so exposed and receives a nod followed by a discrete finger countdown. King Storri must have seen it too – the moment Merri's hand closes in a fist, he gives one last wave, presses a warm hand to Elo's shoulder, and they go inside.

Dinner is as tedious as expected. There are a lot of speeches; the High Priest of Galantanka before the first course is served, then the Acting Magister after. The Exchequer pontificates between second and third courses, various guild heads at other odd points, and finally King Storri gives his panegyric over the coffee. Elo is deeply thankful no one is expecting her to do one – she has visions of stumbling through a speech with something to offend everyone at the table. She eats quickly and in silence. Schreiber, the Master of Commerce and a dislikable little fellow as never there was, spends the whole meal attempting to schmooze King Storri; the King, for politeness' sake, has to let himself appear schmoozed. She can't even talk shop with Police Chief Andile to her right, who's ignoring her in favour of talking golf with the District Attorney, and the table is too wide to try talking with Nima Thayer, the head of the Broderers guild. She doesn't mind overmuch, even if it means she's bored and irritated, because it means she's less likely to accidentally offend by offering a snarky comment to the person with the least humour for these things. For all her talk of wearing her symbols earlier, she knows that's what her presence here is full stop – she herself is a symbol. She is just here to be seen, a notable female hero displayed alongside the King of Iceland to assure the other members of Congress that this series of negotiations is a good thing. She may as well be a china doll for all that anyone actually cares to have her here.

Eventually, the dinner is over, and the guests are herded into the ballroom to mingle. She and King Storri waltz around the room a few times, just to drive in the point that the King of Iceland is open to making amends and that she, Lady Freeman of the City and beloved hero, approves of his presence.

After their third turn, Acting Magister Clayrmantle graciously cuts in. "I thought I told you to wear a gown?" he says as they spin around the floor. "You told me to find a dress I could fight in," she snips back, though her heart isn't really in it. "Mm," he says, his tone lightening. "I rather suppose I did, didn't I? It does suit you, you know. An elegant outfit for an elegant young lady." They take another spin. "Your Aunts would be proud of you, you know." "Acting Magister, after what happened at lunch, you have lost the right to talk about my personal affairs." Another spin. "Then allow me to express my regret at my poor choice of words and for permitting the stress of our unprecedented situation to have overcome me. I swear on my office it will not happen again." The problem, Elo thinks as they spin on, with having this conversation on the dance floor, is she cannot see his face very well. He stares over her shoulder, amber eyes melancholic. There are bags under his eyes that maybe weren't there a few days ago. The light changes, and all at once the mask shifts and she sees him for the tired, middle-aged man he is, who didn't really want to be Acting Magister but will, regardless, do the best he can to serve his city faithfully. "You stepped over a line," Elo says, "and there is no taking back what was said. But I will agree, the situation we find ourselves in is unusual. With one-third of the Triumvirate out of action, I… appreciate things are more difficult for you. And I… may… have made myself to be one of those difficult things." Clayrmantle's gaze shifts down to her, and his face changes from forlorn to hopeful, gaining a light smile. "Maybe. But, my dear, you are not nearly the biggest problem I am dealing with." Clayrmantle leads them in a half-turn, out of sequence of the dance, and King Storri hoves into view. Elo gives an indelicate snort. Thazar grins. And just like that, any remaining tensions have gone.

––– The night wears on. Elo spends most of it introducing the King to people who remember her as a child; interspersed with regular conversation is a host of "gosh, little Elo, all grown up". At some point she excuses herself to use the bathroom, leaving Yoruk to accompany King Storri. A flock of people descend upon the two men as soon as she steps away, but Elo thinks little of it. When she returns, Merri accosts her, and they melt away to where it is quieter. "I'm… glad to see you're wearing it. My Thor's Hammer, I mean," Meredith says, her fingers running little patterns on her thigh. "I had thought perhaps you'd gotten rid of it… along with my letter." "Never, I would never." Elo winces, her words spilling too fast. "It went around my neck the day you left and has been off only twice since." Merri's head snaps up, eyes wide and mouth a little 'o', which Elo hopes means she wants to continue their friendship as badly as Elo does. Then Merri frowns. "You don't take it off to bathe?" Her eyes narrow. "You don't have to be dramatic around me." "Alright, yes, I take it off to bathe. But that doesn't count." Merri rolls her eyes with a smile. "Fine. What was so special about those two times then?" "I fell into a canal that had been emptied for maintenance. Got plastered with thick, stinking black mud. I had to get it professionally cleaned." Merri snorts. "You and bloody canals. What about the second time?" "I showed it to Lord High Commander Bloodvein, as evidence of my right to guaranteed safe passage through the Northernmost wastes of your kingdom." "And he bought that?" Merri asks, her eyebrows raised high. "Yes and no," Elo admits. "We were locked up the entire time we made the transit, but we were also safe." Merri barks out a laugh.

They chat for a bit longer – the missed years dropping away – until Elo realises she's been absent from the party for too long. She needs to keep up her political doll duties, and relieve Yoruk; and – to Merri's indignant squawk – make sure the two lovebirds have some time of their own to coo at each other. She finds Yoruk and His Nibs out on the terrace. Yoruk is observing from a distance and looks relieved when he spots her. Two of the ubiquitous black suits are making themselves visible and both look as relieved as Yoruk. Concerned, she turns her attention to King Storri and the crowd around him. It's high-profile business people and similar toadies, headed by Schreiber, the Master of Commerce. Elo rolls her eyes. Schreiber, ass that he is, will be milking King Storri's polite indifference from dinner for all it's worth.

Elo takes pity on the King when she spots under his carefully controlled expression a hint of an emotion most folk get when speaking to Schreiber – that of wanting to beat some sense into him with a baseball bat. "Your Majesty," she says, interjecting herself into a conversational lull, "might I request you come inside? The night is chilly, I would not wish you to come down with an illness." "Lady Toreguarde," he says in greeting. "Of course, you are quite correct. Gentlemen, please excuse me." "You wish to keep him warm then, Officer?" Schreiber says. There is a smattering of guffaws from the surrounding merchants. Elo feels her hackles rising as the King takes her offered arm, but she tamps down on the irritation. Undeterred, Schreiber begins his insult, "Perhaps you should–" "Perhaps you should consider to whom you speak, before making such crass remarks." King Storri turns back to the group. "Your Majesty, this is not necessary," Elo murmurs, reclaiming and putting pressure on his arm. "No, I rather think it is," King Storri says, pulling his arm free. "I will not have you disrespected in this manner. This is no gentleman that stands before me." He steps into the Master of Commerce's personal space. "This is nought but a cretin and a rampallian. Are you so obtuse as to consider her naught but a lowly officer of the law? Are you such a pompous, self-serving, poisonous black-backed toad that you would attempt to demean her worth in front of me, thinking perhaps I should be pleased with your wit?" The King takes a step back, looking down his nose at the Master of Commerce, and for all that he is shorter, Elo thinks she has never seen someone look so lordly in her life. Then he spits on the ground at Schreiber's feet. "You are nothing but a worm, unfit to crawl in the dirt at her feet, you wretched, misbegotten–" Elo can feel the wind-up coming; surges forward to prevent the inevitable conclusion. "Alright! Yes, thank you, Your Majesty! I rather think he–!"

All at once, rather a lot of things happen.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 13

CW: Alcohol Mention, Drunkenness AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 11. 12 Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannahcbrown, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

"So what's happening tomorrow night?" Elo asks. They are safely ensconced within the Scholar, and his Nibs already has a beer in hand and has demolished half a plate of wings, so she feels it's reasonable to ask now. For security's sake, they have also dropped the titles – here, they are just two people having a drink – so neither does Elo have to keep up the charade of diplomacy. She is also using it to distract herself from the stares of her fellow officers. Elo straight-and-narrow – Elo, who is married to the force – has brought a man into the Scholar. And not just any man, either – an older man, decked out in expensive watch and shoes. She does not want to imagine the gossip tomorrow. "There is to be a state dinner," King Storri says, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. "During which my government's intentions towards yours will be made known." Elo takes a sip of her cola. "Right. State dinner. Lots of assassination opportunities and angles to cover. I guess I'd better find out my old body armour, and Merri'll need floor plans–" The King clears his throat. "It was suggested I ask you to accompany me." "Well, I will be. As your security detail." He looks pained. "As a companion." The bustle of the pub sounds in the background. Elo breaths. "Brauma and Clayrmantle." "Yes." "Fu-udge." King Storri has set aside his beer. His brow and lips are pinched with concern. "Will you?" Elo remembers to breathe again. "I know why they want me there as your plus one. They've not exactly been subtle about the political implications of me being seen in your company. Why do you want me there?" "I don't follow." "I have to be there anyway. Whether Agent Gruksdottir likes it, I've been shanghaied into your security detail. But you have the pick of the crowd. I'm almost certain I could find some willing volunteers. So why me? Unless…" Elo draws back, giving him the side-eye. "You're twice my age and nowhere near my type." King Storri snaps something vitriolic in Icelandic. Elo doesn't know much of the language; but she knows a curse when she hears it. "No," he says, emphatic. "Thor's arse, no." "Then why? And while we're at it, why do you keep testing me, and why didn't you throw a flid when I called you an emmerdement? I must have insulted you enough today to start a dozen wars."

King Storri rocks his beer glass between thumb and palm, the first sign of nerves he's shown. "Because Alexis held you in high regard, and I held her in high regard. I do not think it unbecoming to see for myself if that regard is correctly placed. And I also do not think she would want me to start a war because my step-daughter has a temper." "What? Hang on. Roll that back. Step-daughter? You and Aunty Lex? You were-?" Storri holds up a hand, his eyes cast down. "No. I apologise. I misspoke." His hand falls flat on the tabletop. He hauls in a breath. "Töffari. This is not going as I planned." Elo forces herself to recenter. "Let's start over. You held my Aunt in high regard…" She makes a rolling motion with her hand to encourage him to pick up the lost threads. "I… loved your Aunt. And I should have liked to step out with her. She would have liked to step out with me too, I think, but she felt our stations were too different. I respected her choice then, though I did not understand it." Elo frowns. That doesn't sound like the Alexis she knew – a woman who was the epitome of the City's motto: fearless and bold. Never concerned with how she was perceived. Never afraid to push forward in the direction she'd chosen. Elo pulls a photograph from her wallet. In black and white, it shows her Aunt sitting in some camp. Alexis has a beer in one hand, a teasing expression on her face, and her long rifle, Foreign Policy, leaning against a truck beside her. "You're sure you met Alexis Dalliance?" Elo asks, passing the photo over. King Storri's expression softens as he looks at the photo, one finger tracing over Alexis' face. "Yes. This is the woman I met. Whom I loved and who left me for a greater purpose." He hands the photo back with a sign, and Elo tucks it away. "And how do you feel about her choice now?" "I still respect it. And after much thought, I do understand it. I even agree with it, to some extent." "Cuthbert's scales. This is a lot." Elo presses against the divot between her eyes. "Wait, so… If I understand this correctly… I could have been a princess?" King Storri rocks his head in a hum-haw gesture. "Possibly, or not. It's complicated. There are rules of succession to determine the ordering one takes in the royal line." "But I might have been?" "Hmm. Yes." "Damn," Elo says wonderingly. Storri smiles and finishes his beer. "Just remember this: if you hate being a Lady now, you would have loathed being a princess."

A waitress comes to take Storri's empties and asks if there's anything else she can get them. Elo has another cola and her usual – the bean, sausage and potato casserole. It's cheap, filling, and nutritionally balanced. The king surprises her by ordering a fully loaded burger, a side of fries, more wings, a bowl of chilli and six of the one-third-of-a-pint craft beer tasters. While he's rattling off his order, Elo turns her thoughts to the point of this conversation: The state dinner. She's always hated the things. Dull, vapid and polite affairs, filled with too many speeches, and too much two-faced-ness, and too many people thinking of her like public property. And she abhors dresses – too many petticoats to reach a gun, high-heels impossible to run in. The only good thing about state dinners was being with Evie, and now she doesn't even have that. The waitress smiles, chirps that she'll be back soon with their drinks and flounces off. Elo sniggers as she catches King Storri glancing after the waitress. Colour grows across his cheekbones. He frowns, growling, "Holding affection for your Aunt does not negate a man's basic needs." It only makes Elo laugh harder, until all those parts of his face not covered with beard are a rosy pink; a blush that is not a blush, because Elo is sure that is not something a King is allowed to do. Between bursts, she cocks her head to also check out the waitress's fine lines and says, "I don't blame you for looking. Coppers have needs, too." Then he relents, and the laugh that joins hers is a loud, hearty thing busting with a fervency that makes it seem it doesn't get let out much. "If I come to the dinner as your plus one," Elo says when she catches her breath, "can you promise me it'll be as fun as this?" Storri puts his hand over his heart. "I shall do my very best."

They spend the rest of the evening talking about everything besides the current circumstances – of his children and her aunts, their respective cultures and jobs, food and drink. And the latter increasingly dominates the conversation as His Nibs demolishes all that food, orders more, and gets increasingly sloshed on those one-third-of-a-pint tasters. The Skiving Scholar is located halfway between the University and the 88th, so it has to cater to the discerning palates of both coppers and Uni staff. As such, it sports a wide range of liquors, wines and speciality beers. His Nibs seems intent on sampling – and passing judgement – on all of them. Elo supposes he's somewhat qualified. A side effect of all those volcanoes in Iceland is their natural aquifers produce some of the purest water she's ever encountered, which lends itself well to Icelandic liquor being world-class and some of the best she's ever tasted. An unfortunate side effect of all those craft beer tasters is that the drunker Storri gets, the more boisterous he becomes, and the more boisterous he becomes, the less able he is to modulate his volume. And he's loud. Elo puts this down to him being a monarch – she assumes he has to be able to project his speeches and decrees and whatnot. And the side effect of His Nibs being loud and having opinions is that he quickly becomes the center of attention to a band of die-hard beer aficionados who all seem to delight in arguing the toss with him regarding their favoured poison. Elo is perfectly happy to sit back and watch the shenanigans with a wary eye. But when she is dragged from her conversation with a pretty admin girl who works at the Uni, by Storri and some portly scholar stripping to the waist in order to solve a debate through fisticuffs, Elo thinks that it's time to put an end to the shenanigans.

She pays for the meal and drinks using the cheques she finds in his pocketbook, adding a large tip to quell the barman's stinkeye, and manhandles him outside. Disappointed people from his court of booze trail outside after them, and Elo uses them to help her load His Royal Drunkenness onto her bike.

She rides so very carefully back to the Emerald Star with His Nibs drooling on her shoulder. Then she overtips the valet who helps him off her bike with money in his pocketbook, and she overtips the doorman who raises his eyebrows as she struggles in with the King because, dear gods he's heavy. And she double-overtips the concierge because she doesn't know his room number and, of course, he doesn't have a key on him – keys are for other people. Finally, she overtips the liftman before they stagger out and onto his floor. She hopes the money she's spent will buy their silence for at least a few days. They all have a passing familiarity with her, and by tomorrow they will know who he is; she doesn't fancy turning up in the gossip rags with the vultures speculating why she was manhandling the utterly gazeboed King of Iceland up to his rooms at two in the morning. She knows Clayrmantle and the Exchequer want her to be seen in his company, but they probably didn't mean like this.

He is slurring at her as they stumble along the corridor to his suite. It takes a while for her to pick out the words – he's speaking Icelandic, after all – but when she does, she flushes. "I suggest your Majesty shuts your royal cake-hole before I shut it for you," Elo growls, her patience dangling by the proverbial thread. "Why's'at, 'Lo?" he asks. "You seem to be mistaking me with my Aunt." "Uh?" "And if you don't quit, I'm going to start a war." "How's that?" "Because when drunks misinterpret their audience and start spouting flatteries like you are so ineloquently doing so, they usually follow up with hands. I don't take kindly to that sort of activity. It makes me liable to get stabby. When I get stabby, it tends to be a permanent situation for the stabbed party. Ergo – I will kill you if you get handsy, and I will have started a war. So shut your damn cake-hole." His Royal Majesty, King Storri Norgandsson of Iceland does as he is ordered by a sergeant of the smallest precinct in Toreguard, and shuts his damn cake-hole.

Elo manages to negotiate opening the door whilst keeping Storri upright. They stagger in, and he stumbles a few more steps to faceplant into a waiting couch while she closes the door. Elo stands over him for a moment, collecting herself. Behind her, a door creaks open, and the floorboards sag under a foot. "I see you had a good time," says a familiar voice. Elo relaxes from where she is reaching for her revolver and turns. Meredith is standing in the doorway to a bedroom wearing a nightshirt, the frizz of her hair released from its braids. "He had a good time," Elo corrects and is rewarded with a soft smile. "Help me get him into bed?" Between the two of them, they manhandle His Royal Drunkenness out of his suit and boots, force some water between sleepily protesting lips, and get him into bed. A waste-paper basket is lined with the day's newspaper and left for his convenience, alongside a tall glass of water and painkillers. They hardly have to speak as they do so – they've had enough practice with each other and other members of the group they once ran with that this is second nature now. When they are done, Agent-in-Charge Ironforge makes hot cocoa as Sargent O'Toreguarde gives her a debrief of the night's activities. They are finishing their drinks when Merri says, "It's very late. You should stay here. There's plenty of spare pillows and blankets. Sleep on the sofa, get fresh clothes tomorrow." Elo considers it. "Thank you, but no. It's not far to home, and I'd prefer to sleep in my bed. I'm not needed until lunch. I'll get more rest if I'm not here come morning." "Very well." Elo drains her drink and rises, with Merri following suit. "Thank you," Merri says suddenly. Elo cocks her head. "For what?" "For that," Merri says and tilts her head in the direction of soft, kingly snores. She clasps her hands and briefly looks at her feet, as if considering her words. "Things have been difficult back home. Lord High Commander Bloodvein admitted to me before we left that His Majesty's not been sleeping well. That Kóngurinn minn worries well into the night, and what sleep he has is filled with nightmares. It makes council sessions tense and difficult. Our people are a reflection of our Regent, you understand, and the more pent up Kóngurinn minn is, the more our people grow tense and wary. Kóngurinn minn has no way to release that steam at home. I'm glad he was able to do it here." "He's taking a holiday?" Merri frowns. "No. There are serious matters to be settled, that is why he is here in person. But the time away will do him good. And," Merri fiddles with her hands, "you're good company for him." Dimples appear as she smiles fondly. "You won't stand for his bullshit the way others might, but you'll listen, and I think you understand some of what he's going through." Elo looks away. "So thank you, for taking care of Kóngurinn minn and allowing him the space to relax." "No problem," Elo says and ducks her head in a parting gesture.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 37

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

"Apologies for my tardiness, gentlemen," Strucker says, as he enters with the briefest of knocks. From the two couches in the center of the room, Storri and Brauma are deep in an argument about something. Elo trails in on Strucker's heels, but where he drops onto the end of a couch, she peels off to join Merri and Yoruk at the windows. As she does, Clayrmantle raises a questioning eyebrow from where he perhest against his desk. Elo inclines her head in return, not wanting to interrupt the fierce discussion. As she leans against the wall, Yoruk gives a wary nod. Merri turns away from her contemplation of the city to offer a tight smile. Elo leans over. "Who's winning?" Merri holds herself like a tightly wound spring. "Kóngurinn minn, one hopes." It seems like an odd thing to say, but Elo doesn't question it as Merri turns her attention back to scanning the skyline. Elo glances at Yoruk, thinking perhaps he has answers, but he seems to be avoiding her gaze. Confused, Elo focuses on the argument. "This matter should be concluded," King Storri says. "We can think of no further ways of saying we have no interest in what you offer. We do quite well without." "But I am sure you will find, Your Majesty, that you and your country will gain hitherto unseen benefits from this gift once you have it safely stowed away in Fangthane." "You cannot sway us on this, Master Exchequer. We have told you: the answer is no." "But surely Your Majesty must find the nights quite lonesome–" "We will not discuss this any further!" King Storri rises, and even with his back to her the hunch of his shoulders and clenched fists tell her Storri is furious, as if he should like nothing better than to punch the lights out of the man opposite. Brauma holds his hands out, palms down, speaking in an easy tone, "Your Majesty, I merely want to utilise this strongest of bonds to cement our continued–" "You think to threaten us with the withdrawal of negotiations, and to backtrack all the progress we have made until this moment, with this preposterousness?" the King snaps. "And to think I was before my own council, advocating that you barbarians had changed your ways and were worthy of our partnership–" "But, Your Majesty, it could be a true partnership–" "I take back every good word I have said! This… this stunt has hardly endeared me–" "And yet you seem to have become endeared of one person, at least." The Exchequer's tone is mild, his smile just shy of a smirk, as he nods towards where Elo stands against the wall. Storri straightens sharply, half turning. With a flinch, his fury drains at the sight of her, washing out his face but leaving high points of colour on his cheeks. Elo falls back on rote politeness and with a bow from the waist, says, "Your Majesty." "What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice rough and accusatory, those eyebrows coming together like granite lintels over a blazing fire. She thinks he's referring to the fact she is supposed to be on administrative leave. The sour look on Clayrmantle's face seems to confirm this, so Elo forges on. "My apologies for interrupting this negotiation, sir. Despite the Triumvirate's coddling, I have a job to do, and I intend on performing it to the best of my ability, regardless of my personal circumstances."

And apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Clayrmantle puts his face in his hand, Brauma looks like the cat that got the cream, and beside her, Merri sucks in an alarmed breath. The King stares, pale and so deeply enraged that he is vibrating. "You would agree to this egregious request?" he asks, disgust written in the snarling scrunch of his nose. Elo isn't a hundred per cent sure what 'egregious' means, but she's getting context cues that it might be something bad. "Ah, I think, perhaps– Could we roll this conversation back? Once again, I apologise for our interruption, but I think I've missed something crucial…?" Rather than answer her or attempt to explain, King Storri rounds on Strucker. "Do you not have anti-slavery laws here?" the King growls out, then explodes: "Because that is what this will be! Are you people so truly archaic as to offer a woman to be betrothed without her willing consent, putting duty above personal preference? Strucker, as the paternal figure in Elowyn's life, are you so willing to offer her up as chattel, when you so clearly have repeated you did not wish to lose another daughter?" Strucker leaps to his feet. "I beg your pardon?" "Now hold on just a minute," Elo says, inserting herself between General and King. "No one is offering me anywhere–" "What in the damnable hell are you talking about?" Strucker yells, clenched fists raised. "Duty or no, I'm not being betrothed to anyone–" Even as she says it, her gaze flicks to Merri. "You see!" Storri spins, aiming his comment at Brauma and Clayrmantle. "I told you they would share my view." "What the devil are you thinking?" Strucker yells at Brauma. "How could you suggest such a thing?" But Brauma, Elo notes, is not paying the slightest attention to either King or General. His predatory gaze is solely on her. Strucker has turned his ire on Clayrmantle now, "And what were you thinking, Acting Magister, letting him continue with the idea? What would her Ladyship say?" At this, Clayrmantle pulls away from his desk, leaning heavily on a cane. "Magister Fridwake is not here! Her Ladyship has left me in charge of her office–" "And that gives you the right to offer her niece as chattel?" Strucker fumes.

Amid all the shouting, Brauma sits as placid as the eye of a storm. Elo cannot tear her gaze away from his. She's been up against some terrifying things, but the malice in his eyes is breathtaking. She knew Brauma hated her, but only now it becomes crystal clear why. She wonders if he knows about her going up the tree – if that's what's triggered this last-ditch attempt to get rid of her. Or was this always his end-game – to pawn her off to some allied family in the name of duty and international friendship? Her thoughts must be betrayed on her face. His shark-like smile turns into a smirk.

A flicker of anger catches in her chest. How dare he! And how dare Clayrmantle! The fear turns to rage. After everything she's done for her city. After every order she's faithfully followed, how dare they betray her like this! The flicker blazes. Though she takes a breath, knowing her reactions are important, it doesn't help. Fire fills her veins. She's overwhelmed with the desire to scream and rage and burn– "That is enough!" Merri shouts, her voice penetrating the tumult. The room goes silent. Elo's building rage is squashed in surprise. Agent-in-Charge Ironforge pans a glare around the room. "Lady Toreguarde has made her position quite clear. Cease your bickering and return your attentions to real work." Brauma's smile drops, loathing for Merri filling his face. Before anyone can move, Merri has Elo's arm in her grip and is frog-marching her towards the exit, rapping out further instructions in Icelandic. Elo hears her name in conjunction with 'come'; not that Merri is giving her any option about it.

They go across the corridor to the Magister's on-call room. Elo slumps against a bookcase, while Merri paces the tiny room. Elo finds her eye drawn to the way Merri's hips flick at each turn, the way her hair bounces at each frustrated stomp, the way her bosom quivers with rage, despite the retaining armour – and stops herself at that thought. "Do you want a drink?" Elo asks. "I want a drink." Without waiting, she starts searching for a book that's not really a book, which instead contains a secret stash of vodka. "What the hell was that!" Merri snaps. "Some ridiculous political move," Elo says, and with a shrug adds, "Brauma is an arse." She finds the fake book, sets it down on the nightstand to withdraw two collapsible cups and a small flask. The fluid from the flask inside is apparently a brandy – she supposes Clayrmantle replaced it with his own preference. As Elo passes one to Merri, she says, "Do you think what you said will work?" Merri considers the amber liquor. "T'be honest, I only said that to get you out of there. I know that expression you had, looking at the Exchequer, and I know that people usually end up dead if you're allowed to follow through on it." Elo huffs. "That's fair." "You seem a lot calmer now. So how about you elaborate on 'Brauma is an arse'?" Elo takes a sip and sighs. "There's never been any love lost between us. It's been like that for as long as I can remember." "Even as a child?" "Yes, I think so. He never liked that Alexis and Selene claimed me as their niece. He didn't like how friendly I was with the Triumvirate when he was Secretary to the Treasury and doesn't like that I hardly ever use their titles. He disapproves of my chosen career. After we received the bounty for defeating Darkhide, he made a bunch of passive-aggressive jabs because I chose to spend it on charity instead of retiring to a life of fripperies. I tried to be nice, inviting him to dinner and such, but if anything it made his dislike stronger." Elo gulps her drink. "He just doesn't like me." "It's stronger than simple 'dislike'," Merri says. "And this isn't some diplomatic tactic. You didn't hear his pitch – he was really rooting for Kóngurinn minn to take you as his wife. He wants you gone." Elo knocks back her drink. "Thank the gods for His Nibs' strong moral compass." "Amen to that," Merri raises her cup in salute and takes a sip.

There comes a polite knock on the door. "Yes?" snapps Merri, instantly shifting back into Agent-in-Charge Ironforge. Yoruk's voice filters through. He speaks Icelandic, something about his Majesty being done. Merri looks at Elo and opens the door. King Storri is surrounded by ubiquitous black suits, shoulders high and body so rigid, Elo thinks he's going to do himself a mischief. He keeps his head turned resolutely away from where she and Merri stand. Fear spikes in Elo. She has to save this. She cannot let these talks fall through because the Exchequer holds a grudge against her. "Your Majesty. I can only offer my sincerest apologies for the despicable behaviour shown–" "Enough." Though momentarily stunned, Elo rallies. "I understand you are upset, but perhaps we could get lunch and–" "No." The word falls like a slab of basalt, leaving a ringing venom in its wake. "I am done with this rotten city and its putrescent government. I shall return to my rooms and arrange for transport home." "But–" Without comment, King Storri stalks away. "Your Majesty, please–" Merri hurries to catch up, throwing Elo an apologetic glance.

Then she stands alone. "Fuck!"

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 33

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 30. 31. 32. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

It is Yoruk who finds her, as she is coming up to the car park. He is coming the other way, and his face goes from a look of thunderous determination to one of anxious concern when he spots her. "My Lady Toreguarde?" he asks, and his voice is tremulous and low, the sort of tone one might use on a frightened child. "Agent Forhoksson," she returns in the most normal tone she can, for all that she is standing there with no shoes and probably twigs in her hair. "Are you… well?" he asks in that same cautious tone, as he takes a tentative pace toward her. Elo tilts her head in consideration, then with a brief fortifying breath, says, "I am… well enough, thank you." A dubious look skates over his features, highlighted in the pinching of his lips and the curving of his brow. Elo realises Yoruk doesn't know if he should believe her. For all that he is Merri's paramour and Elo her best friend, they do not know each other well. They've only met a handful of times; and one of those, Elo was threatening his life on her friend's behalf. "Agent Forhoksson… Yoruk, I'm sorry for causing such trouble." Elo tries to put weight into her words because she is sorry. "I should have said something, I should have tried, before taking off. I didn't mean to frighten anyone. But…" Elo purses her lips and looks away into the darkly verdant distance. "Have you ever…" She doesn't know how to name it. Elo has never been in a war – not like Aunt Alexis has, with bombs falling all around – so she can't call it shell shock. "Do you ever get…" He's frowning now, head ducked and hands at the ready – a gesture of imminent action should she do anything untoward. Elo presses at the spot between her eyebrows and flicks out a hand. "I don't have the words." "Take your time, my Lady."

Elo swallows, lets her eyes close. Lies are difficult for her to spin on a good day, but she absolutely cannot tell him the truth. And anyway, it's not a lie, not really. She might not have shell shock in the same manner as her Aunt, but Elo has seen her fair share of battle, has lost colleagues to the elements and weapons of man alike; and knows, she has not come away unscarred. Another breath. Lorcian once told her that acting is about stepping into the truth of another's shoes. So she takes a step into the shoes of the past. "I didn't mean to run off with no explanation. But I had a sudden, unassailable fear… Our perimeter, you see, it… it wasn't…" She swallows. "It was drilled into me by my Aunt that complacency kills people. I get… nervous when things are too quiet or too easy. So I needed… I had to go…" In a last-ditch attempt to make him understand, she says, "We had civilians. Children." "Easy, Elowyn." He reaches out, as if to steady her shoulders, but refrains from actually touching her. Elo takes another fortifying breath. "Thank you. I'm okay." Yoruk lowers his hands, nodding. "I think I understand. We use the German word, Kriegszilterer, for when the effects of combat follow you home." Elo stares. "Have you…?" "Yes. When an engine misfires, I instinctively take counter-measures." He gives her a half-smile. "A side effect of guarding our Regent – people like to shoot at him, and he must be protected."

In the distance, the racing wind of traffic can be heard. Around them, the trees shift restlessly and a bird twitters a goodnight. "Father Goodwin gave us the use of the old groundskeeping hut while we searched for you," Yoruk says, his posture now relaxed. He gestures behind her, up the lawn towards the Church. "If you can manage, there is a house full of people who would benefit from seeing you. It's perfectly okay if you're not – I can radio in that I've found you and take you home." Now Elo looks at him properly – despite the low light – she can see the strain around his eyes, the rumples in his suit, the paleness of his complexion. "How bad is it?" she asks. Yoruk lets out a shuddering sigh. His gaze flicks away for the merest of moments. "They'll be better for seeing you." He locks his gaze back on hers, and she hears the unspoken: 'It's bad.' "I think I can manage." He gives her a lopsided smile, and they start walking to the groundskeeper's hut.

"I am surprised," Yoruk says as they walk along the moonlit lawn, "that you managed to evade the search parties for so long. I realise you're a highly trained special forces agent, but General Strucker says he called in the best Rangers he had available." Elo raises an eyebrow. "I've been gone a couple of hours, and the Triumvirate felt they needed to pull in SpecOps to find me? I know everything's on tenterhooks between our nations, but that's a little overkill, don't you think?" Yoruk's steps falter and Elo senses his change in stance – the tension is back in his shoulders, the cautious, watchful air about him returns. And oh, isn't she glad it was he who found her, and not, say, Merri. "Elowyn," he says carefully, "it's been a day. Merri said you ran into the woods and vanished. She followed your trail, found your boots, but you were just gone. No trace at all." "I hope she's kept my boots safe," Elo says, unthinking. "They're a nice stout pair, I'd hate to have lost them." Yoruk stares and gives an exasperated, consternated huff. "Yes," he says flatly, "Meredith has your boots." He rubs at his chest. "How did you evade the search parties? It wasn't just Strucker's Rangers combing the park, but Kóngurinn minn called in a unit of our Special Forces to help." "Oh. I, uh, climbed a tree," Elo says. Yoruk goes quiet beside her, and she can feel his consternation building. "I climbed it quite far," she offers, as he goes still. "You climbed a tree. Quite far." "To the top, in fact. And I swear to you, I thought I was only gone a few hours." He swears in Icelandic – and Elo knows that curse; it's the one Merri used when one of their team had done something particularly reckless. "Is that everyone in the Groundskeeper's hut – Strucker and some SpecOps units?" Elo asks to change the subject as they start walking again. Yoruk huffs. "Would that were the case. Kóngurinn minn is a stubborn beast and declined to leave the park until you were found. Of course, this means that Meredith, I, and the rest of his security had to stay. Your General used his executive powers to coordinate the search himself instead of delegating, so is accompanied by a small staff. "Your Magister is a far more sensible man. He assisted your Mother in returning her brood home and has stayed away to smooth things over with your council. I understand there is some nervousness about what your sudden departure could have meant." He looks away, but Elo senses words unsaid. "What is it?" Yoruk purses his lips. "Someone leaked that you were sat next to Kóngurinn minn, just the two of you, at the edge of the party, before you fled." He looks back, face blank. "I have to ask–" "His behaviour has been above reproach at all times." The words are hard, caustic. Tension leaves Yourk's face. "Thank you." "Fucking optics," Elo says, pressing a hand against her head. "How did this happen? How the hell did I become the fulcrum of this deal?" "Do you want the supportive answer or the honest answer?" Elo shakes her head. "This is all the Exchequer's doing. I just don't understand why." She rubs her forehead again. "I hate politics." Yoruk reaches out slowly to pat her arm, and they resume walking.

The Groundskeeper's hut, a basic brick building more shed than home, comes into view. "Ah, I forgot to mention," Yoruk says. "Your Mother returned this evening in the company of Officer Breakwood and one of her children for an update." "She brought one of the kids?" "Apparently, the little girl with mousy hair–" "Dimple?" "–Insisted on coming along." Elo finds her steps slow. "Let me get this right: That tiny hut up there is housing a King, a General, two dozen various armed SpecOps and associated admin, a copper, a retired architect, and a little girl; none of whom will have slept well, all of whom are tense because of falsely engineered politics, and who probably want to wring my neck?" "Yes, I believe that covers it." Elo stops outright now. "Cuthbert brace me, I'm going to get mobbed." Yoruk halts and says gently, "Not if you don't want to be. I know what it's like to be deluged by concerned family who may not understand the delicate state you're in. I must report to Kóngurinn minn and your General, but I will do so discreetly. Wait out here." Elo realises she has been holding her breath, eases it out in a low hiss. She will have to explain herself to everyone eventually, but to do so one at a time instead of all at once – that would be a gift. "Thank you, Yoruk." The tension lightens around his eyes as he inclines his head – as much of a smile as he can manage in the circumstances, Elo supposes. "You're welcome." He slips into the hut, leaving Elo to loiter outside. Light from a window above pools around her like a spotlight, and she reflects again she's glad it was Yoruk who found her – Farren would have worked too – but not her Mother or Merri. She loves them both dearly, of course, but Yoruk and Farren understand, and she is so, so grateful that Yoruk has not made a fuss.

«So. They made you a full moss-licker then,» says a quiet voice from a small bush off to her left. He sounds faintly jealous, for all his snarky words – like he was hoping that maybe it would turn out she wasn't a moss-ears after all, but a green-skin like him. "No, Snotgrut," Elo says. "I don't know what they made me, but I am just me. I am not a moss-ears or a green-skin. I am both and neither." He harrumphs at that pronouncement. "Listen," Elo says, suddenly urgent; she has recalled the promise made. "I said I'd meet you and them on the tow-path at Silver Hooks at dawn tomorrow, so they could explain their side of things. But I have a feeling I won't be be able to get away. Can you tell them the time's changed – I'll meet you all at dusk instead." «Youse want me to willingly find out the moss-ears?» "Yes. I know you can do it." «Youse want me to be your… messenger boy?» he spits the words. «To a bunch of no-good, namby-pamby, bloody–» "Please, Snotgrut," she says quietly. There is a waiting silence then, and she can picture him shuffling, indignant, and trying to figure out if she's worth it. "What do you need to be convinced, Snotgrut? More clothes, more coffee? I can get you both." «Bah. Already bought me, dincha?» He makes a disgruntled noise. «We'll see you tomorrow then.» Then there is a subtle silence that tells her the Dvasia has gone. Elo leans back against the wall, a wave of weariness overcoming her.

The sound of the door opening alters her to another's presence. She lets her head loll in that direction, to see Strucker leaning a shoulder against the wall. He keeps his distance, hands tucked into his pockets. "You good?" he asks. "Yeah," she says with a sigh. "Mostly." Strucker nods, fixes his gaze on his shoes. "Storri's lad said it was an effect of battle trauma. I know I'm not the best for it, but if you want to talk any time…" "I know. Thank you." "Though I want a promise in return." "Oh?" "Quit trashing your bike. Spark plugs are cheap; bodywork isn't." Elo startles, pulling away from the wall. "You didn't have to–" "Like hell, I didn't." He sounds cross, but it's not just anger Elo hears there – there is a rough edge of affection too, and she is surprised by it. "I lost one of my little girls this week; I told you before, I don't intend to lose another, especially not through faulty machinery. If that means I have to fix your fool-ass back up with a ride, then so be it." He huffs. "That Atillia of yours is a rare beast. You need to take better care of her." Beneath his words, she hears the hidden meaning. But the implication he considers her family is unexpected. Perhaps it is by association with her aunts, or just that they have grown closer through tragedy. "General– Sir, thank you. I am deeply indebted–" "No. You aren't. My wife had a saying: 'Family is who you make of it'." He pauses. "Actually, she had a few sayings on that account, but another favourite was 'family looks after family'. You may not be my kin, but you're sure as hell my kith, so I shall pay for the bodywork of your dragon to be fixed, under the promise you don't wreck her again." He swings away from the wall, eyebrows raised. "I promise, I'll take better care. Thank you, Johan." She gets a curt nod in response and then he leaves.

Strucker is replaced with King Storri, who tilts his head, and says in a gentle tone, "How are you, sá litli?" "Better than I was, Your Majesty," she says. "I am glad to hear that. I was concerned I'd done something, but Agent Forhoksson said it was the effect of battle trauma." He leaves the comment hanging; if she wants to expand, she can. Elo thinks she owes him that. "Yes, Your Majesty. A type of… paranoia, that requires me to ensure my position is secure. It's worse when I'm with civilians. I left to climb a tree – the better to survey the landscape. I'm told I managed to stay up there for a whole day. I apologise for any inconvenience or worry caused." She doesn't intend it, but it comes out a touch acerbic. "I did not mean to pry," King Storri says, gentle but not condescending. "For all I may not have seen such things as you, I understand. My father was prone to bouts as well, though his were more… violent than yours." Elo makes a noise of sympathy, hearing what has gone unspoken. Her fingers seek out his as he leans against the wall next to her, giving a quick squeeze. The King lets out a surprised murmur of his own, squeezing back before allowing their hands to drop back. He takes a breath, continuing, "Yes, I was concerned for you – as I said, I feared I'd offended you or that you had taken ill… But you are now here before me, as whole and hale as I could wish, so any inconvenience or worry you may have caused me is rendered moot, I feel." King Storri pulls away from the wall, and with a warm smile, clasps her shoulder. "I am very glad you are well," he says and returns inside.

Farren's visit is short and sweet. He has a cigarette hanging from his lips as he looks her up and down, and he reeks of cheap tobacco. "Farren, I owe you–" He holds up a hand and removes the cigarette long enough to say, "Damn right you owe me. I need a new pouch of baccy after all this." "Brek–" "No. We'll talk about this later." "Why not just have it out now?" She was going to ask his forgiveness, but his attitude has struck a nerve. "Because you're exhausted." "I'm–" "It's written all over your face. And," he takes a puff, "I don't wanna say something I'll regret." Elo's mouth works. In the end, she can only say, "Alright."

Finally, Elo's Mother comes out, Dimple tagging along. Elo graces the girl with a faint smile before Oakrose is hugging her eldest daughter. Elo feels the older woman's shoulders shaking silently, knows she is trying not to cry – with relief or further concern, Elo doesn't know. But she holds her Mother regardless and strokes her back, offering assurances: Elo is just fine now, and she's very sorry for making people worry but it's all okay. A night bird calls, as they stand there. From inside the hut comes the thud of something being dropped. With one last quick squeeze, Oakrose releases Elo, offering a watery smile, and returns inside.

Dimple lingers, and Elo crouches to be level with the little girl. "Why did you come back with Mom?" Elo asks. Dimple turns her wide brown eyes and serious expression on Elo. "Because one of us had to look after her for you, while you weren't okay." "You drew the short straw, huh?" "No. I volunteered." Elo is taken aback. "Why?" "Oakrose talks about you a lot," Dimple says in her quiet, serious voice, her gaze locked unerringly with Elo. "She keeps a folder filled with newspaper cuttings about you." "I didn't know…" "Oakrose says that you risk yourself all the time so we can be happy and safe. "I know the other children aren't like me. Their Mamas didn't try to hurt them. Their Mamas couldn't look after them or just didn't want them. Which is sad, and I'm sorry that happened to them. But for this, Oakrose didn't need them. So I volunteered and the other children were happy to let me, because they know she needs someone like us, not like them." "I–" Dimple blinks at her, and Elo finds she has no idea what to say to this child whose life has been filled with strife and pain and yet stands, quietly strong, above it. What would she want someone to say to her, if their roles were reversed? So Elo says, "Thank you. You did a good job. I'm proud of you." Dimple blinks rapidly, rocking her weight onto her back foot. "You– You are proud of me?" Dimple's eyes widen. "Yes," Elo confirms, and then she feels a wildness take her. "Dimple, I need to let you in on a secret. Do you think you can help me some more?" The girl's eyes narrow shrewdly. "Depends." Elo takes a breath. "I'm working a case right now, one that's very personal to me. And because it's personal, I think things are going to get worse for me, before they get better. And it's going to cause a lot of upset, and Mom's going to worry. So if you can, I need you to help her, okay? I need you to be there for her, because I won't be able to. Do you think you can do that?" Dimple's gaze fixes on the darkness behind Elo. She blinks carefully, as the sounds of industry filter from the hut. "If it's too much, just say no," Elo says, fidgeting with her hands. Something rustles a bush. "I can do this for you," Dimple says, switching her gaze back to Elo. Then, with the tiniest of tremors in her voice, asks, "Are you coming back?" Elo swallows. "I don't know," she says – there is no point in lying to the child, after all. She hasn't let herself think about that possibility yet, but it's almost inevitable that she will not. This creature she is to fight is older, stronger, and more knowledgeable than she. It is not a conventional person she can deal with by simply using a gun or a knife. She's really hoping the Eshen oldster has some trick up their sleeve. But Dimple is still staring at her, so Elo says, "Expect the worst, but hope for the best." Dimple nods once, her long hair swinging in a curtain around her face. "Are you going now?" "No, not yet. I have things to take care of first." Because she needs information. She needs to know what Monday and Yates found at the docks, she needs to know how to fight the shadowling. She needs to get her will in order – because from what the Eshen said, this fight can only end with someone's death. Dimple gives her a slow, serious nod, and Elo feels herself relax. Talking to the girl has calmed her, and makes her think she can deal with the crowd within. Elo stands and reflexively holds out a hand. "Shall we go back inside?" Dimple looks at Elo's hand, then her, and back to her hand. "You're supposed to take it, dashur." "I knew that," Dimple mutters, petulantly. Cautiously the girl slips her small warm hand into Elo's larger cool one, and Elo curls her fingers carefully around it. Elo leads them around the corner of the hut, straight into a flame-haired shield maiden.

Elo's eyes fly wide with alarm, and she drops Dimple's hand. "Merri!" Her old friend is standing there, arms crossed and silently scowling. "How much did you hear?" "I heard enough," Meredith says, her tone bitter. "And?" Elo asks, her heartbeat speeding up. "And I know it's pointless to argue with you. You'll do what you will," Merri tells her, grim in both expression and tone, some combination of disappointment and dissatisfaction comes from her in waves. "I won't tell on you, and I won't try and stop you. Whatever you're into, I'd only like to help if I can, but," Merri purses her lips and pulls in a breath, "I suspect you won't even allow that, will you?" Merri's eyebrow twitches, her lips never moving from their grim line. Elo feels the movement shoot through her heart with the same damning velocity as a bullet. She swallows, reflecting that they know each other far too well. "Don't think this sits well with me, mind," Merri says. Elo barks out a laugh, startling them all. "I should hope not. I would think the world broken beyond repair if there was even a chance you would be happy with my poor life choices." Elo gives a wry smile. "Thank you for the offer, but this is a Toreguard affair – you can't be involved." Elo offers a hand. "Your silence is enough." No further words pass between them, but they don't need it. Merri eyes the proffered hand with annoyed resignation before clasping Elo's forearm as her sister-in-arms. Then Merri pulls Elo in closer, putting a hand on her shoulder to emphasise the message being sent with that tight-lipped glare, the thunderous frown and the eyes sparkling with something between anger, worry and resentment. Elo nearly laughs again. Because yes, her shield-maiden is worried about her, but that's not what the face is for. Merri is pissed off that Elo is going to go and have a bloody good fight without her; as if Elo's going to the coolest, most hyped party in town without her best friend, because Merri is not permitted to go. Elo raises her chin, offers her friend a tight smile to go with her serious eyes, and knows that Merri will see that while Elo is not sorry to be running off to this fight, she intends to come back. Elo knows Meredith will never be the swooning maiden to her shining knight. But it's still important for Merri to know that Elo will be better than the ravening darkness, and she will win, and she will come back to be with her friend again. By the slow blink, and sigh Merri releases, Elo knows the message has been received. Merri's expression softens, giving Elo an allowing smile and inclines her head.

Merri leads the way back into the hall, Dimple's hand slipping into Elo's as they follow. In between tool racks and gardening supplies, the inside of the hut is littered with signs of military occupation – sleeping bags fill the long-empty bedroom, the kitchen is home to a hot water urn and empty pizza boxes, the bench in the workshop is covered with maps, radios, and a miscellany of other equipment. Under the too-bright striplights, a mob of people in fatigues talk and gesture, all falling silent as they catch sight of their quarry waltzing in without a by-your-leave. "Pack it up, boys," Merri says. "Case solved, time to go." There is immediate babble. Some of it is aimed at Elo, some at Merri and Strucker. Orders are barked, activity flurries. Some of the Toreguard Rangers and Storri's Ubiquitous Black Suits approach to shake her hand, clap her on the shoulder, and share a few words. The volume is intense, Elo doesn't hear them, doesn't hear herself, lets her mouth take the lead. She's probably repeating herself, but no one seems bothered.

As suspected, Elo is not allowed out of eyesight. Farren and Oakrose stick to her like glue all through the general hubbub and walk to the cars, then she is being hugged again by her tearful Mother before Oakrose and Dimple are escorted home by one of Stucker's Rangers. Storri, after some brief words, is whisked away by an aggrieved Merri, and Farren allows Stucker to pull rank on him; Elo is to stay with the General overnight.

––––

After a diversion to Elo's place to pick up some necessities, they arrive at the Strucker household.

Elo is struck – as she usually is – by just how damn big it is. Unnecessarily so, perhaps. But once upon a time, it held three people and the promise of a fair few more, and all those required to attend those people. Once upon a time, it might have been a good size for the lives that should have lived here. But that was once upon a time. Now, as they come into the magazine-perfect foyer, it just feels cavernous and empty. Cold light from an over-counter spot spills from the kitchen. Strucker throws his keys into a bowl on the telephone table and runs a hand over his face, as though weary beyond belief. Elo stands awkwardly by the door. He called her kith, sure, but it's been a long time since she slept here; a guest, and yet not a guest. "The housekeeper's left a plate in the ice box we can reheat," Strucker says, holding a note in his hand. "If you're hungry, that is. Or you can retire, if you like. I don't have a bed made up, but it'll be short work–" "I'm fine with just a hot drink and sleep," Elo says, feeling as weary as he looks. "Don't worry about making a bed up, I'm fine with just a blanket." "You may be, but I am not. Allow me to fuss, just a little?" Strucker asks, his expression going from a frown to something faintly pleading. "Alright. I shall make the cocoa while you make the bed, deal?" "Deal," Johan smiles at her, a soft thing that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

So off they go, in that huge, too-quiet house – him upstairs and her to the kitchen. And she makes their cocoa sweet and milky, because it seems like the thing to do after such a day. Days. Whatever. Then she takes the drinks through to the den, because it was always cosier than the sitting room, and fishes out a record from his collection by a band she has been told is good, and puts it on, letting the coffee-sweet sounds of trumpet and piano and the soft voice of the singer fill the air. As Strucker comes in, she sees his face pinch a little. "That's a good song," he says, but his voice is pained. "I can turn it off, if you prefer," Elo says, and then cringes because she has just recalled who it was that told her this band was good. "I'll turn it off," she amends, moving to do just that. "No. Let it play. Just for a bit," he says and sits down, reaching for his cocoa. She joins him and they sit in silence. It is comfortable and companionable – and if it is a bit mournful, and a few tears leak out here and there, and the tissue box has to be fetched… Well, there's only them there and no one else has to know.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 30

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

Elo is dropped off at City Hall with boxes of sundries from her Mother's list and a promise to help Irvine decipher the victim's notes tomorrow. She drags herself from the car, body aching after the rest it's had in the ride over. She could happily go take a 5-hour nap in Johan's on-call room. But Duty, that impatient mistress, awaits, as it always does.

"Where have you been?" King Storri snaps at her as she enters the Magister's office. A glance at the clock shows her it is precisely 1300 hours, and she is technically not late. But he's in a mood, so she decides not to point this out. "I was getting our lunch," Elo says, holding up one of the smaller carrier bags. "I thought we were supposed to be going out to eat?" "Oh, we are," she says, smiling. "It's a nice day, and you want to see the sights that Toreguard has to offer, yes?" Suspicion is etched into his frown as the King considers her. "Yes," he says with caution. "Excellent. Then we're going to have a picnic in the Gardens of Galana. Unless Your Majesty has qualms about too many flowers or an aversion to sitting on the ground?" His grouchy suspicion morphs into confusion. "No." "Excellent," she chirps. Elo shifts her attention to the Acting Magister, sitting behind his desk, and asks with conjured innocence, "Thazar, would you and Johan like to join us?" The Magister looks up and blinks owlishly. "Hm? Oh, yes, of course. It'll be a delight, I'm sure." Elo considers how frazzled he sounds and thinks he's only peripherally aware she's entered his office, let alone asked them to lunch. She wonders if this has anything to do with King Storri's short temper, and worries about the negotiations. She paves over that thought and says brightly, "Perfect. Merri-love, will you have His Majesty's limo brought around to the front and shepherd everyone down? I left the groceries in the care of the front desk. I'll be along shortly, I'm just going to fetch Johan." "Not Brauma." King Storri interrupts. There's an odd note to his tone, halfway between command and query. And, oh, how can she put this delicately… "The Exchequer is not fond of… unofficial deviations, such as this. If you wish, I can ask–?" "Unnecessary," the King responds quickly. "I trust your judgement on this matter." Elo accepts this with a nod. "Merri, the car?" Meredith, bless her, is looking at Elo like she's sprouted wings. "Mm, aye, I can do that. After you tell me the name of Lorcian's pet rat." Elo is taken aback. "Huh–?" "I'm just checking you've not had a mindstorm." Ah. "It was called StringWhiskers, but we all called it Squeaks," Elo says with a wide smile. Meredith gives her a long look, heaves a sigh, and says, "On you go then." Elo gives an affable nod to the King and wanders out to fetch the Commander-in-Chief.

–––

"The Gardens of Galana," Elo narrates to His Majesty during the drive, "are a 340-acre park in the southwest corner of the city linked to the Church of the Green Goddess and associated with Her worship. "Prior to the Greydown Incident, the Church and its lands only occupied about 30 acres, but during the rebuilding, it was decided to dramatically increase the acreage for the benefit of the whole city, regardless of religious affiliation." The limo sweeps into the gravelled car park, and they climb out, the supplies being distributed for all – except Elo – to carry. As she leads the merry band, Elo continues, "Now the Gardens see approximately 5 million visitors annually, including pilgrims and visitors from outside Toreguard. To ensure the Gardens are free for all to enter, the Council pays a share of the maintenance costs. The remainder is taken up by the Church via classes, produce, plant sales and," Elo pauses, raises an eyebrow at the King, "donations from generous patrons." He grins. "After the Greydown Incident, the Gardens were one of the first public buildings to be completed. It has been designed to have full year-round coverage, which includes many themed areas, such as the Oriental arbour, scented plants for the blind, and a functioning orchard." "As it's spring, I thought we might take lunch in the wildflower meadow."

Elo steps to the side to allow him to take in the view and for the others to spread out beside them. From here, one can only just see the wisteria spire of the Church over the blooming heads of the fruit orchard. To one side, marching along in a line, fruit bushes mark the border between the orchard and the meadow. A swoop of deciduous, broad-leaf trees marks the other edge of the meadow, creating a semi-oval of ankle-high grasses already scattered with delicate blues, lacy whites, hardy oranges, and fluttering purples. Behind them, the small wood has been allowed to run wild. Its only accedence to civilization is a meandering path which eventually brings one out to the memorial rockery and from there to the Church and lawns. Elo finds herself taking a deep breath of the light, floral air and turns to grin at King Storri. She finds him with his lips pursed, weight shifted to his backfoot. "Your Majesty?" "There is… rather a lot… of Green."

Before Elo can say anything to assuage the fear in his voice, there is a squeal of childish laughter. His head snaps around, and they see several small children racing towards them from a set of picnic benches. "Auntie 'Lo! Catch me!" a little boy calls out, making a beeline for her. Elo's eyes widen, a vision of her near immediate future filled with blood, a crying child and a trip to hospital. The boy launches himself. Before she can move, CPPO Hembo has plucked the child out of the air. He stares at Hembo with wide eyes, and Elo thinks he might start bawling. "My apologies, little master," Hembo says to the child hanging by his armpits in Hembo's hands. "M'Lady Elowyn is not permitted to lift anything." King Storri steps forward, his burgeoning panic attack forgotten. "I, however, will gladly give you a piggyback ride back to the bench in her stead." The child blinks his gaze between the three of them. "It's alright, Ioan. These are my friends, Storri and Jakob." The child considers that for a moment. "Okay," he says, and there ensues a scramble as the child is positioned on King Storri's shoulders.

Johan and Thazar have already made their way to the picnic tables and are helping a petite woman fill out the already majestic spread with what Elo has brought. Ioan slithers off Storri's shoulders to run off and play. Elo clears her throat, and the woman turns around. "Your Majesty, King Storri Norgandsson, Regent of Iceland, it is my honour to introduce you to Oakrose of Toreguarde, Landscape Architect for the Gardens of Galana, and my Mother." Oakrose – for all that she is wearing skirt and pinafore – gives an elegant bow. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty." King Storri inclines his head, lifting Oakrose's hand to his lips. "Truly, the honour is mine," he says as Oakrose's cheeks turn dusky. "I must compliment you on the fair delight you have brought to this world." His smile turns into a mischievous grin. "This garden is beautiful too." Oakrose lets out a peal of laughter and takes the King's hand. "Come, Your Majesty. Let me introduce you to my other children." "Please, call me Storri," he says. Elo gives a soft huff of laughter as they walk away and turns to oversee the laying out of food.

Eventually, the children are corralled, food eaten, and lunch turns into a lazy afternoon of games. The children have no care for titles and proprietary, as was Elo's intention, and they'll play with whom they please, how they please. King Storri finds his hair braided with all manner of wildflowers, Johan is an excellent chase partner, and Thazar seems to be teaching structural engineering with sticks and wooden blocks. At some point, Oakrose produces a ball and bat. And what a sight it is – these leaders of nations, tearing around an impromptu rounders pitch, digging in the foliage for a lost ball, getting grass stains on their suits. It becomes a wonderful afternoon of bonding, amiable chatter and raucous laughter, lifting their spirits into the cyan dome of the sky, warm as the spring sunshine. And Elo is so glad it's taken the edge off whatever issue caused the frayed edges and scowls she walked into. She is given one name, in quick, brushed-aside tones: Brauma. And really, sadly, it makes perfect sense. But no one else is dwelling on whatever strife he caused, so neither shall she.

King Storri flops down next to her after a particularly intense game of chase, all grins and chortles. Elo hands him her drink, sitting as she is in the shade of the wood and away from the main shenanigans. Together, they watch her Mother wrangling a child, and Elo notes the soft smile on his face. "Anyone would think you have a type," she says with a grin. "Oh, ho? How's that then?" he asks, gaze never wavering from her Mother. "Short, feisty brunettes. Fortunately, Aunt Selene only matches one of those traits," she says. "Should that I choose to hop on a boat to Europe, it could only be to gaze upon the Magister Selene and see if the rumours of her surety and grace are true." Elo snorts at that image. "No, but really," she says, adding a harder undercurrent to her light words, "Aunty Sel is out of bounds. She doesn't take fondly to suitors." The King turns with an inquisitive raised eyebrow. "Those unlucky few often find themselves taking a quick and unexpected bath in the nearest canal," Elo says. "And on one unfortunate occasion, it resulted in a semi-formal complaint when she nearly exploded The Plot Hook." Storri's eyebrows reach ever further heights. "Some idiot kept bothering her long after she'd told him where to go. So she handed him a martini glass layered with two chemical compounds and told him if he so much as twitched, then he'd blow himself up. Orock was rightfully fuming – something about his insurance premiums becoming astronomical. Aunt Sel nullified the compounds in the end." Elo cocks a grin. "I think quite a lot of people gained a new respect for their Magister after the bomb squad confirmed trace explosives had been found in the glass." "Not a woman to be trifled with." "None of them are," Elo says with no small amount of pride. Storri laughs. "I see where you get it from."

Storri fetches them another drink, and they fall into a comfortable silence. Elo lets her gaze wander as the fresh air washes over her, filled with birdsong, good-natured chatter, and the scent of sweet green things. She catches Johan slipping the children cake while Oakrose is looking the other way, grinning at the memories it stirs. Amidst the flowers, Merri is bouncing one of the youngest on her knee, singing a rhyme with Yoruk, and Elo thinks they look good with a babe between them. Elo breaths, feeling the rough bark at her back, the lush grass under her hands, the warm presence of the King at her side. She smiles, feeling the warmth of contentment and the soft joy of all being right with the world– –when suddenly it isn't. There's no vertiginous warning this time. The cold slices into her chest, warmth leaving her limbs as swiftly as if she has been sluiced with a bucket of cold water. She sits bolt upright, a hand against her chest, gasping with the suddenness. "Elowyn?" Storri is peering at her, a frown on his face. "My Lady, are you well?" "Fine," she gasps. Everything hurts as she claws at the tree, struggling to her feet. All her instincts say to flee – to lead whatever imminent danger this is away from her family. "You most definitely are not fine," King Storri says, rising with her. "Just need a moment," Elo says, her voice croaky with breathlessness as she backs into the foliage. "Lady Toreguarde, wait," he says, even as he's turning away to yell, "Gruksdottir! Attend me!" Elo stumbles away, the shade of the underbrush menacing, pressing her to run – senseless – as behind her, King Storri calls after.

[druidx]

OCs - Who the hell is: Elowyn of Toreguarde?

(A short Original Character primer)

Universe

Fighting Fantasy World of Titan

What does she look like:

Elo is a woodling (think WotC D&D halflings, but with pointier ears and an affinity for trees). She’s 3′2″, athletic, green eyes, short brown hair and dark skin.

What's she like?

Elo is diligent, protective, serious and frequently exasperated. Wary of new people, but loyal once she trusts. Plumbs the furthest depths of platonic love for those she really cares about. Gay.

Who are the main important people in her life?

Alexis Dalliance - Her mentor

Farren Breakwood - Duty Watch Partner and one of her best friends

Meredith Gruksdottir, of Clan Bloodvein née Ironforge - Another best friend and one-time crush

Aurianna Aurum Filiae - Her soul-bound Dragon, and Paladin mount

Can you give us a highlight reel of her life?

7 y/o - Her village was burned and pillaged by orcs. Wandered the Forest of Night until found by Oakrose. Oakrose takes her and other survivors to Stonebridge where she meets Alexis Dalliance, and her little found family is taken back to Torguard.

8 y/o - Watches Torguard get eaten by the Hell Mouth. Lives in Coven while it's sealed.

9-16 y/o - Aids in rebuilding Torguard, training with Alexis.

16 y/o - Changes her name from Featherdown to Elowyn. Becomes a Watchman.

17 y/o - Finally matched with Farren Breakwood after being assigned several different Watch partners.

18 y/o - Possessed by an evil wizard, talks down a troubled illusionist; gets a reputation. Gay awakening.

19 - 21 y/o - is co-opted into a special unit beholden to a vampiric red dragon in Torguard's government. Flees the city after a Series of Unfortunate Events. Ends up in Fangthane. Is eaten alive by a Dire Weasel, then brought back as the avatar of Kurtulmak. Travels to a different continent and becomes a Paladin. Is promoted to Sargent. Helps Meredith close the residual hell mouth and resurrect a god using magic clay. Falls in love with Meredith (not reciprocated). Tries to avoid being worshipped as a new Messiah. Is unable to stop the Dwarven Apartheid. Foils a plot to resurrect a half demon. Named Knight Protector of Torguard. Helps Meredith and husband stop Meredith’s mother-in-law from destroying the world (pt1), and is granted a god's direct blessing. Takes an Oath of Poverty. Helps Meredith and husband stop Meredith’s mother-in-law from destroying the world (pt2). Promoted to Lieutenant and given own Watch unit to command.

23 y/o - Promoted to Captain. Special Recondite Unit (SRU) formally established.

50-60 y/o - Maybe takes a sabbatical

85 y/o - Formally retires, moves to a mountain or forest somewhere with Aurianna.

142 - dies.

What period of her life are you mostly writing about?

I jump between two periods:

9-19 y/o - Details about growing up, dealing with Alexis, and learning to be a Watchman

23-60 y/o - Details about running the SRU, and shenanigans she and Meredith get up to in Fangthane.

Who is she in real-world development terms?

Elo was my PC during the Destiny’s New Servant’s campaign, set in the Fighting Fantasy Titan universe. I started writing more into her background while the campaign was running, and fleshed out her activities post-game afterwards.

[aquadestinyswriting]

^^ This was my exact irl reaction upon reading the above btw.

This is such a tough question. I'm leaning towards after DNS, likely after some sort of fight with those Filthy Rotten Cultists(tm) while Elo acts as Merri's reluctant bodyguard. Mostly due to the "drama" that would ensue (drama is in quotation marks because... well... anyone who knows the two of them well enough will just be pissing themselves laughing about it extremely amused by how flustered the two of them are about it).

I guess it depends on what kind of vibe you want to create. Canon-divergent spinoff if you want super cute and fluffy and during DNS for the awkward drama (especially if it's before Merri leaves for Fangthane but after she declares that she's taken).

In the meantime, I'm gonna continue happy flailing and dancing about my living room.

having vague ideas for a fic where Elo gets to kiss Merri, but I can't decide if I want it set after DNS, or as a canon-divergence AU during the campaign.

The basic gist is Elo's knocked down by some enemy, Merri finishes the BG off and hurries to Elo's side to check on her - leaning over, touching her face, calling her name. Elo wakes up and takes leave of her senses at this angel above her, loops her hand around Merri's neck, leans up and kisses her.

Merri jerks back in surprise. Elo realises what she's just done and is horrified (because either Merri is betrothed at this point or actually married and Elo knows this) ...and there the idea peters out; I can't decide how I want to play the fallout.