#swiftly followed by SP landing in her room and her only thought being 'I have to bludgeon him with a candelabra'

[arealtrashact]

Out of the frying pan

[just-my-fandom]

Press (Spencer Reid x Wife! Reader)

Request; Reader talks to William Reid about the death of Riley Jenkins twenty years ago. William finds out the reader is his daughter in law and that he has a granddaughter and an upcoming grandchild that no one told him about

I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you all enjoy reading :)

“Hello Mr. Reid,” You open the door to the small gray room, dropping a file onto the table in the middle of the room and sinking down in one of the two chairs, “I’m agent (Maiden/Last/Name) with the BAU, and I have some questions for you,”

“I feel like this is completely unfair,” William crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat, “Showing I did nothing,”

“I’ll make you a deal, William,” You brush hair from your face, opening the file to show Williams information, “You can ask me any five questions you want, with a full response by me, but, I get to ask you five questions back with truthful answers,”

Williams eyes scan your face when you look up at him, huffing a breath and rolling his shoulders, “Fine,” He sits up, propping it arms on the table in front of him, “You married?”

You lick your lips, eyes drifting to the window feet away, “Yes, I am. Almost a year,”

“Any children?” William watches you glance down at the file and cross your arms over top of each other, eyes moving to stare at the bump on your stomach,

“Yes, a daughter, and an unborn child. Her name is (Daughter/Name). (D/N) Reid,”

“Reid?” Williams back straightens, eyeing you with narrowed lids, “Are you married to my son?”

“Yes sir, I am,” You sigh, “You have two more questions,”

“All this time I had a daughter in law and a grandchild. Why didn’t Spencer tell me?” William frowns, your lips pressing together as you glance at the two way mirror behind you,

“Well you haven’t been in Spencer’s life for almost twenty years. Spencer thought you didn’t care,” You face your father in law, drumming your fingers on your arms, “Would you like to make this last question count?”

“When can I meet my granddaughter?” William leans forward, Spencer ducking his head down and looking through the mirror. Even with the genuine look upon his face, Spencer felt as if William didn’t actually care.

“You’ll have to ask your son that question,” You click your tongue, and flick your eyes between his, “Mr. Reid, why did you leave twenty years ago?”

“It was my choice,” William shrugs once, and you frown, sighing deeply through your nose,

“Was it because of Diana?” You ask softly, noting Williams shoulders locking,

“No. Diana has nothing to do about it. We just didn’t know how to talk to one another,”

You nod, sitting back and running a hand down your six month bumped stomach, “What about Spencer? Could he have been the reason?”

“No. God, no,” William shakes his head briefly, “If anything he’s what almost kept us together,”

“Thank you for your time Mr. Reid,” You stand up, lifting the file and straightening the papers, “Agent Rossi will speak with you momentarily,”

“You still have two more questions,” William raises an eyebrow, and you copy his expression,

“I got what I need,” You step back, turning and exiting the small room to the other side of the mirror, “Rossi,”

“What do you mean you got everything you need?” Rossi steps towards you, eyeing you handing him the file and cupping your hands at your stomach,

“I need to talk to your mom, Spence,” You look at your husband, “If that’s okay with you both,”

“Of course,” Spencer exhales, “She loves your company,”

You smile, allowing Spencer to take your hand and pull you from the large office,

“What is that girl up to?” Rossi looks over to Hotch, whose eyes follow you out of the room swiftly,

“I don’t know. But she might be the answer to the case,”

. . .

The home is quiet. Most elders are in the main room playing chess or chatting among themselves, but Diana Reid sat in her room, staring at the low sounded television,

Spencer knocks gently on the cracked door, pushing it open all the way so Diana looked up, spotting Spencer with you next to him,

“Spencer,” Diana smiles brightly at her son, Spencer’s grip at your fingers tightening as he smiles back, sliding his hand to your lower back,

“Hi mom. Y/N came here to talk to you if that’s okay,”

“Oh of course,” Diana reaches out her hand, allowing you to take it and sit next to her at the end of her bed, “How is my grand baby number two doing?”

You laugh softly, watching her release your hand to place hers at your stomach, humming at a rough kick to your child’s grandmothers hand,

“He’s doing great,” You reply, grin widening when Diana looks up sharply, gasping,

“It’s a boy?” You nod quickly, Diana exhaling an excited laugh as she grabs Spencer’s hand and squeezes, “Oh my goodness, we got another Spencer on the way,”

Spencer smiles warmly at his mother’s excitement, your smile slowly fading as you put your hand over Diana’s, drawing her attention to you, “Diana, can I ask you about a man named Gary Michaels?”

“Gary Michaels?” Diana meets your eyes, looking away in a thinking motion, “Most of my memory is fuzzy,”

“Please, Diana,” You lift her hand to cup it between yours, “It is really important, it’s regarding William,”

“William? Oh God, what did he do now?” Diana shakes her head, and you swiftly glance at Spencer,

“Nothing, as long as we know about Gary. Can you try to think back? What was he like?” You shift, rubbing your stomach at a cramp, “Was he good with kids?”

“Oh, no,” Diana shakes her head, and you lower her hand and blink,

“What did he do, Diana? Who’s clothes were William burning twenty years ago?”

“This is what this is about?” Diana pulls her hand away, eyes narrowing, “I don’t know what’s going on with William but that was over twenty years ago. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast,”

You exhale through your nose, Spencer taking your arm to help you stand,

“I thought you came to just visit your mother in law,” Diana stands up, crossing her arms, “But I’m just being used for a case,”

“No, Diana,” You protest, stopping when she throws a hand up,

“Please leave,” Diana steps back, disappearing into her bathroom. You swallow, looking up at Spencer and putting a hand to your stomach, “Did I make her upset? I-,”

“Hey,” Spencer cups the side of your head, directing your eyes to his, “You didn’t upset her, I promise,”

You frown, Spencer murmuring quick words against your lips before leading you to the door, shouting a quick goodbye to his mother before shutting the door gently

. . .

“You alright? You seem tense,”

You look away from where you bit at your thumb nail, eyes staring at Derek next to you of the two way mirror,

“Yeah,” You sigh, drifting your eyes to William on the other side of the mirror, “But Diana knows something about Gary Michaels. I mentioned him and William to her and she told us to leave,”

“This kind of stress isn’t good for baby Spence,” Derek turns, hand at the side of your stomach,

“This job isn’t good for baby Spence,” You choke out a laugh, shaking your head, “William wants to meet (D/N),”

“And what does Spencer have to say about it?” Derek raises an eyebrow, eyes flicking between yours,

“He wants William to have nothing to do with the kids,” You look down at your painfully large stomach, “But hes their grandpa. They deserve to at least know who he is as a human being,”

“So you’re going to go against Spencer’s wishes?” Derek leans back, watching you lift a hand to continue biting,

“Is it bad I already sent Emily back for (D/N) on the jet?” You smile nervously, Derek frowning,

“You need to at least let Spencer know, let him be in the room with you,”

“Let me know what?”

You turn around at your husbands voice, eyes landing on Spencer at the door of the office.

“Spence,” You move forward, sliding your arms at his torso so his own hands could place themselves at your stomach, “Emily’s on her way back from home with (D/N),”

“Why is she bringing her up here?” Spencer looks at Derek, then down at you,

You bite your lip, “I’m allowing William to meet her,” You exhale, watching Spencer’s face fall at your words,

“I thought we agreed he wouldn’t have anything to do with her or the baby,” Spencer murmurs, your frown visible as you curl your fingers into his business suit,

“I know, but,” You shrug, “It will only be a brief visit. My parents weren’t here to meet (D/N), William And Diana are the only grandparents the kids will have,”

“Bad timing?” You look around Spencer to see Emily at the doorway, your four month old daughter in her arm,

“No, no,” You pull away from Spencer, peeling the girl from Emily and kissing her cheek, “Hi sweetheart,”

“At least put them in a bigger area,” Spencer pleas, kissing the top of (D/N)s head and glancing at his father through the two way mirror, “I don’t want them in such a small room,”

“Of course, we have a bigger office,” The sheriff of the town you stayed in mods, crossing his arms, “You all go ahead, I’ll get William,”

. . .

“Spence, calm down,” You slide your hand to Spencer’s arm, squeezing to stop the drum of his fingers against the table,

“Sorry,” Spencer sighs, smiling at the girl in his lap chewing on her pacifier, “I just don’t know about this,”

“He’ll be handcuffed,” You whisper, “What’s the worse he could do?”

“You’re right,” Spencer grasps your hand, squeezing and looking up when the door creaks open,

Your eyes find Diana, her arm linked with Williams,

“Mom,” Spencer stands up, eyes flicking between his parents, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to tell the truth, of course,” Diana grunts, leading William to the other side of the table from you,

William inhales, eyes landing on (D/N) yawning from Spencer’s lap, “Is this her? My granddaughter?”

“Um, yeah,” Spencer looks down at the toddler, who blinks her brown eyes at the two people in front of her, quickly looking over at you to make sure you were still there, “Dad, this is (D/N),”

At the mention of her name, (D/N) faces forward, William smiling and lifting a hand to wave at her,

“God, she looks just like you Spencer,” William exhales, Spencer cracking a smile and watching his daughter pat the table, squealing,

“Five minutes William,” The sheriff grunts from the door, William glancing at him and frowning,

“What’s this one going to be?” He points at your bump, where Spencer’s hand subconsciously rested at the lower area,

“A boy,” You breathe, smiling at Spencer, “We have a mini Spencer coming soon,”

“He’ll probably look like you,” William grunts, “But have his fathers brain I’m sure,”

“Oh, no, that’s definitely (D/N),” You laugh softly, “Four months old and already crawling,”

William chuckles, frowning when the Sheriff begins you crossed his arms and jerks his head to the side,

“You’ll bring him to visit me, won’t you?” William asks hopefully, looking over when a guard jerks him up from his chair,

“We’ll try,” Spencer watches his father leave the room, turning (D/N) to press against his chest when her head lulls to the side in exhaustion, hand resting at her back to soothe her,

“Diana,” You sit forward, “Can you tell me everything you know about Gary Michaels?”

. . .

“We don’t have to,”

You lean against the doorway of your toddlers nursery, Spencer looking up from where he leaned over the crib to place your daughter down,

“Do what?” He whispers, placing the small blanket over her body and moving towards you,

“Introduce him to William,” You put a hand on your stomach, looking up at your husband, “We can wait a couple months- Years,”

Spencer scans your eyes, hands cupping your stomach, “I want him to meet the baby soon. He seemed genuinely excited about seeing the kids,”

“He was,” You smile, sliding your hands to Spencer’s face as his wrap at your lower back, “He loves them,”

“I just wish he was there for me in the beginning. Our marriage, your pregnancy with (D/N),” Spencer sighs, closing his eyes when he leans down to meet your forehead,

“I know Spence,” You murmur against his lips, leaning against the doorframe behind you, “Come on, let’s try not to wake her up,”

“What do you have in mind, Mrs. Reid?” Spencer takes your hand, allowing you to lead him to your bedroom a couple doors down,

You grin at your husband, humming when he closes your bedroom door, your back pressing up against it

[broken-clover]

AU-gust Day 16- Treasure Hunters

Hmph. I was so sure I’d be able to finish yesterday, but after being stuck in a car so long I guess I was just too tired.

This one isn’t especially long, and I’m not sure if it really counts, either? I mean, treasure hunting is involved, but I mostly wanted to do something with my GG Persona AU. Then again, what, am I going to go to jail if I don’t do all the prompts perfectly?...well, maybe.

(Also this one has a smidge of Sinbed because self-indulgence. Sorry not sorry)

For a guy who wore an eyepatch, Sin had pretty good eyesight, at least when it came to scouting. The good new about that was he made for an excellent finder of treasure chests hidden at the end of dungeon hallways, and seeing how their ragtag ‘Investigation Team’ was made up entirely of schoolkids with shaky paychecks on the best of days, they appreciated any shiny trinkets they could sell off for healing items and weapon upgrades.

The biggest downside was that, though he was an excellent chest-finder, he wasn’t quite as good as noticing the shadows guarding it until it was too late.

“Dammit, it was guarded?” He hissed, recoiling as the dark sludge formed into a trio of Principality.

“And they’re decently strong ones, too! But it doesn’t look like there’s a good way to evade them, we can’t run!” Said Potemkin, balling his large hands into fists. “Should we try and call the rest of the team? I’m not sure if they’re too far away to hear, but-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Elphelt shouted, pulling out Miss Travallier to shoot her card and summon Anteros. “Just don’t let your guard down!”

They didn’t have any major tricks up their sleeve, but between Potemkin’s physical skills, Elphelt’s healing spells, Ram’s fire, and his own pool of Personas on-hand, Sin couldn’t find it in him to be especially worried.

Elphelt boosted everyone’s defense with Marakukaja before taking a step back. Potemkin lunged forward to attack head-on, and Sin summoned Perseus to fire up a Mazionga. They seemed off to a strong start, with the two victims of their attacks taking a decent chunk of their health off before they could even attack. If they kept up the quick attacks, then they had a pretty good chance to make it out unscathed, right? He was feeling confident about that.

...At least until a flurry of cards tangled around Elphelt, and she suddenly collapsed to the ground like a marionette with snipped strings.

“El?!” He shouted, falling back halfway through another lightning strike. Sin dug through his pockets for a revival bead while Perseus took a thankfully nonlethal blow. “Guys, be careful! At least one of them has an instant-kill spell!”

They still had a few beads on-hand, but as soon as he felt Elphelt stir, he heard Potemkin shout in pain and felt the vibration of him collapsing. “S-shit! El! Get up! We’re taking hits!”

“I am injured.” Ramlethal’s voice managed to carry over the other sounds of the firefight, with a definite tinge of concern to her usually-neutral tone. Nike was fast, but she still struggled to dodge the attacks of three enemies all at once, all the while with Ram trying to find a revival item for Potemkin.

The three shadows managed to get lucky with instant-kill spells remarkably often, leaving the remaining members scrambling to use whatever revival items they had while avoiding more potshots, and any hits they could actually land were quickly healed.

“Dammit! My SP is almost gone! Do we have anything for that?!” Sin barked, as Perseus fired a flimsy bolt of lightning that barely nicked one of the Principality.

“I-I think Ram just drank our last coffee…” El stammered in reply, trying to revive Potemkin yet again while only hobbling by on a handful of HP, herself. “I have enough for a few more healing spells, but we’ve only got the one bead left. Are you sure we can’t run?”

At every opportunity, they had tried, only for the shadows to intercept them. He liked being an optimist, but Sin knew that things had gone horribly downhill. When he tried to conjure more electricity, all it got him in return was a hard smack that knocked his Persona to the ground.

“Shit, brace yourselves- !”

“Did someone need assistance?”

A familiar silver-and-purple gundam skated into the room, throwing up a barrier wall to catch a couple of magic blasts.

“Finally! There you are, we’ve been looking for you!” An echoing voice came from the large machine, but its mouth didn’t move. “Good think you make such a racket.”

“Bedman! About time!” Sin felt himself grinning.

“Looks like you’re all in rough shape. Good thing I brought backup.”

The shadows were still too distracted by the new barrier to care much about the newcomers who ran into the treasure room right under their noses. Ariadne and Thalassa carried Bridget and May in their respective free arms, while Zappa ran along behind. The mechanical Persona began releasing purple smoke from its head-pipes, and a glimmering veil surrounded both it and the second half of the Investigation Team.

“Get ready for an overclock!” The echoing voice shouted. “You're buffed! May, you’re on healer duty, but just focus on knocking out those shadows!”

“Roger!” Bridget hopped off of Ariadne, and began barraging the Principality with physical attacks as soon as the barrier wall began to fragment. Zappa trailed behind with curse spells as Mania dangled over him limply. May did as instructed, throwing on a few mild healing spells, but the evasion buffs made it so it was less necessary than usual.

Following the initial difficulty, the battle swiftly shifted sides. The enemies finally burst back into piles of darkness and faded away, leaving behind nothing but a small pile of money.

“Oh, god, finally…” Sin sat on the ground and tried to catch his breath. “Nearly thought we were goners for a second.”

“Don’t run off like that next time!” May chided him. “How did you even get stuck in here in the first place, it’s a dead end!”

He pointed over his shoulder. “I saw a chest! I thought there’d be something valuable in it.”

“Well, if we cleared this room out, more shadows shouldn’t appear for a while, right?” Asked Elphelt, as she wandered toward the unattended box on a pedestal. “And since that almost got us into some hot water, it’d better be something good.”

“Yeah!” Sin managed to spring back up, following after her. “I’ve got the picks, let’s see what we got!”

Everyone else trailed behind, more than a little interested in whatever shiny trinket was so interesting that it nearly got half their team killed. Sin easily jimmied the lock open, pried the creaky lid back, and...

“Uh...looks like a cheap gemstone...and a piece of armor we already have.”

A collective groan went through the group, plus a few muffled curses and less-than-polite gestures. Sin still pocketed the small gem, but he was in the same boat as the rest of them. “Well, I guess you win some, you lose some. Let’s head back to the safe room to take a break. Bedman, think you can carry Pot? I don’t think we’ll have any luck trying it ourselves.”

The mecha nodded, scooping the unconscious man up like a sack of potatoes. “Everyone can hop on if they don’t feel like walking.”

A few took him up on the offer, and they all headed back. Maybe it was just imaginary, but the safe room felt far warmer and cozier than the rest of the dungeon. At least they knew no more shadows would be popping out to take them by surprise.

“Must be nice having a Persona you can ride in, Bedman.” Bridget said, sliding off the machine’s arm. “Ariadne can barely carry me!”

“Morpheus is remarkably comfortable on the inside, though I can admit it was frightening the first time I was dragged into him. For all I knew, he could have been trying to eat me.”

“I’ve got sandwiches!” Zappa chirped, hoisting up a makeshift lunchbox for everyone to see. “The boss lets me take the ready-made ones once they’re passed the sell-by date, but I promise they’re still good!”

“Ah, damn, that sounds perfect right now.” Sin went up to grab half of a turkey sandwich and begin munching on it.

After being revived, Potemkin found a place to sit near his much smaller leader. “I’m glad you were able to figure something out in the end. But next time, let’s be more careful. Treasure rooms are often more dangerous than one would expect.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Replied Sin, between bites of sandwich. “How’s Kratos?”

“Perfectly fine, I just don’t summon him unless I need him.” Potemkin reached across the table to pull out an egg sandwich, which looked positively miniscule in his large hands. “I’m not sure why you leave yours out so much when we aren’t in battle.”

Sin tilted his head. “Huh? What do you mean? He isn’t out now.”

The man gave him an odd look back. “What do you mean? He’s up there.”

When he looked up to where Potemkin was pointing, Sin was surprised to see that he was right. Perseus hadn’t dissipated, instead he sat on Morpheus’s shoulder, apparently perfectly comfortable where he was. He’d never realized how large Morpheus was, especially odd considering the respective sizes of their owners, but there was plenty of space for his Persona to sit and relax on his teammate.

“Huh?” The girls seemed to notice his staring. “What’s Perseus doing…?”

“I dunno, El. I didn’t make him do that.” He shrugged back. “Why does it even matter?”

“Hmm…” Despite herself, Elphelt had to side-eye the rather affectionate way Perseus cuddled up on his teammate, wrapping an arm around one of his pipe-horns. Hey, weren’t Personas supposed to be a manifestation of their owners...? “Hey, Sin, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, what?”

“Do you...have a crush on anyone?”

Sin balked. “The heck? What does that have to do with anything? What made you ask?”

Behind him, Perseus’ gloved hand stroked Morpheus’ sleek metal head, before he went back to cuddling his horn.

Elphelt glanced away, resisting the urge to blush. “No reason. Just wondering.”

[caeliri]

Preparations

A sea of letters lay on her desk, wrist deep and in dire need of tending. 

Dawn came and went in a whisper of satin and silk, her nightgown surrendered to the floor of her suite and exchanged for slacks and a loose fitting shirt made without the same intention for enticement as her nightwear. At least she had nowhere to be today; of late, her days were spent in constant motion, bounding between Dalaran, the Dawnspire, and the quiet village of Summerglen - the province which the Archon bequeathed to her. The trips were expensive and exhausting, the effort spent in transcending space with magic and riding back and forth from one place to the other wearing her thin and leaving little time for all else save crashing into her sheets come midnight and curling against whatever warmth she’d invited for the night. All carnal desires in her had been stilled of late, though they still roved beneath the surface, waiting for the fire of her passions to ignite again - perhaps when there was less work to do.

Thus far, her efforts in Summerglen had been few - she’d ordered work to begin on the repairs to the manse of Hallowhearth, which would one day be her home, and presently she was grappling with where else to spend the funds allotted to her province. To her, the issues Summerglen faced seemed small compared to the problems of the Sunguard; the stakes were not so high, not perched precariously on the precipice between life and death. Simple province, simple problems; but to the people of Summerglen, those simple problems were their world. The wealth of the harvest or the lay of the street, every aspect of their village and the lands belonging to them affected the other an affected them in turn.

Summerglen was a lesson in practicality; something the young Dame lacked, for all her ideals and endless elysian dreams. It would have been easier to decide, she knew, were she more a part of their community, but she had no desire to rush the repairs to the great estate house, not when Shallowbrook was home. Midway through a response to a Request for Aid written to the Dawnmenders, Caeliri paused, her pen hovering just above the surface of her parchment. Hallowhearth had all the opulence of the Evergrove, it’s design inspired by the open, columned walls and sheer curtains of the Dreaming Gardens, it’s stained glass windows - now shattered - once bearing landmarks of the not-so-distant land. It was beautiful and grand in it’s own right, smaller than Shallowbrook, than Shael’thas Lair, than even Embertree Court, but it was neither its size nor it’s grandeur that failed to make it feel like home.

Home was where her heart was, and her heart was --

Wrists aching, she rubbed the bony bulge as she set the response aside in favor of something that did not require writing. Below the request sat her Last Will and Testament, already written, only in need of review. Sea-green eyes swept across the script penned on the paper before her, one of many; the Archon commanded the Sunguard to have their affairs in order, and while Caeliri had no fortune - that was in her hands, her inheritance remained with Cere’thien, untouchable save by request, until her first century - to her name, she had many personal effects, and each now had a home at the time of her demise. It needed notarizing still, and soon - come the end of the week she’d lead the Dawnmenders down into the Fal’dorei tunnels, and though they went with escort, there was always the fear that they would not return.

Night’s ago, the Ranger-Captain had shown the same apprehension - she remembered the tightness of his smile, all false and festering with fear in the arcane lights of Dalaran’s dark night. No matter how much she’d fiddled with his fingers and assured him she’d never be laid low again, they both knew the truth - neither of them could make that promise, not with any honesty.

Reaching forward, Caeliri seized the handle of the enchanted tea cup that sat beside the letter, a gift from the Greenseer months ago, filled with coffee - not tea. She hated tea. Nose crinkling against the waft of strong scent, she sipped, and sipped, and sipped again, hoping the cinnamon and hazelnut drink would drive off the hungry hold of sleep.

Drawing in a deep breath, she cast her eyes across the room, to where Grace sat perched on the gilded gift Lirelle had given her. Preening, the phoenix paid Caeliri little mind, ignorant to the fact she’d been promised away to a person she might have considered the wrong one - long before the Archon’s command, she’d promised Grace would return to Cere’thien at the time of her death. Caeliri was sure Grace would have protest, would think her light and warmth was better served with the Captain who occupied the suite beside hers, and in some regards Caeliri was sure it would have been better, but… she was bound to her promises; even if that promise was not to fall in combat.

Shuffling through the responses, an envelope, still sealed shut, slipped out from amongst the opened letters, and Caeliri’s throat vibrated with a plaintive groan. A letter from Summerglen, another problem, no doubt; she drew the letter opener to her, gripping it’s filigreed hilt in hand and slipped it beneath the the seal of her Captain of the Guard, popping the letter open for perusal;

Dame Dawnsworn,

I fear if I write you with more foul news you’ll soon see me fired; for that, I am eternally sorry. This letter comes to make you aware that all work on repairs to the manse of Hallowhearth has been paused, yet again. As before, the workers cite the spirits that dwell within as the cause of their discomfort and unwillingness to work, though I’m afraid the situation has escalated since last you came to Summerglen.

One of the workers was assaulted by the spectres that dwell within the halls of your future home, and remains, at present, on bedrest at The Hungry Hound, being tended by my wife, Haela Heartblossom. He is recovery well, his wounds overall minor in the end - by the account of the workers sent to repair the stonework within, they fell under siege from dinner ware. Whether their memories are sound or strained by terror, on truth remains; whatever struck the craftsman barely missed his temple, and had it been a few inches further forward, I would be penning a request for recompense for his family.

My update does not end here; with how small our province is, news travels fast, as I’m sure you can imagine, and after this last occurrence I can find no one else willing to work on the repairs to Hallowhearth, not until the haunting has been handled. It seems your stay abroad will continue until the halls can be purged of these poltergeists.

There is one other matter I wish to address. Though I’ve taken the steps to enact your plan and open the issue of where funds should be spent in your first act as Dame - either in arming the troops that Summerglen has to offer, or disrupting their dailies lives by repaving the many, many ruined roads in an out of the province - to vote amongst the residents, I implore you, once more, to reconsider. While your wish to glean the want of those who, at present, call Summerglen home is noble-hearted, I believe it unwise. Your first act as Dame will set the tone for the remainder of your governance, and though you may wish to err on the side of democracy, know that to carry forth along this avenue may cause your allies, enemies, and even those you seek to lead to view you as weak-willed and pliable.

Having met you, my Dame, you’ll excuse my impertinence as I assure you are not weak-willed, but there is no doubt you are pliant - but that is not the sort of woman you want to be, if you intend to step into the shadow-steeped dance of politics. As it stands, you may be in the good graces of all you know, but where you stand and whose favor you hold changes as rapidly and viciously as the tides, and for all your charms, there are some things that can not be compelled by a sweet smile and a gentle touch.

Neither choice comes without it’s own difficulties and without it’s own detractors, but I implore you; choose. Do not yield your power so swiftly.

I await your next visit to Summerglen, and am eager to hear your intentions for how to proceed with preparing Hallowhearth for your residency. I doubt I need remind you that a province is best governed from the ground it’s built upon. Make haste, my Dame - do not let desire pull you from your duties.

Your faithful servant, Liadove Winterthorn

The last made her lip curl in a way unbefitting her gentle face; what did he know of her desires, or her commitment to duty? You know what he knows, her thought proclaimed, and she found them true; she felt only relief that the repairs were stalled once more. It meant more days, more weeks, more months in Shallowbrook, with her best friend, who needed her as much as she needed him. Drawing the letter to her lips, she held it firm, an almost-kiss, an thankful act. The rest, she would not sway on - whether the roads would be ripped down to their roots and repaved with fresh stones, interrupting the daily lives of those beneath her charge until their completion, or their near hundred standing soldiers would be better armed and stood at the ready for the Archon’s - no, Lord Truefeather, in all non-Sunguard matters - eventual command would be up to the citizens of Summerglen. For this, their fate lay in their hands; as it should have been. Who was she, to know better than them, where their futures should lay?

A thought occurred to her, and Caeliri threw herself against the back of her chair so fiercely it rocked onto it’s hind legs; the room was filled with the sound of her long, loud, fluttering groan. There were supplies needed for the Dawnmenders who would follow her down into the tunnels of Falanaar - special gloves and bags made for collecting sticky webs, and enchanted to keep them safe from the wild, sparking energies that lay latent in their lengths. Special supplies required special requisition forms, which required both more paperwork and for her to waltz her perky ass through the city to actually purchase what was needed. Silence settled into her room, and for a moment, the ever energetic mender felt utterly spent, that effervescent glow that kept her going against all odds at last relenting to inertia. Head hung over the back of her chair, Caeliri stared at the ceiling, eyes set on the blue-white light of an arcane fixture above, until it’s light blurred into a perfect halo across the flat expanse and made her eyes ache.

Rising from her desk, Caeliri moved through the ever open double doors to her bedroom into her sitting room, to the door where her boots and bag lay at the ready. Shoving her feet into her boots, she bounced on one foot - then the other - then slung her bag up over her shoulder and out the door she went.

So much for having nowhere to be today; a Dame and Dawnward did not know the meaning of ‘a day off’.

@felthier | @thesunguardmg | @lissanaria | @forever-afk