#captain tervelan

[skaald-of-the-hearth-fires]

DoF:RefTE chapter 2 - Champion of the Queen

Dreams of Freedom: Reforging the Edge

Chapter two: Champion of the Queen | (AO3 link)

On the way out of Jennah’s throne room, Logan nearly runs into Caudecus. Sorry, the Lord Legate Minister Caudecus Beetlestone the Wise. Him. More importantly than his pompous litany of titles, he is Jennah’s biggest political opponent… and the reason Logan and Jennah can’t formalize their relationship. (Jennah is being overly cautious about him in Logan’s opinion, but he isn’t about to question her decision.) Logan gives him a polite smile. Caudecus smiles back at him surprisingly warmly before passing on towards the throne room.

Logan stops and stares at Caudecus' back, chills running down his spine. As the doors to the throne room close on the Legate Minister, Logan almost turns to go after him. But - there's a battle on. Logan doesn't have the time to supervise Caudecus while he presents whatever matter is troubling him this time. Logan hates the thought of Caudecus in the same room with the queen - especially with that disturbing smile - the man is plotting something. He won't do anything in the open, Logan is sure of that, but Logan likes to keep his own physical eyes on problems. Maybe he can post some extra Seraph in the throne room...

Concern yourself first with the centaurs at the gate, Captain, and leave me to handle our... internal affairs.

Anise has her job, and Logan has his. With an effort, Logan turns away from the queen's doors and heads back to Seraph Headquarters.

He can't spare any men from the fight in Shaemoor, especially Logan will be joining them and unable to oversee administrative matters from HQ. Nevertheless, he sends an aide to summon two Seraph - qualified and vetted by Logan himself for such tasks in the past - who can provide an extra eye in the queen's throne room until Caudecus leaves. Or, ideally, until the centaur attack is over and the danger passed entirely...

The aide salutes and dashes out the door, passing Lieutenant Groban on his way in. Logan turns to him and raises an eyebrow, inviting his report.

“Captain, none of the Seraph at Krytan Freeholds heard any word of centaur movement in the area. Their scouts had reported in not half an hour previously at shift change - the centaur camps they’re watching are still there. Captain Tervelan himself assured me no centaurs had come toward Divinity’s Reach - from the south or the east.”

Logan frowns. That's good, but he is still uneasy about the situation. He makes light of it in the presence of his men, though, relaxing his shoulders and putting some relief in his voice. “Well, that must simply mean the force at Shaemoor is quite light! Hm, possibly a diversion of some sort… Did you issue any additional instructions to Tervelan’s command?” Light force or no, the centaurs know their shift changes somehow, and the garrison is hard pressed without reinforcements. Logan will have to tread very cautiously.

“No, Captain. Do you think we should take precautions there and at other locations?”

Logan frowns for a moment, considering it - but there is not much to be helped if other attacks spring up. “No. Our garrisons and outposts are well-manned and prepared for attack. Tervelan’s command will be on their guard already, knowing we are seeing unusual centaur activity, and otherwise the attack on Shaemoor doesn’t hinder our efforts on the battlefields further out. At the request of the queen, I’m going to the garrison to coordinate the defense. You stay here and forward me any relevant reports. I was going to arrange for supplemental forces from inside Divinity’s Reach to exchange with some of the newer soldiers - I’m giving you that task. The forces at the garrison are underequipped to deal with the attack. We will also require additional forces to fully man the garrison for all shifts plus some standby. Also, the centaurs have displayed a knowledge of our shift changes. There may be an information leak, so be aware of that." Logan would mention Caudecus, but all he has is an odd smile and an uneasy feeling - plus, the minister has a history of unproven allegations, suspicions, and rumors that universally slide off Caudecus and his reputation like water off snake scales, and Logan doesn't want to wade into politics with his men right now.

“I’ll handle it, Captain.” Groban salutes.

“Good.” This is the real reason the man never gets field experience anymore… he loves paperwork. And I prefer the field work.

Logan turns and heads out the door of Seraph Headquarters - small in comparison to the doors to the throne room right next to it - with a view of the elegant Palace Gardens occupying the center of the city of Divinity’s Reach, slowly lightning up as dusk sinks into night and the city's magical lights come out. Logan glances toward the throne room; Caudecus is likely still in there, too. If Jennah's hurt... but no. Jennah is depending on him to protect her city, to prevent the centaurs from even coming close. The whole kingdom of Kryta depends on it. Jennah depends on it.

Fresh determination rises within him, and Logan strides with purpose toward the edge of the Palace Gardens, where a waypoint - an iron-wrought sigil with a blue glow floating high above the ground - glitters in the city’s magical lights.

Standing beneath it, Logan calls to mind the image of the waypoint in Shaemoor, at the intersection of the village’s main roads. Magical blue dust - the same hue as the waypoint’s glow - fills his vision, and when it fades, he is standing at the crossroads in Shaemoor. To the north, up the road, he can see the massive gates of the city - good, physical distance between here and Jennah. Westward, on Logan's left, lie the Shaemoor Fields, rich farmland upon which Divinity’s Reach depends; and, to the east, the road to Shaemoor Garrison.

The Shaemoor Inn stands right across the town square, and a Seraph sergeant standing in the doorway turns to him and salutes, fist to chest. “Captain Thackeray!”

"Name and rank, soldier."

"Sergeant Walters, sir! I report to Lieutenant Francis."

Logan nods. “At ease, Sergeant. Report on Seraph numbers and disposition.”

“I’ve set up a perimeter around the village, Captain - mostly with the recent graduates of the Academy. The more seasoned Seraph are at the garrison.”

Logan nods. “Good. Where is Lieutenant Francis?”

“At the garrison, sir," Sergeant Walters answers promptly. "He left me in charge here at the village."

Just then, another man - a middle-aged civilian - comes out of the inn. “Captain Thackeray! Are we in danger?”

The sergeant sighs. “I’ve told you, Mr North - “

Logan holds up a hand to silence the soldier. The civilian needs to hear it from the living legend himself, Logan Thackeray of Destiny's Edge. His fame might have gone sour in the last few years since he became Seraph Captain, but already a crowd had started gathering.

“Sir,” North says, straightening and meeting Logan’s eye with only a trace of trepidation, “are my people in danger?”

“Your people?” Logan asks, a sinking in his stomach.

“I am the Mayor of Shaemoor, Captain,” North says, almost snapping, eyes darting to the gathered people.

“My apologies, Mr North.” Logan feels slightly sick. Shaemoor is inside his jurisdiction, he should have known who North is. He should have asked his aide about that when gathering his information on the region. What a way to gain the confidence of the people, not knowing who their mayor is... he needs the confidence of the people. Without that, there's no hope of he and Jennah formalizing their relationship... and he'd just insulted their entire village.

North glances back toward his people, clearly worried that if he doesn't have the respect of the Logan Thackeray, he'd just lost the respect of his people - but Logan knows better. The people will back their own, local, elected mayor above a national, distant hero they'd never met and to whom they can - and often do - attribute any incompetencies, failings, or insufficiencies of the Seraph, from poor legal resources to inadequate peacekeeping... He hurriedly moves on to consider North's initial question about danger.

Safety procedures, of course, dictate the village should go on lockdown. Curfew, rather, this late in the evening. Logan eyes the inn the mayor had come out of. It's sturdier than other buildings; has a good vantage point on the road the garrison and second-story windows to shoot from if necessary. The inn could probably hold most of the village for a night; in fact that'd be safest. Not to mention the people would all be in one place to evacuate to the city if things get out of hand.

But Logan feels the stares of the civilians on his back - civilians who would be out of home and possessions if 'things get out of hand' - and North is still radiating a bit of self-righteous indignation. Logan needs the support of the people. He stiffens in determination. The only way to solve this disaster is through helping them with their disaster. Luckily enough, fighting centaurs is something Logan excels at. “You and your people may be assured there are no concerns at present, Mr North. The centaurs are few and far from any other effort on their side of the war; this is probably a foolish attempt by one of their officers to do something great for recognition among their own people." Logan glances around and sees relief on their faces - they're buying it. They trust him, despite the offense. "The queen has commanded me to personally see to this battle - be assured it will be handled safely and quickly. You have no need to worry - I'll be sure to keep the centaurs out of Shaemoor.” Logan pauses, then adds to North, “if you do feel unsafe, feel free to tell your people to stay indoors; leave the fighting to the Seraph.”

The crowd raises a light cheer, and North's stance relaxes immediately. "Thank you, Captai," the mayor says, looking greatly relieved. No doubt he also appreciates the delegated authority; Logan had done that on purpose to assuage the sting of Logan's earlier disrespect.

Just to reinforce it, though, Logan falls into the performance of a high-ranking, competent, and qualified military officer, and makes a solid salute, fist thumping his chest, to North. "I have to be getting to the garrison, Mayor North. I'll see to the defense of your village."

Sergeant Walters gives him a funny look - that is not the proper context for a military-grade salute - but it underscores Logan's point to the civilians quite effectively.

Logan knows quite well how to perform for an audience - he is now perceived as a public servant of the people, and a nationally recognized and therefore competent one, too. Logan even turns square to Sergeant Walters and gives her a salute. "Keep an eye on our civilians, Sergeant." There, a possessive thrown in. They love that. If the women in this village hadn't been swooning for the dashingly handsome captain of the queen's court already, they will now, tormented by the knowledge that he is good and taken. Then, he spins on his heel and marches with perfect form through the square. The civilians scatter, staring, whispering among themselves. Logan catches admiring tones, giggles, a mention of Champion of the Queen, and even a reference to Destiny's Edge.

That last puts a bit of a damper on Logan's otherwise cheerful mood, but he ignores the whispers with military focus and marches down the road toward the garrison, a watermelon patch to his right, and doesn't relax until he is too far from the square to be made out distinctly. Then he drops the rigid march and huries along at a quicker pace toward the battle, albeit with a smile on his face.

Shaemoor is a village that won't forget Logan Thackeray any time soon, or his heroics; Logan wishes he could make such an impression on every village in Kryta. With the support of the people, he and Jennah could conceivable defy tradition - and Caudecus, and all the nobles and ministers - and formalize their relationship.

However, despite Logan's battle prowess, his poor skill at managing the civil side of the Seraph's duties - peacekeeping, judiciary, prison management and maintenance, non-criminal affairs, finances and taxes, paperwork - often earns him distrust and resentment, especially when clearly demonstrated as he just had with North - and Logan had worried. A captain without the support and trust of the people - regardless of his actual accomplishments - would find himself working against the people rather than with them, and such a captain would, if he didn't lose his job, have to be banished to the front lines of the war and replaced. (Groban probably has North's name and office memorized.) Logan would probably be happier on the front lines, doing the parts of the job he enjoys and is unanimously acclaimed for his prowess at, but that would mean being away from Jennah for many weeks at a time.

And, while uncustomary, it is still within reason - just barely - for Jennah to marry her left hand and top Seraph Captain; less conceivable a mere high-ranking officer, away past Guardian's Pass. Logan is merely a commoner in Kryta, and that's all there is to it. If Ascalon were still a human nation, where the Thackeray name carried its full weight, then their marriage could be spun as a political union - but, alas, it is not so. As Logan is a hero in his own right, such considerations could be waived - if not for the opposition of Caudecus and the people in the name of tradition - but the more Logan looks like an incompetent Seraph Captain, on top of the hierarchy chain and more bureaucrat than soldier, the less friendly the people would be to a match so far outside custom.

But clearly, Logan had been worrying too much - something he tends to do when it comes to Jennah - if the reception in Shaemoor is anything to go by. Clearly his military prowess is enough to offset the civil damages done by his otherwise lackluster performance of his domestic duties. The people took his word for everything and went joyously about their evening, certain that the legendary Logan Thackeray of Destiny's Edge would handle everything. It was a little risky, telling them to go about life as usual, but Logan is sure he can handle the centaurs, given his personal presence on the upcoming battlefield. His military renown isn't for nothing, after all, and it is on his accomplishments with Destiny's Edge that he'd attained his position, and those skills on which he keeps it.

Logan has passed the watermelon patch, and now the road runs along the top of a high embankment, the Altar Brook (more of a river at this point) running far below. Ahead, the island in the middle of the river - connected to both banks by bridges and the only way into Shaemoor and Divinity's Reach - is home to Shaemoor Garrison, currently under attack by centaurs.

Logan enters Shaemoor Garrison to the organized chaos of the back lines of a battle; aides rushing back and forth, officers shouting, armor clanging, and men on the walls showering insults and arrowheads at their opponents on the other side. Logan breathes deeply, forgetting his worries. This is his element. This is his place. These are his people, and this is his war. This is where he shines.

“Lieutenant Francis!” Logan calls. Heads turn at the sound of his voice, and the activity moves, if possible, a little faster.

Logan fights for Queen Jennah of Kryta; for her safety, for her country, and for her love.

[ascalonianlightbringer]

I took Gwen through "The Accusation," the follow-up to "The Fall of Falcon Company."

I talked a little here about wishing human PCs could be something other than totally uncritical Queen Jennah stans (it's not like plenty of human NPCs don't have issues with her!). In my head, if not on the screen, Gwen's street origin/revolutionary crowd has left her with very little investment in the status quo and she theoretically opposes royalty and (especially) aristocracy. But she doesn't want Jennah replaced by another (worse) monarch and the person/people plotting against the queen are responsible for the death or suffering of Gwen's sister, so for now, okay.

Anyway. Gwen enters the royal court for the first time in her life to find Logan just arrived, and Queen Jennah attended by Minister Arton, Countess Anise (problematic fave!!!), and Minister Caudecus. Given that Caudecus is the ultimate villain of the noble storyline ... hmm.

We jump into the cut scene and actually see Jennah for the first time:

(Hope the throne room isn't drafty!)

The character design shows its age a bit, though I like the patterning on the gold overlay, and the neck piece. I also really like that she looks like a GW1 Krytan—I like that Ascalonians got less white in GW2, but Krytans got wayyyy lighter and I've always found it uncomfortable.

Right, back to the story. Jennah and Logan talk Very Normally about the treason and not about Logan's undying passion for her, and Gwen tells her about Tervelan's confession, without even naming the minister in question. Arton, who is elderly and seems pretty nice, immediately guesses the accused minister must be him and goes under voluntary house arrest.

Also, I want his robe.

Enter Anise, whom Gwen briefly met in the street arc. Anise was introduced back then as the head of the Shining Blade—the group that helped save Kryta back in GW1 and seems an elite bodyguard for Jennah these days—and apparently keeps track of everything, since she recalls that a random sergeant transferred out of Falcon Company, back in the day. Logan knows where the guy is currently patrolling, so he sends Gwen off to question the sergeant while he stays and protects Jennah.

You can actually talk to Jennah herself afterwards, deferentially. She's actually pretty upset because Arton has always served both her and her father with every appearance of loyalty (as I recall, not something that could be said of all her ministers). The charm response was the more neutral ("Captain Thackeray and Countess Anise will ensure your safety"), so I went with that.

Anise remarks that accusing a minister in front of the queen is not only bold, as she knew Gwen is, but fearless. Gwen says, "Not fearless. Determined." Sounds about right!

Caudecus also has a dialogue option, but just kind of whines about all the commotion. Yeah, I've got my eye on him.

Meanwhile, in conversation with Logan, Gwen grimly assures him that if this sergeant knows anything, she'll get him to talk.

That's my girl :)

[anghraine]

pro patria, chapters 1-7

I don’t actually expect people to read this, but I want it over here for completeness’s sake, so—the Guild Wars 2 fic!

This one is ... different, apart from being for a canon that I think maybe three of my friends are interested in, because instead of writing a one-shot in my format of seven sections of seven sentences each, I've written an entire 70k+ fic that way. Each chapter is precisely 49 sentences long, which makes for a lot of very short chapters, so I'm bunching them up into groups of (of course!) seven.

It’s business as usual, however, in having copious footnotes (these ones assume everyone’s unfamiliar with the canon story).

title: pro patria (1-7/?) stuff that happens: a young Ascalonian woman grows from a sheltered aristocrat, to a hero rushing into danger to help a nearby village, to the investigator of a series of mysterious abductions and thefts tied to the Ministry itself.  verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: PC (mesmer / human / noble origin / missing sister [Ascalonian]), Lord Faren, Minister Ailoda, Deborah, Countess Anise, Logan Thackeray; PC & Ailoda, PC & Deborah, PC & Anise, PC & Faren

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ONE 1 I always thought of myself as Ascalonian first, and Krytan second. Both of my parents were Ascalonian—my mother came from a family of Rurikton refugees fallen on good times, my father from Ebonhawke, and I was born there, myself. Mother had resigned from the Ministry over some quarrel with Minister Caudecus, and hammered in her protest by uprooting the entire family for an extended holiday with my aunt Elwin in Ebonhawke. This was long before the Rurikton gate got fixed on Ebonhawke, so in the off phases, people generally took “going to visit family in Ebonhawke” as a euphemism for something. But Mother being Mother, she headed through Lion’s Arch to the Black Citadel of all places, carved her way through only the gods knew what to the gates of Ebonhawke, turned herself over to the Vanguard, and waited for Aunt Elwin to show up and get them released. She was seven months pregnant with me by the time she arrived, Father and five-year-old Deborah in tow. And two months later, she delivered me there, Father and Aunt Elwin at her side, and Charr siege engines in her ears. 2 Father always wanted to go back to Kryta, for Deborah’s sake and mine. And during the times that the Rurikton gate got switched to Ebonhawke, when our kin in Divinity’s Reach rushed supplies through, requests for Mother’s return to the Ministry came with them. She only said, “We need soldiers, not supplies—yes, I know centaurs are attacking them, but —” “We need to go home,” said Father. A Charr attack shook her resolve more than he did: one that briefly broke through the walls while Deborah was out walking with Aunt Elwin. But it was Aunt Elwin who convinced Mother that she could do more to help our people in the Ministry than as one more staff against the Charr legions. She accepted the latest offer from the Ministry, this time to serve as representative of the Salma District itself, and we headed—home, to a place I’d never seen. 3 My father was a Fairchild, a descendant—if collateral—of Duke Barradin himself, while my mother was only a Langmar, and a Langmar of mixed heritage, no less. But Langmar meant nearly as much as Fairchild in Rurikton, where the family had owned a mansion for generations. When we first arrived, I’d never seen anything like it, for Aunt Elwin’s house in struggling Ebonhawke couldn’t begin to compare to the splendid gardens and shining marble of a mansion in Divinity’s Reach. Even Deborah, her eleven-year-old dignity often stronger than any other feeling, couldn’t help staring around with wide eyes. Mother, meanwhile, gained a still greater mansion in the Salma District upon receiving her appointment as representative, but she wanted us safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry. Deborah and I grew up quietly in Langmar Manor, educated with other Ascalonian nobles by Ascalonian tutors, familiar with every corner of Rurikton and very little beyond it. Deborah chafed at the confinement, but I was a little girl, content enough to spend my days playing and studying with Yolanda, Corone, and Faren, new and lifelong friends. 4 Deborah joined the Seraph the day she turned twenty. “I don’t understand,” I said blankly. “We call ourselves Ascalonians,” she told me, “and that means more than tracing our family trees. You don’t remember Ebonhawke, but those are real Ascalonians, fighting for what they love—like our ancestors fought for what they loved—but we’re happy to boast of their names without doing anything. Captain Thackeray could just sit back and enjoy everything he gets for being Gwen Thackeray’s heir, but he isn’t, and I won’t either. Ascalon is lost, even if Rurikton and the Settlement and Ebonhawke will never admit it, but as long as Kryta stands, we have something to fight for.” Deborah as a Seraph, solving crimes, keeping order, and skirmishing with the occasional bandit raid, wasn’t half so chilling a prospect as Deborah fighting legions of Charr, so I didn’t say what I thought—as long as Ebonhawke stands, we have Ascalon to fight for. 5 Deborah’s departure left the whole family scattered: my mother in Salma, my father dead, my aunt and cousins in Ebonhawke, my sister stationed all the way down in Claypool, and some remote relations and me in Rurikton. Mother, still grieving Father and anxious over Debs, decided that at fifteen, I was old enough to come live with her in her Ministry mansion. I’d felt lonely and restless in Langmar Manor, but I still received the news with very little short of horror. “You’re going the next district over, not across the world,” said Yolanda. “I’ll take a house in Manor Hill too,” Faren said recklessly, “and we’ll have amazing parties.” Faren being Faren, he actually did, aided by his father’s relief at him showing interest in something beyond Rurikton high society—even if that thing was only Salma high society. My mother kissed me when we arrived, and with a smile, told Faren, “It’s a pleasure to know you’ll be keeping my girl company, and of course, just to see you—you’re looking so well!” He preened. 6 We spent those early weeks exploring Salma, curious and cheerful despite ourselves, suppressing giggles as we followed a dour guide about the district. “Orr was destroyed,” the guide was saying, “Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire; only Kryta is left, and that by a narrow margin.” “Ascalon was ravaged by the Searing,” I said sharply, all laughter gone. Nobody would call Faren a great wit, but when it came to conversation and society, his instincts were impeccable. “You must have gotten the order confused, good sir—the Searing came first, the Foefire when everything was already wrecked—but a simple mistake, I’m sure—you were saying something about Kryta?” Biting back the first words that came to my lips, I forced myself to smile and say, “Sorry, we’re Ascalonian.” “I guessed,” said the guide. 7 I suppose I was a callow, coddled creature in those days, spoiled if not malicious—and though three years of even more luxury in Salma didn’t change that, a single letter did. To Minister Ailoda Langmar, I regret to inform you of the loss of Falcon Company in a centaur raid. Your daughter, Sergeant Deborah Fairchild, died honourably in battle. With my deepest condolences to you and your family, Captain J. Tervelan of the Seraph (Queensdale) As Mother staggered backwards, I caught her, and somehow afterwards, that was always the clearest memory: her weight in my arms, the letter falling out of her hand, fluttering downwards until it reached the floor, nothing visible but the seal of the Seraph. Until then, I’d been little more than an irritable butterfly, but with Mother shattered, I found myself willingly shouldering the work of mourning: the formal letters and heartbroken notes, the refusal of Deborah’s pension, the visits from friends and allies and enemies—I was warm and grateful to the Mashewes and Baroness Jasmina; coldly civil to that ass Zamon, whose commiseration fell little short of gloating; brave and dignified to Corone and his friend Edmonds; grieved but composed with Faren and Yolanda. Like a creature of a thousand faces, I sometimes thought in exhausted moments: not at all a proper Ascalonian hero, more Anise than Deborah—but it was the only way I knew to be strong.

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1) Ascalonian first: the PC from the first game was a resident of the human kingdom of Ascalon when the Charr, a species of giant cat people who lived in Ascalon a thousand years earlier, orchestrated a massive magical attack that killed thousands of Ascalonian civilians and devastated the landscape. Surviving Ascalonians were afterwards mostly killed or enslaved, except a few groups that escaped. The king then went mad and turned himself and the last survivors into vengeful ghosts.

2) and Krytan second: in GW1, the PC helps Prince Rurik of Ascalon lead a group of Ascalonian refugees into the neighbouring kingdom of Kryta. Some Ascalonians establish a settlement there while others live in the cities; generations later, this has resulted in a minority population of Krytan Ascalonians within broader Krytan culture, which the GW2 PC can belong to (though it has no impact on gameplay, which is what inspired the fic). In-game, Ascalonians are fiercely proud of their heritage.

3) Rurikton refugees: Rurikton, named after the Rurik in #2 (who was killed in the journey to Kryta), is the Ascalonian district of the Krytan capital, Divinity’s Reach.

4) Ebonhawke: a stronghold in the furthest reaches Ascalon built by elite Ascalonian soldiers and the civilians they fought to protect. It fell just outside of the king’s curse and has managed to survive the onslaughts of the Charr for 250 years.

5) I was born there [Ebonhawke]: there is no evidence for the PC being born outside Divinity's Reach, so this is probably one of the creakiest elements as far as canon goes. DR is canonically the PC’s home, and they strongly suggest they’ve never seen anything else. I made her very young when she arrived to finagle it, but it’s mostly there because I’m interested in the dynamic between Ebonhawke Ascalonians and Kryta Ascalonians, so I wanted to give her a foot in both worlds. 

6) Minister Caudecus: a deeply corrupt Krytan minister who shows up in various storylines.

7) my aunt Elwin: Elwin Fairchild is a noblewoman of Ebonhawke in the game, a proud Ascalonian ambivalent over Krytan involvement in Ebonhawke’s affairs.

8) Rurikton gate: Asura gates are magic/technological portals created by a species of small, floppy-eared, ethically questionable scientists and researchers. They have a gate in Rurikton that will instantly transport you to the one in Ebonhawke, but it seems that it’s only recently been permanently fixed on Ebonhawke.

9) Lion’s Arch: the former capital of Kryta; after a cataclysm caused by giant eldritch dragons, the original Lion’s Arch was sunk and the city rebuilt into an independent city-state, while Divinity’s Reach became the new capital.

10) The Black Citadel: the capital of Charr-controlled Ascalon, built on top of the former human capital (and human remains, according to one Charr).

11) turned herself over to the Vanguard: the Ebon Vanguard defends and seems to largely control Ebonhawke.

12) five-year-old Deborah: we don’t know the exact age gap between Deborah and the PC, but Deborah seems to be older. 

13) the Salma District: the PC will always live in Salma, regardless of origin, even though the city has sharp class and ethnic divisions and you can belong to one of the minority populations.

14) Duke Barradin himself: Duke Barradin was the heir to the previous royal family in GW1, but loyal to the elected king, Adelbern. His daughter was engaged to Adelbern’s son Rurik, but both were killed, so he has no direct descendants. However, the PC’s friend Faren is explicitly descended from royalty, the noble PC is implied to be so, and the Duke of Ebonhawke is descended from Ascalonian kings in particular, so it seems likely that their progenitor was some relation of Barradin’s.

15) only a Langmar: Captain Langmar led the elite Ascalonian soldiers that ultimately founded Ebonhawke, though she died in the process. There’s no sign that she had anything like an aristocratic background, but we’re told that class hierarchy in Rurikton is rooted in descent from Searing-era heroes, as Langmar was.

16) mixed heritage: GW2 Ascalonians, especially in Kryta, are a lot less homogeneous than in GW1. We see NPCs of all sorts of RL ethnicities identifying as Ascalonian or strongly implied to be Ascalonian. OTOH, Ebonhawke Ascalonians are implied to regard Krytan Ascalonians as "less" Ascalonian than they are, and there's a remark about Logan Thackeray’s beige heartthrob status being partly because he’s pure Ascalonian. The NPC I appropriated as their mother is a minister with default Krytan design, but who is talking with a Krytan who tells her to get over the Searing.

17) safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry: per #13, Salma is canonically the PC’s home and I’m stretching canon. The game is pretty emphatic that Ascalonians live in Rurikton or the Ascalon Settlement, and since there are nobles and mansions in Rurikton, it can’t even be a matter of “but the noble ones are up on Manor Hill.” The real explanation is that the choice of ethnicity is purely cosmetic and not considered any further, but that’s boring, and we’re never told that the PC has always lived in Salma.

18) Yolanda, Corone, and Faren: Faren is a shallow flibbertigibbet, but he seems to genuinely care for the PC; Yolanda and Corone are two of the friendliest guests at the party he throws for you.

19) the Seraph: the Seraph are a cross between soldiers and police in Kryta, principally involved in fighting off centaur and bandit attacks.

20) Captain Thackeray: Logan Thackeray, the Seraph commander of Divinity’s Reach and ultimate mentor/friend to the PC. He’s the descendant of Gwen Thackeray from GW1/GW: Eye of the North, who was the BEST CHARACTER IN GUILD WARS enslaved by the Charr as a child, but escaped to fight them for the rest of her life between succeeding Captain Langmar, finding love, and establishing Ebonhawke. She’s an iconic hero to Ascalonians.

21) Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire: you don’t get a chance to correct the Salma Guide, but otherwise these are his exact words. The Foefire was the mad king Adelbern’s final curse that turned him and the last survivors into ghosts; the game tends to emphasize this rather than the Searing + brutal invasion that led to it. (It’s particularly glaring in this case, as you personally see Ascalon ravaged by the Searing in GW1 and spend a good deal of time fighting there, years before the Foefire.)

22) Minister Ailoda Langmar: the Krytan-Ascalonian minister I mentioned above is simply "Minister Ailoda," with no other name given. There's no sign of any connection to the PC, but eh, game mechanics.

23) the Mashewes...Jasmina...that ass Zamon...Corone and his friend Edmonds: Lady Mashewe is a pleasant acquaintance who says her mother prayed for the PC; Jasmina's a noblewoman avoiding Faren; Zamon and the PC insult each other; Edmonds talks to the PC with Corone.

24) Anise: Anise is the charming, enigmatic, and powerful mesmer leader of the queen’s personal guard, the Shining Blade.

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TWO

1 My sister’s gravestone read: Deborah Fairchild Daughter of Kryta and Ascalon Died serving her country with honour, faith, and courage. No body rested beneath the stone; neither the Seraph nor Mother’s Ministry guards ever managed to recover the missing corpses. I never saw a ghost, never heard the merest whisper of her spirit. The grave was the nearest approximation we had, but I often felt drawn to it, dry-eyed and somber. A day rarely passed when I spoke her name, and a day rarely passed when I did not think of her, memories jumbled up with horror at what that missing body must mean. When Debs joined the Seraph, she spoke of Logan Thackeray, of Ebonhawke, of the ancestral heroes whose names brought us respect and luxury—not of Mother, Aunt Elwin, certainly not me. Yet I could not help feeling that somehow, had I done something different, been someone different, she would never have left us. 2 For a year, I played my part in what increasingly seemed a theatre of grief: three months’ withdrawal into mourning, gradual emergence into a solemn, reserved public life over the next six months, and another quarter-year to return to my old habits of gaiety and grudges—yet little altered for me, at court or during my weekly vigils at the grave. Not, at least, until one of the latter was interrupted by a familiar voice, saying: “Indulgence doesn’t suit you, darling.” “Anise?” I exclaimed, too surprised for offence; Countess Anise was a longtime friend of our family—only the Six knew how long—but I rarely saw her away from court, much less in the guarded seclusion of the Langmar cemetery. “All those faces of yours,” said Anise, her drawl indistinguishable from every other time I’d heard her, “and you’re squandering them on self-pity and an empty coffin.” “She wanted to be a real Ascalonian,” I blurted out—I, who hadn’t confided in my mother or my aunt or my friends, and somehow I couldn’t help but babble on, “a hero fighting for her home and her cause, and now—now she’s just like them, a martyr and a defiled corpse somewhere—” “You’re getting hysterical,” Anise said, not unkindly, and added, “Is martyrdom what it means to be Ascalonian, now?” I’d always liked Anise, a clever lady mesmer like my namesake, but alive and undefeated; I respected her uncharted skills and enjoyed her inscrutable charm, but until that moment, I never realized: she was Ascalonian, too. 3 Teach me, I found myself begging Anise, though I myself didn’t quite know what I meant—maneuvering in the court, or chaos magic, or defending another person, or outwitting potential threats, or generating clones, or simply surviving in prosperity—perhaps I did not mean anything in particular. I couldn’t be Deborah, and in my heart I didn’t want to be Deborah, a soldier locked into hierarchies and orders and thrown into small doomed skirmishes. In any case, I hadn’t Deborah’s resilience, or Captain Thackeray’s unwavering loyalty, or his foremother Gwen’s relentless courage—but if I did not envision myself as equal to Anise, hers were footsteps I could see myself following, regardless of the particulars. Even as I pleaded with her, I expected little from a woman at once detached and preoccupied—and thought little of what had driven her to intercede in the first place. But Anise, taking the request on its face, smiled. “Chaos for a devotee of Kormir? Delightful—I’ll expect you at moonrise.” 4 My life reformed itself over that next year. Mother, relieved to see me interested in something of substance, readily relinquished me to Anise’s patronage; Anise herself proved an exacting but gracious mentor, dispensing advice, demands, criticism, and praise in equal measure; and my friends found me more and more myself. Small concerns crept back into my mind: the superiority of silk over velvet, Barradin wine over Eldvin ale, Gwen Thackeray over Queen Salma. Greater ones, of course, drew my attention as well: the downfall of the Meades, one of the oldest Ascalonian houses in Kryta, and consequent disappearance of our childhood friend Kasmeer Meade; the desperation of the war in my birthplace and heightened Krytan aid; the murder of an Ascalonian minister. I miss Debs every day, I wrote to my aunt, but I know I have to make something of my own life, in my own way. I’ve been thinking of returning to Ebonhawke to help, since Anise says I am ‘highly proficient’ as an aetherist. I haven’t left Divinity’s Reach in years, though, so before I try myself against the Charr, I’m planning on making my way around Queensdale—at least Shaemoor. 5 To the world, my story began the day I stepped through Dwayna’s Gate into Shaemoor. The world is wrong, of course; my life didn’t begin with centaurs clubbing a frightened man the instant that I set foot in Shaemoor, with stalls and cottages roaring into flame, with a boy as blond as Debs huddled in a corner, with the blood and brains and screams of that day. It didn’t begin with the barely-heard orders from Corporal Beirne—with the indistinct impulse that had me running forward rather than back, urging strangers towards the inn, catching the boy up in my arms, consoling a woman over the slaughter of her dog as I dragged her with my free hand—with the furious spells tumbling from my mouth, focused through the weak wooden sceptre in my hand. I was someone before I became the hero of Shaemoor. I was myself, with my own history, my own concerns, my own people … the man, that man slaughtered before my eyes, was Ascalonian, and the boy too. If they had not been, perhaps the instinct of the moment would not have flung me into the horror as if I’d been tempered by the Searing, instead of sheltered in Divinity’s Reach. Or perhaps it ran deeper than that, and I would have turned onto that path had the man been Zamon, or an Asura, or even a Charr—but still, it was the turn, not the beginning. 6 Something did begin at Shaemoor, however: my association with Logan Thackeray. I’d met him before, socially, but only just—and in perfect honesty, knew him more as the butt of Anise’s wit than anything else. But I respected him from what I’d heard of his service to Divinity’s Reach, and for his determination to follow his ancestress’s footsteps and not just her name. In the midst of all that panic and death, it seemed only natural to rush to his aid when I heard that he was being overwhelmed. I had no sword, like Logan, or Deborah; I struck from among magical decoys, twisting chaos about our enemies from each direction—but it was something, and an hour from leaving the city for the first time, I was at Logan’s side, blasting aether at a massive earth elemental and the many smaller ones. He didn’t know me from Kormir, or at least from Kasmeer, but I knew we were a Langmar and a Thackeray again, thrown into another desperate fight, and there were worse ways to die. But we didn’t die; we lived and we triumphed, and by the time that I awoke in the care of a priestess of Dwayna, every Seraph from Logan on down knew who I was. 7 All my life, I had been Minister Ailoda’s other girl or the lady Elwin’s niece or Sergeant Fairchild’s sister or a Langmar, you know, on the mother’s side—or, now and then, merely my lady. I rarely heard my own name outside my little circle of Ascalonian nobles. I also rarely heard it in the immediate wake of Shaemoor. But now I wasn’t a satellite about greater relations, extensions of my mother or aunt or sister or heroic ancestors. I was the hero, myself, even as I wandered about Shaemoor in a daze. I didn’t do much: fought off little wyrms and harpies, found missing herds, gathered apples. Yet there was no my lady there, much less So-and-so’s relation: only the hero of Shaemoor.

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1) clever lady mesmer like my namesake: the PC's name isn't explicitly stated in this section, but those familiar with the original Guild Wars: Prophecies can probably figure it out from this reference.

2) Chaos for a devotee of Kormir?: all human characters choose a patron god/goddess, and the choice of god and the choice of profession are completely independent. But Kormir, goddess of order and truth, is a rather odd choice for a chaos magic-using mesmer.

3) the murder of an Ascalonian minister: Minister Brios, the representative for the Ascalonian Settlement, is poisoned in Divinity's Reach before a meeting with Anise. There are very few Ascalonian ministers, so the murder of one of them seems likely to be particularly troubling to Ascalonians.

4) before I try myself against the Charr: you can get to Ebonhawke straight from the starting zone of Divinity’s Reach, but Ebonhawke is in a level 30+ zone. 

5) a boy as blond as Debs: Deborah will be blonde if you choose to be Ascalonian.

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THREE 1 These days, I knew better than to let myself get consumed by grief. Still, as I flung spells at spiders, giant worms, bandits, centaurs, anything, I couldn’t help but wish that Deborah could see me now. At the garrison, I snatched up a rusty sword and poured magic through it with every swing at a centaur; what would she think? Me, fighting with a sword? Maybe not the way she or the other Seraph did, but still! She wouldn’t believe it. She’d be proud, I thought—wouldn’t she? 2 I’d barely passed beyond Shaemoor when I heard from Faren: positively hasty, for him. His pet raven delivered a gushing note that, in the space of a few sentences, managed to tease me about my injuries, urge me to talk him up to my healer, and summon me to a party—at my own house. I could only laugh; ridiculous as he often was, I loved him dearly, and always had. Even as children, we’d been friends and companions, but after Kasmeer vanished and Deborah died, we found ourselves inseparable. We were among the last of that quiet, secure little Ascalonian world in which we’d grown up at Rurikton—certainly the closest. Deborah’s death had changed me, driven me beyond the walls of Rurikton and Manor Hill, beyond letters and parties and court gossip. But I remained Faren’s friend, as I would always be. 3 Many people, I think, assumed Faren and I were lovers; in fact, to our own bemusement, nothing could be further from the truth. When we were seventeen, he said, “I don’t understand it. You’re pretty—I’m gorgeous—but I really think I’d throw up.” I might have been offended had I not felt exactly the same. “Inbreeding, I expect,” I told him. Faren brightened. “Grandmama was a Fairchild.” 4 Faren waited ahead of the party—a sacrifice, in the world of Faren—to greet me with his most grandiose bow. “The hero of Shaemoor returns!” I shook my head, but I grinned despite myself. It turned out that my servants had gleefully conspired with him, and when I entered the courtyard, I found it full of strangers and friends alike, along with food, gossip, and a wizard. I’d enjoyed exploring Queensdale, pushing myself to further and further limits; it was good to know that I could enjoy simpler pleasures, too, although it didn’t extend to the dog fights and bear baiting that a cousin of Faren’s called for. “Not in my home,” I snapped, “and if you want to stay, don’t mention that again.” When I heard someone say my name, I seized the chance to turn away—only to find myself facing my mother’s most hated rival. 5 “Minister Zamon.” “You’ve done well for yourself,” Zamon said acidly. “All it takes for a noble to be a hero is a bit of swordplay, a few bottles of cheap brandy, and an inflated sense of self-importance.” He had said much the same of Deborah’s swift rise among the Seraph; she’d never responded, holding herself above partisan squabbles. “Then you’re almost a hero already, my lord,” I replied, smiling. “All you lack is the brandy and swordplay.” I was not Deborah. 6 Even my old friends seemed to see the hero of Shaemoor more than anything else. Corone, brought up with Faren and Kasmeer and me, and now a respected warrior, regarded me as if he’d never seen me before, and said he’d be honoured to fight beside me. Yolanda hailed me as a heroine—before chiding me for associating so much with Faren, “that rascal!” In his imagination, maybe. Fending off her interrogation about Logan Thackeray, I’d never been happier to see Faren bounce towards me. And the moment that I muttered something about being tired, he assured me that he was done with the party as well, and headed off to make our excuses to the servants. I was ignoring Yolanda’s meaningful stare when I heard him scream. 7 Corone got his wish sooner than either of us could have imagined. We easily trounced the bandits who swept into the party, but it didn’t matter: Faren was already gone. With Corone and Edmonds protecting the guests, I ran out of Manor Hill and into the district plaza, desperately trying to catch any sign of Faren, or even the bandits; they’d have to have some way to recognize each other, wouldn’t they? But there was nothing, just ordinary people carrying on with ordinary business, merchants calling out sales, the old tour guide talking to a woman with a red handkerchief about her neck … with that over her mouth, she’d look just like the bandits who had abducted Faren— “Madam?” said someone near us, and then “ma'am!” as I blasted the bandit with a bolt of aether. I fought at least half a dozen across the district, tracking them one by one to a house at the opposite end of Salma. At the sight of me, bandits poured out of the house, but I didn’t care: they’d learn what it meant to cross a daughter of Ascalon.

FOUR

1 After Shaemoor, the bandits were nothing. They kept jumping out of their safehouse one by one—idiocy—and flailed at my clones, even their supposed leader. “Soon, you’ll beg me for death!” he shouted. I laughed, and blew up the clones. He went down like a basket of eggs. But I never laughed for long. I’d yet to see Faren, and images of bandits beating him, tormenting him, cutting his throat, flickered before me, each as vivid as every spell I cast. 2 Inside the bandits’ safehouse, I raced upstairs, barely wasting attention on the few guards left inside. Fear and victory kept my blood rushing fast: I didn’t even think about Anise’s lessons, but my feet landed exactly as she’d taught me, my body slipped away from each attack, and every spell hit its mark. Beyond them, I could just see Faren. He seemed alive, thank the gods, but stretched out in magical chains that turned my anger and fear to raw fury. I fought through a haze of rage, but one that illuminated rather than blinded—everything seemed crisp and bright and clear, more than ever before. When the last of them collapsed, I scrambled the rest of the way up the stairs, and tried to clear my head. “Um,” said Faren, “a little help here?” 3 When I broke the chains, relief flooding through me, he gave a hoarse laugh. “Am I pleased to see you!” he exclaimed, then grinned and added, “though if you wanted me to leave the party, a simple ‘Begone, freeloader!’ would have sufficed.” Captivity or no, Faren clearly remained Faren. “I’ll make a note of that,” I said dryly, and asked after any information he might have picked up on what the devil was going on. But he knew only that they operated out of a house in Shaemoor, where they’d meant to lock him up, and that in recent months, they’d turned more brazen, bloodthirsty, and focused on rebellion against the crown. “I can't save you and leave the others to rot,” I decided, and managed to smile at him. “Bad form, you know.” 4 Faren, looking determined (for him), said, “Count me in—I may not be a centaur-killing berserker like you, but I can take care of myself.” I’d believe that when I saw it. On the way to the bandits' den, I said, “Glad to have you with me, but do me a favour? Stay close”—I poked him with my sceptre—“and that way, we can protect each other.” Faren shrugged that off, which didn’t comfort me, but he actually managed himself well enough; he didn’t even get blood on his clothes as we fought our way into the concealed and guarded caves, nor when we rescued all the prisoners caged inside, so it counted as a success as far as he was concerned. “If you know any fair maidens, be sure to tell them who rescued you,” he said, and added with a grin, “the dashing Lord Faren … and his friend!” 5 The mission did count as a success for me, too; one of the captives had filched papers about a plot in Divinity’s Reach. We escorted him and the others out, taking down the remaining bandits with impatience (me) and glee (Faren). “We showed them what Ascalonians are made of!” he said triumphantly, and I straightened right up. “That’s right.” When Logan Thackeray arrived to help, Faren swaggered up and said, “My friend and I defeated these delinquents with panache and aplomb; you're just in time to celebrate our victory.” “I’m … amazed,” said Captain Thackeray. I knew the feeling. 6 “Then again,” he said, favouring me with a respectful nod, “I should have known that the hero of Shaemoor wouldn’t let your kidnapping go unanswered.” I remembered Shaemoor, fighting alongside Captain Thackeray with my stick of a sceptre just like Gwen and Langmar once had, all those years ago, and tried not to think too much of it; we’d barely met, outside of a few social occasions he clearly didn’t remember. But I also thought of Faren struggling in his chains, and danger spreading to the home that was supposed to keep us safe, and that we were all Ascalonians together. “No one hurts my friends without answering to me,” I said firmly. I handed over the papers we’d acquired, but to my surprise, it was Faren(!) who proved most useful; he noticed the quality of the paper, and even knew of the papermaker I could track down to identify it. I promised, “I'll get the information you need, without anyone realizing the Seraph are aware of the traitor in the city.” “Be careful,” said Captain Thackeray. 7 Although he warned me, I didn’t realize so many skale existed in the world as I wiped out on that trip—luckily, I found a new sceptre on the way, so I managed to keep them at a distance, and my clothes remained as pristine as Faren’s. When I arrived, I found the paper maker he’d mentioned; Fursarai was a small, prissy man, an impression not helped by his quite beautiful waistcoat, but it didn’t stop him from shouting at a departing Norn about getting his supplies back to the city. “You there—you look like you can handle yourself in a fight!” he announced, gaze fixed on something in my direction; I glanced over my shoulder, but none of the Seraph seemed to be behind me, nor anyone else. He gabbled something about the garrison and cowardly guards at the empty air—unless—unless "you there" was supposed to mean me? What a boor: but unfortunately, a boor who could direct me to Faren’s attackers. Friendship had its sacrifices. I looked at my silk sleeves, and sighed. FIVE 1 “What do you cost?” Cin Fursarai demanded, and now I preferred to believe he wanted a replacement for that Norn. It was flattering, I suppose, that he looked at me—a young noblewoman in silk, wool, and fine leather, carrying only a sceptre and a small sword—and thought I looked like someone who could fight. “I’m not a mercenary,” I said, and added: “I'm here to ask for help identifying the craftsmanship of a piece of handmade paper.” Fursarai sniffed. “If you found quality paper in Divinity’s Reach, I can assure you, I made it.” By sheer force of will, I didn’t roll my eyes—I had a conspiracy to unearth, never mind how irritating this little prig was—and instead requested his help, only for him to sniff again and go on about how he had no loyalty to the crown, because he happened to live in Lion’s Arch. He had red hair and dressed in high Rurikton fashion; he had to be Ascalonian, descendant of refugees saved by Kryta’s rulers, yet—yet— 2 It didn’t matter. It didn’t, not right now—and anyway, our fashions had spread far and wide, Lion’s Arch had long ago drowned its history, and true Ascalonian identity meant more than ancestry, whatever they might say in Rurikton. Deborah had taught me that much; if he didn’t care about it, then I wouldn’t, either. Easier said than done, though. “I need this information as soon as possible,” I told him. “But why should I trust you?” he retorted. “Who are you, anyway?” 3 I lifted my chin, and for all I might tell myself, I felt as if the pride of generations clustered about me, even with my foremothers’ spirits hopefully at peace in the Hall of Echoes. I had not forgotten what I came from. All those Langmars, the children and children’s children of Gwen Thackeray’s great captain. The Krytans they’d married now and then, abandoning an easy heritage to transplant themselves into Rurikton, absorbed into Ascalonian life and identity. The Fairchilds in Ebonhawke, kin of the last kings, of the duke who still haunted Ascalon and his martyred daughter. They’d fought a long defeat, on and on, yet managed to keep a last corner of human Ascalon alive; my aunt still worked to keep Ebonhawke standing while this man sneered over paper. “I am Lady Althea Fairchild of Divinity’s Reach and Ebonhawke,” I said. 4 Fursarai eyed me suspiciously. “Well, which one?” Despite myself, my defiance flickered. I would always be Ascalonian above all else, yet I would always serve the queen, too, and set myself against the enemies of Kryta. I belonged to Ebonhawke, my father’s land, my birthplace and my pride; I belonged to Divinity’s Reach, the only home I knew, where my mother’s people had lived and fought for generations. Anise always called me a creature of two faces, and I supposed I was. “I don’t know,” I admitted. 5 He grunted. “Explains why you don’t stink like the rest, anyway.” “Thank you,” I replied dryly. After a minute of meditation (not helped by Fursarai’s string of complaints), we headed out. I was just about ready to kill him myself by the time we got to the Shaemoor garrison; he’d have easily died without me fighting skale and centaurs and one exceptionally large spider by sceptre and sword, but he made not the slightest attempt to defend himself, just cowering against his bull and yelping the entire way there. That was before I had to take down three centaur catapults and Lyssa knew how many centaurs, with maybe two Seraph backing me up. Naturally, his gratitude upon entering the garrison amounted to checking his supplies three times, turning to me, and pronouncing: “I feel like I was run over by a herd of marauding dolyaks!” 6 Irritation aside, he did supply the information I needed, admitting that he sold his paper to Minister Zamon. Zamon, the man who’d all but gloated at my mother when Deborah died, purely—I thought then—because of malice at the suffering of a rival. And then, not long ago: the man who’d sneered at my defense of Shaemoor. “He has excellent taste,” Fursarai said, his glance clearly implying that I didn’t. As if he’d know. I silently decided that I’d never buy anything from him, even if I had to go to Lion’s Arch myself to find another papermaker. I smiled and said, “Don’t leave Divinity’s Reach.” 7 I found Captain Thackeray in the Seraph Headquarters, deep in a discussion with Anise, of all people, but his head snapped up when he caught sight of me. “Do you have any news?” “Fursarai admitted he made the paper for Minister Zamon,” I said, suppressing any signs of satisfaction. Well, mostly; Anise cast an amused look in my direction. “Setting up citizens to be robbed and brutalized?” exclaimed Captain Thackeray. “That's out-and-out treason.” Why, so it was.

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1) The Fairchilds in Ebonhawke, kin of ... the duke who still haunted Ascalon and his martyred daughter: i.e., Duke Barradin, while his daughter, Lady Althea—this Althea’s namesake—was burned alive by the Charr.

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SIX 1 “But where are my manners?” said Captain Thackeray, whom I’d never seen with so much as a wrinkle in his surcoat or a hair out of place. “Allow me to introduce you to Countess Anise, Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade.” Bemused, I nodded at my mentor of years, while Anise bowed with a faint, ironic smile. Disregarding the matter of manners, she said smoothly, “Minister Wi’s hosting a party tonight; it’ll be a good opportunity to eavesdrop on ministers, their allies, and enemies.” Captain Thackeray couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree, but clearly wanted to; he proposed a (perfectly legal) raid on Zamon’s house instead, and worse still, left the choice to me, insisting that he couldn’t give me orders—even though he clearly had no idea who I was. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he’d realized I had a name. 2 Naturally, I consulted with Anise—Thackeray or no Thackeray, she was my guide and teacher. “Personally,” she said in her light voice, “I prefer convivial, face-to-face situations. Then again, cloak-and-dagger skulduggery is always fun.” I laughed. “The way you describe it, it all sounds so charming; I’ll have to think it over.” I didn’t, actually. Minister Wi lived in Rurikton, and Faren was my best friend; if I knew anything, it was Rurikton parties. 3 “Minister Wi’s party,” I announced. “I’ll see what I can learn.” “Are you sure?” said Captain Thackeray, though with a distinct note of resignation. “You can’t break into Zamon’s place if you attend Minister Wi’s party.” “I’m sure,” I told him. “Minister Wi’s party it is.” He sighed. 4 “Your fellow nobles seem to have a knack for making my life interesting,” Captain Thackeray told me, clearly putting the best face on it. “Let’s see if we can’t return the favour.” “We nobles, Captain Thackeray?” I said, amused; everyone knew about his relationship to Gwen—and his relationship to Queen Jennah, too. “A step down from royalty making your life interesting, I’m sure.” To my surprise, he flinched. Some lover’s spat, perhaps; I decided it was none of my business, and turned to Anise, who promised to meet me at the party—because it wouldn’t do to make us share the spotlight during our entrance. Of course. 5 I listened to a few complaints and registered some unsolved crimes after Anise left, then headed out. At least, I meant to, but on my way to the door out of Seraph Headquarters, I caught sight of an open book—a register. “That lists the names of all Seraph soldiers for the last two decades,” an officer told me proudly. I glanced over my shoulder, undoubtedly looking as suspect as a priest of Grenth on Wintersday, but nobody seemed to be paying attention; the officer had drifted over to settle a dispute over a farm, Captain Thackeray was talking to a lieutenant, and everybody else looked up to their ears in work. I opened the book, scolding myself for being foolish, giving into a pointless sentimentality that would achieve nothing, recover no corpse for a grave—but still, I turned the pages, searching for the name I would know. I felt like a spy, flipping through pages, for all that the registry was open to the public and I had every right to look—and then, there it was, near the head of its page. Sgt Deborah Fairchild; missing in action, assumed dead. 6 “Are you looking for someone?” said Captain Thackeray. I nearly jumped straight into the air; as it was, I flinched as violently as he had. “No, sir,” I said, and realized—Debs would have said no, sir in the exact same tone, would have stood in this very room as I did now, would know it all better than I did. What would she have thought, if she’d known that one day I would be investigating crimes for the Seraph, reporting to Captain Thackeray himself? She’d never pressed me to be anything I wasn’t, never seemed to love me less for being the thoughtless, frivolous creature I was then, but I couldn’t help but imagine she’d have been proud. Imagine how this whole thing might have gone if she’d been alive—maybe we’d be investigating Zamon together, or— “Good luck, Captain Thackeray,” I said, and walked out. 7 By happy coincidence, I already had an invitation, of sorts. My mother’s said Minister Ailoda Langmar and one other. “You want to go?” said Mother, looking startled. “I would have thought you’d be busy slaying monsters or saving people or whatever else you do these days.” I frowned, unsure how to take this; it might have been pride, if not for her studiously neutral tone—did she think all this unimportant, or regrettable, or beneath us? Or was it fear, with Deborah dead on Seraph business? For a wild moment, I longed to tell her, cling to her and admit that I was frightened and angry as well as resolved, to confide in someone who would always see Althea first and the hero of Shaemoor second. “I need to keep an eye on Faren,” I said.

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1) his relationship to Queen Jennah: Jennah is the Queen of Kryta, and a beautiful young woman; it’s widely rumoured that she and Logan are having an affair. The last time royalty made his life especially interesting was when he deserted his dragon-hunting guild, Destiny's Edge, out of love for Jennah. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------    SEVEN 1 I headed back to Rurikton for the party, though a good while before it was set to begin. I hadn’t been home for a while—months, though it felt like longer—and I wanted to get my bearings. I strolled past the familiar stone gryphons, a light calm settling over me. It deepened as I made my way down the streets, passing refugees and servants who gave slight bows: respectful, no more. Clusters of nobles nodded familiarly at me. I stopped by local traders, most of whom I knew by name. One bookseller had a pair of rare books on Ascalonian history, one of which I’d wanted for ages; I purchased them on the spot, and after these weeks of fighting and investigating and rescuing, it was a pleasure to let it all slide for a moment, and decide that today was already a success. 2 I personally carried my books to Langmar Manor, since I’d forgotten to bring any servants, and didn’t feel very much inclined to send for one now. Oddly enough, I had gotten used to managing on my own. The walk from the district square was a short and easy one in any case; I strolled down the streets, encountering nothing worse than a few seditious posters I tore down, and a man complaining about Captain Thackeray to an unsympathetic friend. “You know, just because your wife’s taken a shine to Logan Thackeray doesn’t make him a bad guy—he’s cursed.” At the first man’s scoff, the friend added, “Cursed with good looks and true Ascalonian blood! It’s not his fault that every woman fawns over him.” Not every woman, I thought. 3 The people of Rurikton had always mingled at the Maiden’s Whisper as well as Rurikton at large, so I attracted no particular curiosity when I strolled into the tavern. Several other lords and ladies stood near the entrance, smiling and lifting their glasses towards me as I passed, while everyone else simply continued their own conversations—despite the Norn inexplicably towering at the side of the room. “I like that Minister Caudecus,” one girl announced. “To Queen Jennah!” someone just out of sight said, echoed by a dozen toasts to the queen, Divinity’s Reach, Captain Thackeray, and assorted ministers. Across the hall, a man bellowed drunkenly, “Show me a woman who can wrestle a bear, and I’ll show you a keeper!” “If the Charr think they can come here,” said a woman, her voice clear and pleasant, “me and my meat cleaver will tell them otherwise.” I smiled; despite everything, it really was good to be home. 4 I spent the last few hours before the party skulking around Rurikton, but found nothing beyond a particularly incompetent group of adventurers and ordinary conversation on the street. Returning to the inn, I searched for a relatively secluded place, found it in a library, and closed my eyes, peering through those of a near-invisible clone as she drifted through Minister Wi’s manor. She wasn’t caught, but turned up nothing except preparations for the party. I was sure there had to be something we’d missed, but apparently not. Well, Zamon might be acting in secrecy. Might. I resigned myself to the inevitable: I would only discover what I needed to know at the party, and I would have no preparation beyond what I already knew. 5 When I arrived at the manor in person, the place was positively oozing Ministry guards, for no particular reason. Anise slanted them a glance that betrayed nothing, then eyed my finery with nearly smug approval. “This will be delightful,” she said, apparently no more inclined than usual to bother with such minutia as greetings and farewells. “Having the hero of Shaemoor on my arm will make tongues wag.” Even though it was just Anise, I flushed. So much for separate entrances—but it was like Anise to enjoy disrupting plans, even her own. “Thank you for letting me join you this evening, Countess,” I said, because it was like me, too. 6 “Mingle,” she said. “Speak to everyone—you never know who’ll say something they regret later.” It was an encouraging thought. “Second,” said Anise, “don’t limit your conversation to nobility; servants and guards see everything.” “Understood,” I replied, adding, “I suppose it goes without saying that I should be discreet?” “You catch on fast,” she told me, and touched her finger to the end of my nose, eliciting a startled laugh. “Go and charm the masses.” 7 “You know where to find me if you need me, pet,” Anise concluded, while I still tried to wrap my mind and dignity around the fact that she’d bopped my nose. But at the moment, I found her at my side, setting my hand on her arm and marching forward in her tall boots. She actually smiled when I matched my steps to hers, even if I could hardly match the total assurance of her stride and her drawl—but she smiled more at the sudden hush that fell over the grand room when we entered. “The Countess Anise,” the servant at the door announced, and after a suitably dramatic pause, continued, “and the hero of Shaemoor!” Virtually everyone in this room had known me from childhood, but they all bowed anyway, as if my mother herself stood in my place, rather than the other way around; she’d abruptly developed a cold when she heard Zamon would be there. Zamon himself was nowhere to be seen. Interesting.

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1) Cursed with good looks and true Ascalonian blood: this (and much of the dialogue here) is part of the ambient dialogue near the inn. 

[ratasum-renegade]

The Extended Keyfarm

So I've decided, every Sunday (homework permitting) is going to be my Extended Keyfarm day.

What's an 'Extended Keyfarm'?

Essentially, it's like a normal keyfarming run, but you're going after all three PS keys.

Details under the cut, I recommend reading the entire post before starting –

What you'll need –

• Empty Character Slot • Experience Scrolls (to levels 20/30/40) • Enough Tomes of Knowledge to book your character up to level 60 • Royal Terrace Pass (optional, but highly recommended)

General Steps –

1. Create your Human Guardian, breeze through character creation until you reach the story choices. 2. Pick "Commoner" and then "Dead Sister" for your first two story arcs. 3. Scroll/Tome up your character once you're out of the intro story instance. 4. Make sure to equip whatever armor is given to you from each level up. 5. Equip them with a Greatsword and Staff. 6. (Optional) Make sure you have your Royal Terrace Pass (preferably in the shared character slot). 6. (Optional) Pop any Speed Boosters you might have. 7. Begin running your PS. Do only the PS; I recommend disregarding map completion.

Storyline Branches –

Arc 1: Choose The Hospital in Jeopardy. Arc 2: Choose Confronting Captain Tervelan. Arc 3: The Orders of Tyria > Mortus Virge > Triskell Quay > The Sad Tale of the "Ravenous" > The Trap  (Join the Order of Whispers) Arc 4: Choose They Went Thataway. Arc 5: Pick the Hylek – Choose Chosen of the Sun. Arc 6: Finish with The Battle of Claw Island.

I chose to run with a Guardian because they can take more of a beating (relatively) compared to a Warrior; additionally, both Greatsword and Staff skill 3 makes going places by foot a lot quicker. I highly recommend using the Royal Terrace Pass (if you have it, or buy it when it returns to the Gem Store) because there is a lot of back and forth between quest locations and Divinity's Reach.

The pass is a lot cheaper than waypointing back and forth, which I like because I'm cheap af.

I picked the story arc choices to be as quick and efficient as possible (at least for me), ultimately, it's up to you to decide whether or not a certain path is quicker for you than the ones I've got listed.

It took me approximately 3 hours total to do everything. Your run may be (significantly) shorter if you're good with managing bag space and memorizing quest locations after a few runs.

...And yes, you have to watch your Order mentor die in order to get your last Key. Sorry.

Remember to save all your PS loot bags (~68 total bags, IIRC), stick them into your bank, and open them on a level 80 character; it'll give you lots of things to salvage for mats, and a handful of dyes.

Of course, what drops out of the three chests you get to open after finishing the PS up to that point depends on RNGesus (or Lootcifer, whoever you beseech for good rewards). This first run, I got lucky on the second chest and got a Guaranteed Wardrobe Unlock, which yielded Kasmeer's Staff.

But to me, three keys are better than none. In hindsight, when I'm busier, I might go just for the first two keys instead of all three, because the second key drops right after the beginning of Arc 4.

Happy [extended] keyfarming!

[ascalonianlightbringer]

I figured I'd wrap up the "The Fall of Falcon Company" section of the Missing Sister storyline with Gwen, my chronomancer.

Last time, she chose to bring Logan in rather than confronting her dead sister's corrupt commander alone. So this part begins with visiting Logan and telling him about Tervelan's betrayal. I was a bit surprised that Logan seemed genuinely incredulous at this—presumably less because he likes Tervelan (who is a nasty little rat of a man) than at the idea of any Seraph captain betraying Kryta.

Still, he agreed to talk to Tervelan about it. Gwen and Logan met up at the monastery, this time with a mix of very chilly and very warm receptions from the local Seraph.

One of the unfriendly lieutenants snapped out, "Did you two come in a golden carriage?" Their assumption that city folk all live in luxury continues to clash with Gwen's actual history of growing up homeless on the streets, though I'm not sure that will ever affect the story again. But in-story, one of her best friends just ended up dismembered for crossing a bandit gang in Divinity's Reach and another close friend left the gang for being insufficiently revolutionary and got the hell out of Dodge. I'm pretty sure Gwen's reaction to the idea that she's some pampered child of privilege is a mixture of bewilderment and smothered rage.

Anyway, the other half of the Seraph were very evidently hoping that Logan was there to replace Tervelan. Nope! And in fact, Logan even gave Tervelan the chance to voluntarily come in for questioning instead of starting an immediate fight. Tervelan refused and ordered/bribed his Seraph to kill both Logan and Gwen.

Tangent: most of the Seraph captains are quite glossy and shiny, even the ones who are very far from the capital. But Tervelan's uniform (while otherwise standard) is dull and off-color. It's a nice bit of detail.

Logan had another interesting character moment when the Seraph were ordered to attack. He responded sharply, "I will show no mercy to anyone who turns against Kryta for gold or who protects a traitor like Tervelan." It's not surprising in the circumstances, but again, he's a bit more hardcore than I remembered him.

In the event, some of the soldiers actually did refuse to follow orders—about half.

The fight with Tervelan was pretty easy, though protracted because he kept running away and using his soldiers to cover for him. But eventually Logan and Gwen fought him into a corner and he surrendered. He admitted that he'd betrayed Falcon Company on behalf of "some politician" signing himself "Minister Arton" who wanted to make Queen Jennah look incompetent—Arton is one of her trusted advisors—and who bribed him with resources for the rest of his command. So he wasn't trying to betray Kryta as a whole, just selling out a particular company for a bribe and remarkably callous about it. Still an asshole, for sure.

(Yep.)

Now it's time to warn the queen!

[ascalonianlightbringer]

I took Gwen into "The Fall of Falcon Company" proper, and met her sister's former commander (since promoted to captain over all Queensdale), Captain Tervelan. Also, I fought a bunch of centaurs who melted under Gwen's attacks (she's a level 80 mesmer decked out in Exotic and Ascended gear), which was fun—she's just started her elite specialization and often feels a bit underpowered.

Tervelan, meanwhile, is a weaselly asshole whom I would like to stab multiple times, but the transition scene for his location is stunning:

You can talk to his lieutenant, who predictably sneers at any PC, allowing for a personality response! I imagine Gwen's personality as a mixture of charm, sneakiness, a good heart, and a fierce temper, so her dialogue choices aren't particularly consistent. This time, I figured she'd be on edge and went for the ferocity option ("Let's step outside these walls, and I'll teach you a little respect"). He's impressed by this.

Tervelan himself goes on about how coddled Logan and Gwen are—a truly wild take on Logan, and at least as wild for Gwen, a street kid whose best friend was recently dismembered and scattered over various parts of the city. His character design and dialogue are clearly meant to be obnoxious and are.

She's a hero because she passed through the city gates, went into Queensdale, and turned the tide of battle at Shaemoor! Does "Hero of Shaemoor" mean nothing to you >_>

So the centaurs conveniently interrupt. This happens specifically because of Gwen's presence—they know about Gwen and realize she's there, but they don't recognize her until she reveals herself (hmmm). Also, a chance animation made her confidence hilariously unsubtle:

(Good luck with that, Hruud the Reaver.)

Anyway, Tervelan continues to be an asshole, first snidely telling Gwen that she can sneak off, and then when she jumps into single combat instead, shouting that he wants to see "fancy footwork." She's a mesmer, so fancy footwork is very much her style, but ... seriously, this guy.

After the fight, he's like blahblah I don't have time for a personal vendetta (so apparently he knows Gwen has a personal stake when even Logan didn't—but Deborah was a sergeant in his command, so it's not that far-fetched). Gwen convinces him to let her help out in exchange for more information, and he pretends to agree, sends her to join a unit to fight some centaurs, only for her to discover it's one(1) soldier. So Tervelan remains shady as hell.

The soldier turns out to have been Deborah's friend/protégée and says some nice things. Given my headcanon that Gwen and Deborah were actually on really bad terms back then and eventually estranged (Gwen was a bandit, Deborah a Seraph), I'm pretty sure that Gwen feels intensely guilty as he rambles on about how Deborah was a fantastic soldier, but of course Gwen would know that already...

The camp conveniently turns out to be the same camp in which the surviving members of Deborah's company were kept before being sold into slavery(!) by the centaurs. Gwen and her new soldier buddy discover the remains of a notebook from one of the members of the company, listing some of the survivors' names (including Deborah's, to Gwen's excitement) and accusing Tervelan of selling them out for some unknown reason. Surprise!

Gwen then had the option to immediately confront Tervelan or to bring Logan onboard. Given the strong rapport between the street PC and Logan, and that Gwen is a smart, sometimes calculating person, I figured she'd want back-up.

[anghraine]

pro patria, chapters 29-35

“We need real Seraph here in Queensdale, not politicians.” Logan considered him in silence, then simply shrugged and strode past him, leaving the man flushed and glowering. Softly, I said, “Watch your tongue.”

title: pro patria (29/35/?) stuff that happens: Althea and Logan confront Tervelan.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Logan Thackeray, Captain Tervelan; Queen Jennah, Minister Arton, others; Althea & Logan chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28

-

TWENTY-NINE 1 “I need to talk to Tervelan myself,” Logan told me. “Meet me at the Eldvin Monastery. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” I nodded, and Logan dropped his hand, clenching it into a gauntleted fist. “If he’s responsible for the Falcon Company incident, we’ll make sure he answers for it.” At that, I managed to summon up a smile. “Yes,” I said, “we will.” 2 Despite the if, Logan seemed to have entirely relinquished his first shocked doubts. When I spoke to him again before I headed back to the waypoint, he said, “Once Tervelan finds out you’re alive, he won’t sit around waiting for you to come after him. You should head to Eldvin Monastery now.” It was abrupt—and abrupt was exactly what we needed right now. “I’m on my way,” I assured him. He was right, all the more as I’d taken up valuable time in rushing to Divinity’s Reach first. The gods only knew what Tervelan was up to. 3 I didn’t stop to change my clothes; with one deep breath, I raced back to the waypoint, shoving coins at the guard—I didn’t even check the denomination—and then headed more cautiously towards the monastery. Logan’s as soon as I can turned out to be very soon indeed; he was already there. “Tervelan’s a traitor,” he murmured, face somber. “It’s hard to believe; whoever played him really knew how to manipulate people.” “They played on his weak spots,” I agreed—they must have, whoever they were—”but he made the choice himself.” My jaw tightened. “He should pay.” 4 “He will,” Logan promised me, tone grim. With that, he headed towards the monastery, slowing after a moment to match his stride to my much shorter one. As we entered the courtyard, my muscles tight as I realized my back was entirely unprotected, one lieutenant looked us up and down with open contempt. “The queen’s little loverboy has some nerve showing his face here,” he said. Remembering Shaemoor, I returned his disdainful stare with one of my own. Logan was many things, but presumptuous was not one of them—nor little. He laughed and went on, “Did you two come in a golden carriage?” 5 My eyes narrowed. I wasn’t foolish enough to draw a weapon based on words alone, but I kept my hand close to my scabbard. “What do you mean by that, soldier?” I snapped. The lieutenant glared up at Logan; it was a good ways up. “We need real Seraph here in Queensdale, not politicians.” Logan considered him in silence, then simply shrugged and strode past him, leaving the man flushed and glowering. Softly, I said, “Watch your tongue.” 6 The lieutenant flinched, then gave another sneer and retreated to his post. Another guard, however, seemed to have been paying close attention; as I moved to catch up with Logan, this one caught my sleeve. “Captain Thackeray’s here?” he said, peering over my shoulder. He looked nervous, but sounded nearly hopeful. “Is … is he going to replace Captain Tervelan?” I tilted my head to the side. “You almost sound as if you’d like that idea.” 7 Raw terror flashed over his face. “No, no … I wouldn’t do anything against Tervelan … forget I said that—please?” I nodded at him, reassured that not everyone seemed to be on Tervelan's side. “Noted.” With that, I ran after Logan, ignoring his faint smile as I clambered up the stairs after him. From here, we could both make out Tervelan, staring us down with his arms crossed. Logan leaned his head down and whispered, “Ready, little sister?” THIRTY 1 “Ready, captain,” I said. As we approached, shoulder-to-shoulder (or, well, head-to-shoulder), Tervelan’s features twisted into a grimace, the expression making him look more weasel-like than ever. “Oh, look,” he said, “it’s my lucky day. The city kid is back again, and this time”—his eyes narrowed—“you brought Captain Thackeray.” I was immediately certain that I’d made the right choice in doing so. Following Logan’s lead, however, I stayed silent. “Two heroes for the price of one!” said Tervelan; pointedly looking around, he added, “Hm, nobody’s smiling?” 2 My well of patience, never deep, evaporated. “You left me and Bigsby alone at that centaur camp on purpose,” I burst out. “Were you hoping we wouldn’t make it out alive? Was I getting too close to the truth about what happened to Falcon Company?” Tervelan stepped closer, the movement infused with menace. I repressed the urge to step back; I’d never backed away from anything, and least of all with Logan at my side. “You dare accuse a real soldier of treason?” 3 I simply lifted my chin. Tervelan was not at all my idea of a real soldier. “If you’d seen half what I’ve seen,” he growled, “you’d fall out of your boots!” Oh, please. The day he fought abominations from the Underworld in Godslost Swamp, we’d talk. “Just because you run around with the queen’s lackey, her boyfriend, you think you can undermine my authority?” By his triumphant look, Tervelan expected this to be a winning blow. 4 Logan not only didn’t recoil and run away, or whatever it was that Tervelan anticipated, he didn’t so much as twitch. I glanced up at him, ready to abide by his decision—so long as that decision brought me closer to finding what had happened to Deborah. It was obedience, for me. Logan studied Tervelan with steady grey eyes, then said coolly, “That’s crossing the line, Tervelan. You’re hereby relieved of your command.” Only my refusal to show weakness before Tervelan kept my expression neutral. I’d gone to Logan because I trusted him and because I was acting as his representative, but somehow I hadn’t really imagined him turning on another Seraph, on my word alone. 5 “I’m taking you back to Divinity’s Reach for questioning,” Logan went on, just as calmly. “I’d prefer you come peacefully.” Tervelan’s sneer shifted into a snarl. “Sorry to disappoint you. Gordan! Reginald! Muster the men!” 6 “One hundred gold to the soldier who silences these two, for good!” I drew a sharp breath. “He’s ordering his Seraph to kill us? Will they do it?” After all that I’d seen, and all that I’d heard, I still found it difficult to believe. The Ministry were the suspect ones, the Seraph were—they were Deborahs and Logans, they were the soldiers I’d helped and received help from— “They might,” said Logan grimly. 7 “Listen here!” he shouted. “Anyone who attacks us will be committing treason! I will show no mercy to anyone who turns against Kryta for gold or who protects a traitor like Tervelan!” Afterwards, I was never sure if I should say that a whole half of Tervelan’s command listened—or that only half did. Regardless, we had to fight a number of highly trained Seraph in addition to Tervelan himself, while other Seraph ran up to defend Logan and me from Tervelan’s loyalists, and the priests shouted and cried at the sudden outbreak. The battle was one of utter chaos: Seraph against Seraph, captain against captain, and me and all the clones I could muster, swinging the balance. We won; but it was a victory with little joy in it. THIRTY-ONE 1 “No more!” screamed Tervelan, shrinking away from bolts of aether and Logan’s sword. “I surrender! Enough—I surrender!” He and his lackeys promptly dropped their weapons, shoulders slumping as their fellow soldiers put them under guard and seized the weaponry. The priests eyed all of us from their alcoves and doorways, not trusting this latest turn of fortunes. I didn’t either. Shoving my sceptre into its sling on my back, I kept my sword at his throat. 2 So did Logan. And while mine was mostly a conduit for aether, his was long and sharp. It pricked Tervelan’s throat as the man dropped to his knees. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!” I glanced at the trickle of blood, and felt nothing but satisfaction. Pressing my sword closer, I demanded, “Did you send Falcon Company into an ambush?” Tervelan looked everywhere except at the two of us, then squeezed his eyes shut. 3 Finally, he lifted his gaze to Logan and me. “I didn’t want to do it,” he muttered, then flinched back from our incredulous looks. “My soldiers were starving, our equipment was ruined. I had to do something or the centaurs would have killed us all!” A shadow of his old disdain returned to his face. “So, yes, I sold out Falcon Company so that some politician could say the queen was a bad ruler.” Tervelan glanced down at the swords and gulped. 4 “But the rest of my command lived. I got funds to re-equip my soldiers, munitions, decent rations, and a promotion. My command’s killed more centaurs than the rest of the Seraph combined—thanks to Falcon Company’s sacrifice.” Logan and I drew equally sharp breaths. No, this was no sacrifice. Sacrifice had to be willing, conscious—one thing when a soldier risked their life in battle, and quite another when they were sold out by their own commander. He could dress it up all he liked; it was treason. 5 “Who paid you?” growled Logan. “Give me a name, now, or by Lyssa’s tears, you will never see the outside of a prison cell again.” Tervelan shuddered. “I … I never met the man,” he said, “but he signed his letters ‘Minister Arton.’ That’s all I know, I swear it.” Logan’s eyes widened, his sword giving a slight jerk. Tervelan squeaked. 6 “Arton’s one of the queen’s advisors. We need to warn Jennah—and fast. She may be in danger.” I nodded. “Tervelan,” Logan announced, “by my authority as a captain of the queen’s Seraph, you’re under arrest.” With every appearance of little effort, he hoisted Tervelan to his feet, and bound his hands behind his back with a piece of rope offered by one of the loyal Seraph. I shoved my sword back in its scabbard, glaring at the traitor. 7 “You can’t put me in prison,” Tervelan insisted. “I’m a Seraph captain!” “Not any more,” said Logan. “I did what was right for Kryta! Someone had to do it—let me go!” “Falcon Company deserved better than this, Tervelan,” I said coldly. “Deborah deserved better.” THIRTY-TWO 1 He flushed. “Don’t you understand? This was how we drew enough attention to our cause to get aid! Supplies! Weapons!” “You sold them out, Tervelan,” I told him, my free hand clenching. “That’s all I see—a traitor, and a disgrace to the uniform.” 2 I turned my back on him and walked away without regret, leaving two of the Seraph to lead him into one of the empty ale carts. Logan kept an eye on them, his expression grim. “I’ll take Tervelan back to Divinity’s Reach and lock him up,” he told me. “Meet me at the palace—we’ll warn the queen about Minister Arton together.” I hesitated, then said, “Tervelan’s slippery, and someone has a vested interest in not letting him talk.” “No visitors, no ministers,” Logan assured me. “I’ll make sure of it.” 3 I thanked him, and trusting his capabilities, headed towards the main entrance, my heart still pounding in my ears. Several of the priests were starting to creep out; I reassured them as well as I could, silently thanking Faren for my years of smiling on cue. At the main gate, I paused to catch my breath, and heard the jingle of armour silencing just behind me. Someone was following me. I cautiously dropped my hand to my sword—and felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the nervous Seraph from before. “Tervelan commanded my unit,” he said earnestly, “but I serve Kryta; my loyalties lie with Logan and the queen.” 4 He was looking for approval, I realized—approval from the woman who had repeatedly blasted Tervelan off his feet, at that. I summoned up one last smile. “Glad to have you on our side, soldier. Carry on.” It was odd, to think that Seraph could be as unsure of themselves and their choices as anyone else, as hesitant or eager, as loyal or confused. I glanced back at the cart. As corrupt. 5 Foolishly, perhaps, I detoured to Salma upon my return to Divinity’s Reach. I had worn these stained and dirty clothes so far, but before the queen? One had to draw a line somewhere. My mother arrived just as I was rushing out in fresh silks. “Althea!” “Hello, Mama,” I said. “And goodbye—I have to go see Queen Jennah.” 6 “The queen?” she exclaimed. “Althea, what are you up to?” “It’s a state secret,” I told her, and kissing her cheek, hurried through one of the free waypoints to the palace, nearly tripping over my own feet on the way out. Hopefully I wouldn’t before the queen herself. I took a deep breath before the gate to the throne room, looked at the Shining Blade guards, and demanded entrance. “By whose permission?” demanded one of them, looking me up and down. “Captain Logan Thackeray’s,” I said proudly. 7 With much more reluctance, I added, “I’m Lady Althea Fairchild, the … the hero of Shaemoor.” The guards’ expression cleared. “He said to expect you,” the second one said, and both stepped aside, pushing the door open for me. I entered as quietly as possible, and nearly walked right into Logan, who steadied me but seemed otherwise preoccupied in surveying the room. I did the same, searching for anything suspicious or dangerous—but I, at least, found nothing. Queen Jennah, looking as healthy and lovely as ever, stood beside her throne, deep in conversation with Anise, while several ministers milled inoffensively around. At a gesture from Logan, I followed him towards them, and knelt before my queen. THIRTY-THREE 1 Queen Jennah, with a surprised look, told us to rise, and something in her soft voice had me doing so without thought. “Sorry to intrude, your Majesty,” said Logan, clattering to his feet while I dusted off my skirt, “but this can’t wait. There’s a traitor in the Ministry.” I had no idea if she reciprocated his devotion or not; either way, her voice and gaze remained steady. “That’s a serious accusation, captain. Can you provide the required evidence the back up your claim?” I had always felt loyal to her, as a Krytan citizen and one of her nobles; now, I decided that I liked her. 2 “We’re working on it, your Majesty,” I said, meeting her dark eyes directly. “Captain Tervelan confessed that a minister ordered him to reveal patrol routes to the enemy. The Screaming Falcons died because of it.” She paled. One of her advisors said, “Impossible! A minister would never betray our soldiers.” I nearly rolled my eyes, remembering Zamon; at this point, I wouldn’t put anything past anyone. 3 “I wish this matter investigated immediately, your Majesty. The Ministry’s honour is at stake,” the advisor went on. He squared his shoulders and looked around at all of us, seeming more tired than anything else. “Captain Tervelan’s command is within my ministerial jurisdiction. I’m the one who works directly with him; I’m the one impugned.” Arton, I realized. I had not expected so convenient an acknowledgment; we hadn’t even needed to mention his name. 4 “I’m not guilty of these crimes, your Majesty,” he said quietly. “I’m loyal to you, and to Kryta. As a show of faith, I place myself completely in your hands.” I felt rather uncomfortable; a denial must be expected, of course, but I was used to … defiance, bravado, insults, not this sort of meek acceptance. “Thank you, Arton,” said the queen, her manner gracious, but revealing nothing. “The Shining Blade will take you into custody, and you’ll be kept under house arrest while we get to the bottom of this.” He nodded. 5 It didn’t feel right. Maybe that was the idea, but I’d never seen anyone apprehend a culprit so easily as the Shining Blade did Arton; they had only to step forward, and he held out his wrists. Once they led him away, Anise stirred. Her usual sly smile was entirely absent. “Logan, I remember that one Seraph transferred out of Tervelan’s company just after the Falcons were ambushed—Sergeant Hal. He might know something.” Logan and I both brightened up; maybe the trail hadn’t ended here, after all. 6 “Hal?” Logan said, recognition in his face. He and Anise really did seem to know everyone. “As I recall, he patrols the eastern edge of Divinity’s Reach. Hero”—he smiled slightly at me—“why don’t you find out what he knows? I’ll guard the queen.” Anise sighed, but I could not imagine him doing anything else. Just as Faren would be Faren, Logan would be Logan. 7 I was more surprised that he pulled me a little aside, as Queen Jennah spoke to the remaining ministers and Anise. Lowering his voice, he said, “Maybe Hal transferred out of Tervelan’s unit because he found out what Tervelan did. See how much he can tell you about the Falcons’ disappearance.” I thought of Deborah, perhaps slaughtered, perhaps enslaved. And I thought of the others, too, and of Tervelan’s shrill, pathetic justifications. I might be running Logan’s errands, but they could hardly be less of a burden. “If he knows something,” I said, “I’ll get him to talk.” THIRTY-FOUR 1 “Good,” Logan said, looking rather like a proud parent. “I want to make sure Jennah’s safe, so you’re on your own. Find Hal at the eastern edge of Divinity’s Reach, and see what he knows.” I gave a crisp nod. “I’ll check in soon.” With a quick (and somewhat painful) shake of hands, he turned back and clanked his way towards Anise. I breathed in, and thought—oh, why not? 2 I walked over to the queen, not daring—presuming, my mother would say—a smile. Now, away from the rest, she did look anxious. “Arton served as a minister under my father, the king; he’s always been supportive of my rule. Could he really be working against me?” I’d rarely felt more out of my depth. “Captain Thackeray and Countess Anise will ensure your safety, your Majesty,” I said at last. “I’ll look into this.” 3 She lifted her eyes, seeming to really see me for the first time. “Thank you, hero. I’m glad to know that this matter is in good hands.” Logan had once spoken of my name reaching her ears; it evidently hadn’t happened yet. But then, she had rather more pressing matters on her mind. “You’ll be safe, your Majesty,” I promised, glancing over at Anise and Logan, “and I’ll discover the truth of this. I swear it.” 4 Anise caught me as I headed towards the door. She looked vaguely amused once more. “Accusing a minister in front of the queen? I knew you were bold, but I didn’t realize you were fearless.” Hardly that. “Not fearless,” I told her. “Determined.” 5 “I see,” said Anise, which could mean anything. “Well, hurry on; we’re all quite fascinated.” Minister Caudecus, when I approached, looked more irritable than fascinated. But well he might be; I remembered Anise’s suspicion that he’d orchestrated Zamon’s death. “You’re stirring up quite a fuss with these accusations,” he said. “Let’s hope you find evidence to justify this commotion.” “I will,” I told him, “and I look forward to presenting it to the queen.” 6 Logan spoke to me one last time, now looking almost fretful. He said, “I’ll be standing by if you need help.” I blinked. “But you said—the queen—” We both glanced over at Jennah and Anise. “I’ll do my part to protect her,” he said, “but she has other protectors, and you don’t, so … just let me know, all right?” Rather touched, I said, “All right.” 7 I’d rarely felt anything but safe in Divinity’s Reach. It was my home. But my shoulders itched as I made my way to the eastern edge; a minister did not act alone, and who knew what agents might be at liberty in the city? It didn’t slow my steps, but my mind darted between fear and resolve, between I’m going to find out the truth and desperately trying to distract myself with wondering about Faren and Yolanda and the rest, telling myself I needed better shoes, and I really should cut my hair or grow it out, it kept getting in my eyes—frightfully impractical, really— I asked some guards along the eastern wall of Rurikton (of course it was Rurikton), and thankfully, Sergeant Hal was both on duty and nearby. I followed their directions, and braced myself. It was now or never. THIRTY-FIVE 1 Sergeant Hal, an amiable-looking Ascalonian with brown hair bound at the back of his head, seemed an unlikely source of answers to all the mysteries confronting us. Nevertheless, he was our only lead, so I cheerfully abused my authority as an Ascalonian noble to interrupt his watch. “Sergeant Hal?” I said, and lowered my voice. “I need to talk to you about Captain Tervelan.” Hal recoiled from me, his mild eyes turning panicked. “Merciful Grenth, I knew this day would come!” He was a good few inches taller than me, but he cowered as if I were a giant. 2 Taken aback, I just stared at him. Almost whimpering, he said, “Did Tervelan send you to kill me?” What the— “No,” I assured him, smiling, “calm down. Thackeray sent me. But tell me: why would Tervelan want you killed?” Hal heaved a great sigh, and though hardly calm—he kept glancing over his shoulder—the immediate terror receded from his face. 3 He dropped his eyes to the ground, a flush creeping up his cheeks, and mumbled, “I delivered Tervelan’s private messages to the ministry and”—his gaze flickered up, and then down again, his shoulders hunching—“to the woods. I didn’t ask who the notes were for, but … oh gods, I knew. I transferred out the moment I could. You have to believe me!” I could almost hear another piece clicking into place. “So that’s how Tervelan communicated with the centaurs.” But there was another piece left—too many pieces. 4 “Who was his contact in the ministry?” I asked. “I don’t know,” he said, but before I could press harder, he finally looked straight at me and said, “but Dansky might. She was a Falcon before transferring to the Lionguard. She’s stationed at Black Haven now.” Frustration built in my throat, though I refused to voice it. I knew of Black Haven—one of the main Lionguard forts down south, supposedly keeping the trade routes safe—but it was past the swamp, beyond Queensdale altogether. I’d never been so far in my life. 5 I didn’t feel like arguing with Logan about going all the way to the Delanian Foothills; sometimes this older-brotherly thing was more trouble than I cared to deal with. Instead, I went to bathe and change into more practical clothes, sent a vague note, very definitely did not tell my mother where I was going, and headed off once more. I’d decided that the journey wouldn’t be too difficult. I could take the Salma waypoint down to Godslost Swamp—it’d be worth the expense to avoid fighting my way through Queensdale—then make my way south through Sojourner’s Way, and down into the foothills. It was easier planned than done. I had scarcely set a foot beyond Queensdale when I found a child whose mother had been abducted by bandits, assorted Lionguard soldiers under attack, and just—bandits. I’d never seen so many in my life; by the time I reached the haven, my new leggings were as stained with dirt and blood as my last. 6 I’d scarcely arrived at Black Haven when I heard yet more bandits just behind me. I raced inside only seconds before the doors slammed closed. “I’m here to help,” I said hastily, before any Lionguard could stab me (or whatever it was that Lionguards did). They were, it seemed, in no position to turn down another set of hands. One soldier who seemed to be in charge of those near her sent me up on the walls to help pour oil, while other soldiers launched cannon balls at the mortars beneath us. Taken altogether, it was one of the nastiest battles I’d ever participated in. I could only think, Welcome to Kessex Hills. 7 After we’d driven the bandits off, I got directions to Danksy; she was keeping watch up by one of the towers. ���I don’t have time to talk right now,” she said brusquely. I considered my options, given that I was neither particularly charming nor particularly threatening. Then I straightened up, and said in my most official manner, “Your help could clear up an important legal matter.” It seemed the right answer. Looking concerned, she turned back towards me and said, “In that case, I’ll do what I can to help.” I smiled.

[anghraine]

pro patria, chapters 22-28

“You have to think this through,” he added. I appreciated the concern, but there wasn’t much left to think about at this point. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find my sister,” I told him. Dead or alive, shackled or escaped: I would find her, no matter what I had to do.

title: pro patria (22-28/?) stuff that happens: Althea begins her investigation of Falcon Company's loss.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Captain Tervelan, Sergeant Bigsby; Logan Thackeray, others; Althea & Deborah, Althea & Logan, Bigsby & Deborah chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21

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TWENTY-TWO 1 Another lieutenant felt the need to inform me, “I expected someone … more impressive.” “Impressive?” I repeated, nettled despite my best intentions. “In what way?” “Well,” he said, “bigger, maybe—definitely taller.” I scowled. Both lieutenants had a good few inches on me, as did Faren and Anise, while Logan had to bend his head down every time he spoke to me. I did not appreciate the reminder. 2 “And with rays of light shooting out from your head,” he added, and I immediately calmed. An idiot, clearly. “Sorry to disappoint,” I said. Making my way across the courtyard and up the stairs without further interruption, I eyed Captain Tervelan. He was an average-sized man with a thin, worn, sharp-featured face, like a skritt’s. Maybe that was unfair to the skritt, since the face seemed designed around a sneer—but, I reminded myself, people couldn’t help how they looked. “You must be the hero Thackeray warned me about,” said Tervelan. 3 Warned? I felt sure that Logan would have said nothing of the kind. Maybe this ass could help how he looked. But he’d been Deborah’s commander, so I stayed silent and expressionless. “He says you’re investigating the Falcons—that true?” “Yes,” I replied evenly, “Captain Thackeray said you’d help me. Have you heard anything about centaurs taking prisoners?” 4 A flicker of … not sympathy, but something other than contempt, crossed his face. But it vanished as soon as it appeared. Tervelan only scoffed, not even bothering to muffle the sound. “Thackeray’s been swaddled in the royal court for too long,” he said. “He’s forgotten how rough it is out here. You’ve wasted a trip.” I would decide that. 5 “Falcon Company is long gone,” Tervelan went on, shaking his head. “May Grenth have mercy on their souls. Go home, kid.” Kid? I thought incredulously. I’d never particularly embraced my title, but I was the hero of Shaemoor; I was, at the very least, an adventurer who’d won battles throughout Queensdale, without a scratch to show for it. Tervelan said, “You’re in over—” And below us, one of the lieutenants hollered, “Centaurs!” 6 “Get the monks inside! To arms!” Of course those godsdamned centaurs would complicate my only chance of discovering what they’d done to Deborah—to all of Falcon Company. Tervelan received the news impassively. “C’mon, hero,” he said. “You’re about to learn what it’s like outside the city gates.” Apparently none of them understood basic geography. 7 I raced ahead of Tervelan towards the gate; despite his superior size, he made no attempt to pass by, instead running a little behind me. Maybe he was a coward as well as an ass. Either way, we all managed to hold our ground, even though the centaurs had somehow acquired rifles, forcing us to constantly dodge and run out of the way. At last, a much larger centaur galloped into the fray, and Tervelan grabbed my arm. “That’s their leader,” he hissed. “Let’s see what he wants.” Death and destruction, I would have said, but the centaur swept us all with a look of utter disdain, and shouted— “Bring out the hero!”

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1) Logan had to bend his head down every time he spoke to me: an exaggeration, but not by much; this is Althea with Logan.  

2) a thin, worn, sharp-featured face, like a skritt’s: skritt are an acquisitive, rat-like species.

------------------------------------------------------------- TWENTY-THREE 1 Even for a centaur, this one thought highly of himself. “I am Hruud the Reaver,” he bellowed, “pillager of human lands! I will kill any human who claims to be stronger than I!” I looked at his heavy frame, muscled in both legs and chest, and made no such claim. Why bother? I was neither tall nor muscular, even for a human; I had the strength for running between waypoints, and dodging and casting spells in battle, and that was about it. But I didn’t need strength to win. 2 “Let me see this great hero of Shaemoor I’ve heard has come to die beneath my hooves!” He swept another disdainful glance over us, clearly not realizing I was his enemy. I wouldn’t have expected him to recognize me, or any centaur to recognize me, but if he’d heard about my presence so soon, one of them must have been able to identify me on sight—unless— “I wonder how he found out you were here,” muttered Tervelan, echoing my own thoughts. “That’s unfortunate.” Unfortunate was one word for it. With a curl of his lip, he said, “You can sneak out the back, if you like.” 3 I ignored that, except to add it to the list of reasons I disliked him. “I challenge you, Hero of Shaemoor!” yelled Hruud. “Reveal yourself!” With a sigh, I stepped forward. Unless he turned out to be a good deal cleverer than he looked, I’d defeated dozens just like him. This was nothing but a waste of my time and the Seraph’s. Really, who had told him about me? 4 Deciding that I might as well get it over with, I sprang into battle. Tervelan called after me, “Make it a good fight! I better see some fancy moves!” I cared far more about the lives of the innocent people here than putting on a show. But if he wanted one, he’d get it; with a slash of my hand, I duplicated myself into clones, two distracting Hruud by dancing around his blows, while the rest of us concentrated our power into beams of magic, shot straight at his chest. Much more reassuringly, the abbey’s priests and priestesses cried out prayers for me. “Balthazar is with you!” 5 “Slay this vermin!” shouted another abbey brother, while the centaurs at Hruud’s back chorused cheers and insults. “That’s no Seraph!” one of them called out, laughing. “None of Tervelan’s soldiers are brave enough to face our champion!” Right, so now I’d gotten more respect from Tervelan’s enemies than Tervelan himself—and since when did centaurs call humans by name? Regardless, Balthazar plainly was on my side; Hruud never landed a hit on me, and the moment I exploded my clones turned out to be precisely the right one, the flash of light dazing him long enough for me to build more, and grind him down further, while he struggled to lift his weapon. Behind us, a woman—a sister of the abbey—raised her voice. “In the name of all Six Gods, tear his wretched heart out!” 6 I didn’t quite tear his heart out, but I did irradiate his body with aether until his heart stopped beating. Hruud collapsed in a tangle of hooves and limbs, his soldiers fleeing into a barely-organized retreat. That was good enough for the residents of the monastery, who burst into excited chatter as soon as they found themselves safe. I breezed past Tervelan and his lieutenants to reach out my hand to Sister Melea, the woman I’d heard in the battle. “Kormir bless you,” she said, tracing a flickering hexagon above my palm. I’d only meant to clasp her hand in gratitude, or perhaps slight apology, not to demand a blessing: least of all one from Kormir herself. But if Kormir and Balthazar both guided my steps, surely that meant I was on the right path—didn’t it? 7 “I’m fortunate,” I assured Melea. “Balthazar was watching over me—I just couldn’t let them hurt the monks.” “Your courage is inspiring,” she replied, her eyes bright. “I’m going to name one of our beers after your deeds. What should we call it?” I glanced over at Tervelan, and smiled. “Hero’s Hops,” I said.

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1) exploded my clones: this is less violent than it sounds like; clones are illusionary duplicates of yourself that will attack your enemies but can be voluntarily shattered for various effects, not ... uh, actual people.

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TWENTY-FOUR 1 “Not bad for a city scab,” said Captain Tervelan. To my satisfaction, the dismissive words didn’t quite conceal an unsettled expression. He shook it off, tone dropping to something like civility. “I’m beginning to think you’re as competent as they say you are. So tell me—what are your plans?” I set my jaw, the euphoria of battle receding into the frustration I’d felt before. “I plan to find out what happened to Falcon Company.” 2 Tervelan shook his head, a thin and unconvincing layer of sympathy lying over his voice. “What happened to the Screaming Falcons was a tragedy, but this is a fool’s errand.” Turning sharply on his heel, he gestured for me to follow him back up the stairs, to the higher levels where Seraph stood guard. When we were alone, his gaze shifted to the sight beyond the monastery’s walls: the thick forest and hills, and paths carved through both by humans and centaurs alike. At last, he said, “I can’t spare good soldiers for a personal vendetta; I need them to handle these centaurs.” Personal vendetta? That could only mean Deborah—and that could only mean that he knew who I really was. 3 My dismay must have shown in my expression. Tervelan gave a low chuckle. “Your name isn’t a secret, Lady Althea. Neither is your face.” “My face,” I said blankly. Any number of people hadn’t known me until I spoke to them, or until some third party pointed me out. “Even the centaurs recognized you,” said Tervelan, “when you came here and put us all in danger.” 4 “I—” “And Sergeant Fairchild was fond of her family,” he added, silencing anything else I might have said. “She carried a miniature of you all with her—perhaps you recall? We never found it, afterwards.” Abruptly, I did remember: years ago, an Asura mechanic had shown up in Divinity’s Reach, making pictures with some boxy contraption, and my father had paid exorbitantly for a little picture of all four of us. Deborah had taken it when she joined the Seraph; though I was much younger in the picture, perhaps fourteen, I might well be recognizable to a close eye. I didn’t doubt that Captain Tervelan had a close eye. 5 “Let me help,” I urged him, unable to think of any better solution. “If we get done quickly, maybe your soldiers can help me afterward.” If Kormir and Balthazar really guided me, it would happen. Tervelan studied the landscape for another moment. Then he jerked back so abruptly that he nearly hit me. “Fine,” he said. “Rendezvous with my squad at the centaur camp over the hill.” 6 That seemed almost too easy. “You take out the herd, and we’ll see,” he said, fixing me with a cold stare. “No promises, though, hero. My duty here comes first.” “I’ll do it,” I promised, sparing a silent prayer to the gods. “Don’t worry, captain. I’ll be back soon.” 7 I talked to Tervelan once more before I left; he just brusquely told me to get to the centaur camp. In what passed for reassurance with him, he added, “My soldiers are waiting for you.” However, I found no such thing. Instead, a single soldier skulked nearby, one who stared in obvious horror as I approached. “You’re my back-up?” he hissed. “Has the captain lost his mind? I expected an entire squad!” TWENTY-FIVE 1 “Stinking centaurs—can’t ever kill enough of them,” he muttered to himself. Then he stuck out his hand. “I’m Sergeant Bigsby.” I nodded. “And I’m—” “The hero of Shaemoor,” said Bigsby. “We heard you’d be coming.” 2 I couldn’t tell what he thought about it. Without a pause, he went on, “Where are the others? Captain Tervelan said he was sending a unit to help me with the assault on the centaur camp.” “That’s what he told me, too,” I said tightly. Gods, I was an idiot. Oh, this wasn’t proof; I could think of half a dozen benign explanations. But I didn’t believe any of them. 3 Bigsby looked unsure, either of me or Tervelan. “I’m not sure two of us can do this by ourselves,” he said. “Maybe we should go back to the monastery?” I set my jaw. Idiot or not, I hadn’t come this far to turn back now—and I’d had worse fights. “I have to do this,” I insisted. “I need information about my sister, and he’s got it.” 4 Bigsby caught his breath, eyes going wide. “You’re Althea Fairchild?” he exclaimed. Odd. My name evidently had meaning for him beyond the simple fact of its existence, yet he hadn’t realized that it belonged to the hero of Shaemoor, even though Tervelan had said people knew— Oh, of course Tervelan had lied about literally everything. Bigsby lowered his voice even as he seized my hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “I should have recognized you!” 5 I couldn’t think why he should have recognized me, or how he might have done it; I certainly had no memory of meeting him. In fairness, I met a lot of people. “You look just like your sister,” he explained. I blinked at him, genuinely taken aback. Nobody had ever said such a thing to me; Deborah was blonde and round-faced, her frame leaner and considerably shorter than mine—we used to joke that it was a miracle they’d found a uniform small enough for her. Bigsby gestured vaguely at the upper half of his face. “Around the eyes,” he said. 6 That was fair, I supposed; our eyes did have the same shape and colour, but nobody else had ever paid attention to that little resemblance. “She was a damn good soldier,” said Bigsby, voice choked. “But you know that.” I focused back on him, vastly more interested in Deborah’s career than her appearance. “You knew my sister?” “Yes,” he answered, “I was stationed here a few months before … well, you know.” I was not going to cry. 7 Bigsby closed his eyes for a lingering moment, taking regular, deep breaths until his voice evened out. “She helped me figure out how to be a good Seraph.” That sounded like Debs: as different as we were, she’d always done her best to guide me, from wrapping her fingers around my tiny hands as I took my first steps to explaining our legacy as Ascalonians as she turned from the luxuries of our manors and the Ministry. “That’s why you’re here, right?” he pressed. “Because of the rumours?” Wait, what? I could only echo, “Rumours?” TWENTY-SIX 1 “What rumours?” I demanded, not even trying for caution. I couldn’t, not after so long, when I’d come so far. Bigsby seemed nearly as eager. “Nobody ever knew how the centaurs found out the Falcons’ patrol route,” he said. “There’ve always been questions about why the company was sent out alone.” I’d never thought of that; until Shaemoor, I didn’t know enough to consider it odd. But now I did. 2 “Nothing official, though,” Bigsby added quickly. “Just beer talk.” It’d have to be, wouldn’t it? I turned my gaze to a tree just behind him, forcing down my creeping fears and suspicions. In the moment, none of those helped us. “If I clean out these centaurs,” I said, “maybe Captain Tervelan will tell me what really happened.” At this point, it seemed a slim maybe—but I had to try. 3 “If this is for Debs,” Bigsby said, then broke off and cleared his throat. “If this is for Debs, I’d be a mighty poor friend to leave you here alone. I guess I’m in it, too.” I clapped his shoulder, smiling. He’d never fought alongside me, even in practice, never acquired any first-hand knowledge at all; he wouldn’t know anything from Deborah, either, since I couldn’t have beaten a training dummy back then. He was walking into a fight he doubted we could win for Deborah, for their friendship. Whether she lived or not, I was glad she’d had a friend like him. 4 We snuck into the camp without much difficulty, found it empty, and started methodically destroying supplies. If they were near enough to respond, we’d get them herded into the cave; if they weren’t, well, they’d have a lot less equipment. It was a fairly easy fight, in truth. I’d taken on worse ones, and usually by myself. With Bigsby, there was hardly any trouble at all; despite wasting energy on hollering insults, he turned out to be a good man to have at my back. Nothing like Logan or Anise, of course, but competent and efficient. And when I saw the cages, I needed someone at my back. 5 After dodging around the last centaur’s spear and slicing its head off, Bigsby stopped to catch his breath. He pointed at one of the cages. “You might find prisoners’ belongings inside that cage near the tent. Check it out; I’ll cover you.” I darted towards the cage, forcing myself to be cautious with the battered and decayed belongings scattered around the cage. It didn’t look like the centaurs had ever bothered to investigate them, just tossed them aside like trash. It was just like them—and lucky for us. 6 Beneath quite a lot of genuine trash, and a tattered and stained cloak, I found it: something better than either of us could have dreamed of. It was a soldier’s journal, emblazoned with a falcon. I carefully opened it, paging through depressingly mundane entries, until they came to an abrupt stop halfway through. On the right-hand page, someone had scrawled out Survivors, following the title with a list of names. Perhaps twelve or fifteen. I scanned downwards, telling myself that I was counting, determining our losses at the time— My hand closed over the chain at my collar, twisting until my fingers chilled, but I kept going. 7 Lann Black, Corp Val Gayan, Sgt Deborah Fairchild, Sgt— Deborah. Deborah! She was alive, or had been. But it was possible as it had never been before. Of course I’d never sensed her spirit at the grave, or anywhere else; even as we strained for some connection, she might very well have drawn breath. Drawn breath in slave pens, but—alive! TWENTY-SEVEN 1 On the left-hand page, the unknown soldier had scratched out in fading ink: Set up for centaur attack. Must have been Tervelan. Don’t know why. I drew a sharp breath. It didn’t come as a surprise; not really. But proof was something else—proof that a captain of the Seraph, one of Logan’s equals, had betrayed his command and his queen beyond anything Zamon might have imagined. Betrayal really could come from anywhere. 2 I shoved the little journal into my pouch, making my way back to Bigsby. We seemed to have cleaned out the entire den; at least, we neither saw nor heard any hint of anyone else, though he stayed on guard as he looked at the bodies in wonder. Shakily, he said, “The only reason I followed you in there was because you’re you.” I managed a faint smile. “I didn’t even think we’d survive, but you were great! Hey, what did you find?” I told him about the journal and the list of survivors. 3 Bigsby’s face lit up, then darkened into a puzzled frown. “I thought Captain Tervelan said there were no survivors.” Glancing around at the bloody bodies, shattered equipment, and cages, I clenched my jaw. Under my skin, my whole body seemed to be twitching. “Tervelan may be lying to cover his tracks,” I said, and finished telling him about the final entry. His eyes went wide, his mouth open; he looked like a slapped child. “I … I don’t know what to think.” 4 “Tervelan, a traitor?” Bigsby said doubtfully. Then his eyes widened still further. “You don’t think he sent us out here alone to die, do you?” I very definitely thought so, and had suspected it before. I just nodded, trying to approximate reluctance. In a quiet voice, he said, “He hasn’t been happy with me lately.” So Tervelan had deliberately selected Bigsby as an acceptable sacrifice for trapping me, or worse, found it a convenient opportunity to eliminate a sergeant he disliked—either way, he was utter scum. 5 “It’s a distinct possibility,” I said, keeping my tone firm. “But don’t worry, Bigsby—we’ll get to the bottom of this together.” He took a deep breath (which he looked like he’d needed) and burst out, “By all the gods, these animals will pay!” “The centaurs will get theirs in time,” I promised. Deliberately, I relaxed my fists, softened my voice. “Now, I need to have a little talk with Captain Tervelan.” Bigsby looked alarmed all over again. 6 I couldn’t actually confront Tervelan at the monastery, it turned out; Bigsby told me that Tervelan had left to wipe out a small group of ettins before they became a large one, though he would return shortly. “He didn’t mention any ettins to me—that’s funny,” I said. “The man’s sounding shadier and shadier.” And I really wouldn’t have thought there was much shade left to add. Bigsby all but vibrated with anxiety. “What are you going to do?” 7 “You have to think this through,” he added. I appreciated the concern, but there wasn’t much left to think about at this point. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find my sister,” I told him. Dead or alive, shackled or escaped: I would find her, no matter what I had to do. Bigsby, rather than being intimidated, seemed to find this sympathetic and reasonable. He gave a brisk nod. “All right.” TWENTY-EIGHT 1 “The way I see it,” said Bigsby, “you have two options.” I waited for him to finish, though more as a matter of form. There was exactly one option: surrounding Tervelan in clones and putting our swords at his throat until he talked—and if he thought to escape, we’d encase him in aether. “Tell your friend, Captain Thackeray, what we suspect,” Bigsby went on, “but then Tervelan might get away.” I faltered; I’d forgotten about Logan’s role in this, as captain and as friend. In the few months we’d known each other, he’d somehow become the closest thing I had to an older sibling, with Deborah gone and Faren perpetually adolescent. She might not be gone after all; soon I might be able to count myself a little sister in blood as well as name; but still, I couldn’t leave him out of it. 2 Bigsby said, “Or we could confront Tervelan directly—without backup.” Uh, no. We could beat him in a fair fight, but this was Tervelan; it wouldn’t be fair, and I didn’t mean to get Bigsby killed (or maybe even myself) after all this. And I was here on Logan’s behalf, even if I had license to follow my own objectives and represent him however I liked. He needed to know that a traitor walked among the Seraph, ready to throw away the lives of the men and women under his command. He particularly needed to know it was a captain, one he knew and had trusted, if he was to protect the queen and Kryta. “I have to tell Captain Thackeray what’s going on out here,” I said. 3 Duty aside, I’d seen the monastery bristling with Tervelan’s soldiers and the grateful clerics they protected. It’d be good to have Logan at my side when I confronted Tervelan. And I didn’t even need to manufacture an explanation for leaving; Tervelan’s sudden ettin-hunt, though undoubtedly meant to protect himself, had bought us time. “I’ll be waiting,” said Bigsby, holding out his hand. He paused. “Deborah was a good soldier. I guess it runs in your family.” 4 I smiled, truly gratified, and shook the offered hand. “Thanks, Bigsby,” I told him. “You’re a good soldier.” After a hesitation, I added, “My sister taught you well.” Bigsby chewed on his lip, eyes so bright that I knew he must be just holding off tears. Well, I understood dignity. I shook his hand one last time, said my last farewell, cast my signet, and took off running for the nearest waypoint. 5 I had barely stumbled out of the palace waypoint and paid my fees when I took up running again, heedless of the glances I received from fellow nobles (along with anyone who happened to be in my path). Without hesitation, I banged on the door to Seraph Headquarters. Thankfully, the guard recognized me on sight and escorted me to Logan without difficulty. Everything, I thought, was so much easier in Divinity’s Reach. “Althea?” he said, his glance little short of astonished. I could feel my entire face flushed with all my running about, and my clothes had to be sweaty and perhaps even dirty. For once, I didn’t care. 6 I quickly pulled him aside, which was to say, I tugged at his armour and he followed along, looking concerned. “What—” “Captain,” I said urgently, “I’m afraid I have bad news. Tervelan is a traitor; he sent me into centaur territory, promising back-up, but then he never actually sent anyone. He meant for us to die there.” Logan’s eyes widened. “That’s outrageous!” 7 It hadn’t crossed my mind that he might doubt me; I was still collecting myself when he went on, “He’s a Seraph captain.” A little uncertainly, Logan added, “You’re sure it wasn’t just a misunderstanding?” “I’m sure,” I said, reassured, and told him what I had found. “Tervelan didn’t want me investigating these deaths, to the point where he nearly got me killed—I know he’s hiding something, captain.” Logan stared down at me, searching my face. Then, his usual resolve returned to his own face, and he clasped my shoulder. “All right.”

[anghraine]

pro patria, chapters 43-49

This section is the seventh cluster of seven chapters a piece, and each of those has seven sections, and each of those has seven sentences. (I draw the line at seven words a sentence :P)

“I can’t say you look well, but you do look alive!” I smacked the side of Faren’s head. “What?” he said. “Alive is the thing, isn’t it?”

title: pro patria (43-49/?) stuff that happens: Deborah and Althea get a taste of normal life, and make plans for the future.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Deborah Fairchild, Logan Thackeray; Queen Jennah, Ailoda Langmar, others; Althea & Deborah, Althea & Logan chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35, 36-42

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1 “Mother told me what happened at Shaemoor,” Deborah said slowly. “That’s why so many people just call you ‘hero’?” I wrinkled my nose. “Half of them don’t know my name. Even Logan didn’t until Faren got kidnapped and—” She burst out laughing. “Faren got what?” 2 As we walked on, I caught her up on Faren’s abduction, our discovery and defeat of the bandit ring, my consequent involvement in Anise and Logan’s investigation, and of course, Zamon’s trial. “I underestimated Faren,” she said, laughing again. “I think. But you, in trial by combat?” “It wasn’t as strange as it sounds,” I told her. “Logan all but begged me to let him help fight Zamon, so I mostly hid behind him and confused everyone with clones while he did the work.” “Somehow I don’t think that’s how he would describe it,” said Deborah. 3 “Probably not,” I admitted, but left it at that; I wasn’t sure I had leave to discuss Anise’s suspicion—now almost a certainty—about Minister Caudecus’s role in both plots. To my relief, Deborah immediately moved on to my discovery of Tervelan’s betrayal, her eyes narrowing when she heard that he was still alive. “Who can see him?” she pressed. “No one,” I said. Without hesitation, I added, “Logan’s orders.” Deborah looked disappointed, as well she might, but she settled back into her earlier interrogatory interest. “Well—I don’t imagine I’m going to get much past Captain Thackeray,” she replied, “and I do owe him.” 4 “We both do,” I said, believing it with all my heart. “For looking after you, I mean,” said Deborah, wrapping her arm the rest of the way around mine. “In his way.” “I wouldn’t say that.” “I imagine not,” she said, amused, or at least pretending to it. “But he’s had your back. I won’t forget it.” 5 “I won’t, either,” I assured her. “I always respected him for his service,” she went on. “It’s just a little different, knowing he took you under his wing when I couldn’t be there.” I almost denied it, but I couldn’t help but think of how, not that long ago, he and I had been nothing but the distantly heroic captain of Divinity’s Reach and a random noblewoman. Somehow in the months since, we’d gone from Captain Thackeray and the hero of Shaemoor, cooperating when our paths crossed once more, to Logan and Althea, to make our ancestors proud, little sister. “I don’t know if it’s that,” I said honestly, “but he didn’t have to trust me, and he did. Now everything’s different.” 6 Deborah nodded solemnly, but I didn’t see her earlier melancholy in it. “I did wonder how you ended up as his right hand,” she said. “Now I understand.” “I’m not—” Her head tilted. “No? Should I say personal agent?” 7 “Sidekick, maybe,” I said. Honestly, I had no idea how to describe what I did for Logan—and Anise, and the crown. In any case, Deborah let the matter pass with a tentative hope that she’d like her new commander as much as she did Logan, and from there, it was an easy step to discussing the Falcons and her own future; predictably, she had no intention of leaving the Seraph. She looked half-defiant, but I just smiled at her and said, “I wouldn’t expect anything else out of you, Debs.” She glanced away from me, then turned back so abruptly that I had barely a moment’s warning before she wrapped her arms tightly about me, her chin digging into my shoulder. It was uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. “I am proud of you,” said my sister. FORTY-FOUR 1 Deborah started to keep more normal hours after that, and I assumed the other Falcons did, as well. At any rate, Logan came by to see her the next day. “Sergeant Fairchild,” he said pleasantly. She scrambled up, disregarding the long skirts she always wore at home. “Captain Thackeray, sir.” It was a little odd to see him now—for one, under our own roof, and for another, without the heavy armour that almost always weighed down his frame. Even as he ordered Deborah at ease, he seemed practically like a normal person. 2 “Oh—hello, Althea,” he added, nodding casually in my direction. I didn’t bother getting up. “Hello.” Sitting down with evident discomfort, he redirected his attention to Deborah and said, “Sergeant, I hope you’re feeling better.” “As much as I can be,” said Deborah, honest as ever. “I’ll be upfront with you. I came to ask if you meant to stay with the Seraph, or wished for honourable discharge,” Logan said, clearly choosing his words with care. “It would be understandable if you—” 3 “No,” she broke in. “I joined the Seraph to fight for my people, and my people are still suffering and in danger. Kryta needs all her soldiers. When do I go back on duty, sir?” Even sitting down, even in her (frankly rather ugly) ruffled gown, she exuded dignity. I’d been tearful and honoured when she told me she was proud of me, but I couldn’t believe she was anywhere near so proud as I was of her. Logan gave an approving nod. 4 “It will be some time, I warn you,” he said. “Bringing back Falcon Company will take a certain amount of re-organization, and you’re all on medical leave until we’re satisfied with your health, in any case. But this helps direct our plans. Thank you, lieutenant.” Deborah stared at him. Without so much as a twitch in his expression, Logan turned to me, while I hid a smile. “Speaking of good health, you’ll be glad to hear that the queen’s continues to be excellent.” 5 “I am,” I said sincerely. I liked Jennah, and I liked her reign still more; nothing would happen to her if I could do anything about it. We passed over a few polite nothings, though only briefly, Logan being Logan. With a cordial farewell and brisk shake of our hands, he left in the best spirits I’d ever seen him in. Deborah slumped back onto her chair, her expression bemused. “I—” “Congratulations, lieutenant,” I told her. 6 Two days later, the Screaming Falcons put on full armour and marched through the upper courtyard to the palace, while heralds formally proclaimed their arrival to cheering crowds. In the palace, the queen rose from her throne to greet them, declaring them all heroes of Kryta, and delivering honours. I saw it all from the throne room, because Queen Jennah—Queen Jennah—insisted upon my presence there. “You’re the hero of Shaemoor,” Logan had reminded me the day before, giving a short laugh at the look on my face. “And you did bring them home.” “We did,” I grumbled, but in reality, I was flattered and proud to stand beside Anise in my finest gown, watching the queen praise my sister. Altogether, it was everything I could have wished for Deborah’s homecoming: all glory and pomp, and real feeling woven through. 7 Deborah herself received it with grace and dignity. I … well, despite myself, I was damp-eyed—even before the queen summoned Logan and me forwards. We exchanged an uneasy glance and knelt before her. “As we honour Falcon Company,” she said, “we must also honour those who liberated them—Captain Logan Thackeray of Divinity’s Reach and Lady Althea Fairchild, hero of Shaemoor!” Though I’d spent my life in the public eye, I scarcely knew where to look as we rose to our feet; the applause rang in my ears, my cheeks flushed, something seemed to flash before my eyes. It was not altogether agreeable. Yet it was lovely, all the same. FORTY-FIVE 1 After the queen’s reception, Deborah determinedly set about a full recovery. She went to bed and arose like clockwork, she ate heartier meals than ever before, and she joined me in my practice sessions, though I strictly limited her activities to the dictates of the Seraph physicians. Once they assured me that more strenuous exercise would be good for her, I gave into her demand for light duels—which, to our mutual dismay, I readily won. She wasn’t as easily fooled by the clones as most people, but somewhere along the line, I’d become faster and stronger, and my magic more precise. Deborah scowled and kept working at the utmost limits of the healers’ permissions, crowing the first time that she knocked me down; after that, I started putting up a real fight. All the while, the survival of the last few Falcons became widespread knowledge, and many of our old friends and acquaintances started showing up to see Deborah, driven by affection or curiosity or, most often, both. The first was almost inevitable. 2 “I can’t say you look well, but you do look alive!” I smacked the side of Faren’s head. “What?” he said. “Alive is the thing, isn’t it?” He turned to my sister. “I’m very glad you’re not dead, Deborah.” “Thank you,” said Deborah. 3 Her tone was dry, but she’d known Faren since he was six; when he reached his hand out, she shook it with the casual friendliness she’d always directed at him. He grinned, kissed her cheek, and flung himself into my chair. With great earnestness, he said, “I could give you the name of a really fine hairdresser, if—” “Faren,” I hissed. He tossed his own hair, glossy as ever. “I, uh, I was talking to you, obviously. Whatever you’re doing with yourself now, it’s left your hair in a wretched condition—that will never do!” 4 “She’s been solving mysteries and rescuing people,” said Deborah, but Faren dismissed the hint with a wave of his hand, just missing an antique Ascalonian vase beside him. “That is all fine and good,” he said as I moved the vase, “but there’s no need to do it unfashionably!” “I am a very fashionable adventurer, thank you,” I told him. “I’m just growing out my hair so it stops blocking my vision.” “How … practical,” said Faren, in a tone of deep disappointment. Debs laughed, the sound impossibly welcome. “One of you has to be.” 5 Faren did not look at all convinced. “And how have you been?” she asked. He lit up. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m still in absolutely splendid good looks and health. You did notice, didn’t you?” “Oh, yes,” Deborah assured him. “You haven’t changed at all.” 6 To Faren’s even greater joy, she asked him for the name of the hairdresser, after all—probably just to indulge him, though she claimed it was for her next public appearance. “You’re going to be personally received by the queen again?” he said, eyes rounding. “I never have been, and I’m her”—he counted—“third cousin.” “You didn’t get captured and enslaved in a plot to end her rule,” said Deborah. “Anyway, we need to get new uniforms and—” He squeaked. “New uniforms?” 7 “You’re staying with the Seraph?” “Of course,” said Deborah, as if she hadn’t put off telling our mother for two weeks. Well, Mother had been busy with the chaos at the Ministry, but now that Faren knew, Debs wouldn’t be able to avoid that particular conversation. “I suppose,” he sputtered, “but—but—surely you’ve done enough?” “No,” she said simply. “But—” She smiled, more than a little triumphant, and said, “You’re looking at Lieutenant Fairchild now.” FORTY-SIX 1 “That does have a nice ring to it,” Faren said thoughtfully. Of course he did. “We’re still on leave until we’re declared fit and the captains re-form the company,” Deborah told him, “but I’ll be back in uniform and on duty as soon as possible. There’s a lot to fight out there.” Faren frowned. The expression, combined with his fluffy cravat and bright blue cape, looked ludicrous, but he’d never crease his skin without cause. “You sound like Althea,” he said. 2 I started and opened my mouth to protest, but before I could, Faren sprang to his feet and declared, with a dramatic sweep of his cloak, that a certain young woman (I had no idea who) would be missing him. We had to cover our mouths for a second. I told him, “You’d better not keep her waiting.” “Indeed not!” he said, but surprised us both by sweeping Deborah into a hug. “Darling, I really am quite happy you’re alive.” He released her and fluttered his hand at us. “Until later, ladies!” 3 Once the servants closed the door behind him, I looked over at Debs. “He means well,” I said. “He’s a sweetheart,” said Deborah, laughing. “And he really fought a cave full of bandits with you?” Remembering his complaints about bandits dirtying his waistcoat, I said, “After a fashion.” 4 Setting Faren aside, I asked her when she’d tell Mother about the Seraph. Deborah winced, but to her credit, dropped a hint about her new uniform that evening. Mother set down her fork with a decided clink. “Your … uniform?” Deborah studied her goblet with intense interest. “Oh, right,” I said, putting on my best blank face, “the old one is gone, and you probably wouldn’t fit it now, anyway.” Mother, ignoring this, just stared at my sister. 5 After a long moment, she said, “You’re re-joining the Seraph?” “I never left,” said Deborah, lifting her eyes to look levelly at her. “After—when you—sweetheart, you’ve done enough, you—” “It’s not about enough,” Deborah interrupted. “It’s about what Kryta needs. Our family has what it has because our ancestors were willing to die for their people. Yours did die for them.” 6 “That was another time,” Mother said weakly. She looked as if she already knew she’d lost. “A time when Kryta was stronger,” retorted Deborah. “And we’re Fairchilds as well as Langmars—Papa’s family has been fighting in Ascalon for centuries. I can’t sit here in silk, doing nothing, while my cousins and my aunt face down Charr every day, and my sister fights at Logan Thackeray’s side.” Mother darted an almost panicked glance at me. “It doesn’t have to be nothing, Deborah.” 7 “I understand better than you think,” she went on. “I spent years facing down the Charr, because I couldn’t see how much more I could do for Kryta and Ebonhawke in Divinity’s Reach.” “Can you imagine me in the Ministry?” Deborah asked, and I stifled a laugh. Mother cried out, “I almost got you killed!” My sister and I looked at each other, biting our lips. Then Deborah said, “I don’t have children, and I don’t have a lover or a spouse. What I have is our family, and our duty.” FORTY-SEVEN 1 The argument, if not the disagreement, ended there. The three of us talked normally over the next few days—or what passed for normally at this point, avoiding any reference to Deborah’s return to the Seraph, except when one deputized me to speak to the other. I didn’t change either’s mind, and I didn’t really try. But my sister, at least, seemed to understand that our mother feared losing her all over again, all the more with me in danger as well, while Mother could see the ethic that drove Deborah so inexorably to military life. I couldn’t ask for more from them than that, and I didn’t think they could ask more from each other. Personally, I shared both Deborah’s convictions and Mother’s concerns, though I avoided speaking about either. Debs absolutely belonged with the Seraph—and I’d just have to return to developing my map of Kessex Hills as soon as she got posted there. 2 In the meanwhile, Deborah was welcomed by every old friend or near acquaintance in Divinity’s Reach. They came singly, they came in groups, they sent notes and presents; and by the time Lady Mashewe gasped and started crying into her shoulder, poor Debs looked entirely wrung-out. Whenever possible, I shepherded her towards my own childhood friends, who—though not her friends for good reason—could be trusted to confine themselves to ordinary courtesies. “It’s good to see you looking so well, Lady Deborah,” said Yolanda, wafting jasmine as she kissed Deborah’s cheek. “Thank you,” Deborah replied, eyeing her with caution. “And Althea, darling! I saw you at court with Captain Thackeray.” 3 “I’m often there,” I said. “I’ve become a sort of assistant to him and Countess Anise.” “Isn’t he dashing?” said Yolanda, fanning herself. “I’ve never thought about it,” I told her honestly. Corone, restored to his native good humour with the end of the robberies, heaved a disappointed sigh. “Never thought about it? Althea, Althea.” 4 Beside me, Deborah relaxed, and I silently blessed my friends, however distant our lives might be now. “Captain Thackeray has been very good to my sister,” she said. Yolanda and Corone exchanged a meaningful glance. “Is that so?” said Yolanda, and she seized my hands. “You must tell me everything.” Baffled, I blinked at her, and then at Corone. “Everything about what?” 5 “Thackeray, of course,” he said eagerly. Turning to Deborah, he added, “They fought together at Zamon’s trial, you know—it was thrilling to see, absolutely thrilling.” Deborah looked as puzzled as I felt; then, struck by some illumination that had entirely bypassed me, she grinned. “Oh, I’m sure it was.” “I don’t know what you want to hear,” I told them. “Everyone knows him.” “But not like you do, I’m certain,” said Yolanda. 6 She gave a light little giggle. “I suppose not,” I said. “But there’s not much I can say that’s not already public knowledge—he’s straightforward, loyal, very serious. Very devoted to Kryta.” “To Kryta, eh?” said Corone. I wasn’t about to mention Jennah. “Yes,” I told them firmly. 7 Inexplicably, both of them laughed; Deborah was still smiling. “Althea,” my traitorous sister said, her voice trembling, “I think you’re … ah, missing something.” No, really? “Well, I am absolutely delighted for you,” Yolanda told me. I stared at her. If I had no idea how a sighting of Logan at a place he often frequented had led to this particular burst of curiosity, then I had absolutely no clue why it should make anyone happy for me, except that I happened to have been there at the time, and was a close ally. Perhaps she meant my friendship with him more generally; his celebrity might make that worthy of gossip and congratulations—but it still seemed odd that they’d make such a point of it. FORTY-EIGHT 1 “Thank you,” I said in utter confusion. My friends looked all the more thrilled. Debs just snickered. “You’ve made quite the catch,” said Yolanda cheerfully. My thoughts scraped to a halt. They couldn’t mean—surely not— “Logan?” 2 “Is that what you call him?” Yolanda fanned herself again. “What a story, darling.” “It’s not everyone who wins a man’s heart over centaur carcasses,” said Corone, smiling. “I didn’t—we’re not—” I knew I sounded both inarticulate and unconvincing, but this was infinitely worse than the speculations about me and Faren. Logan Thackeray, of all people! 3 Deborah, at last, came to my rescue. “They’re not lovers,” she said succinctly, which she might have mentioned earlier. Yolanda and Corone both looked disappointed. “You’re not?” they said at once. “Gods, no,” I replied, and shuddered. “Logan’s a—an ally to me, a mentor. Nothing like that.” 4 Yolanda slanted me a sly glance. “Is that what Captain Thackeray thinks?” “Captain Thackeray,” I said, “thinks I’m a trustworthy protégée and a friend. I’m honoured, but that’s all I am.” “He’s been a sort of brother to her,” said Deborah, a stalwart defender when she chose to be. “And a good one. I’m very grateful.” 5 Yolanda gave a melancholy sigh. “Ah, I see,” said Corone. His expression cleared into sympathy. “Thackeray had the brother, I know, but I don’t think any sisters.” “He has one now, you mean,” said Yolanda, brightening up. “And in our Althea! How utterly charming, dear.” 6 I opened my mouth to head this particular detour off, but after another glance at their faces, gave up. They were Yolanda and Corone; they’d always find something to chatter about, all the more when it concerned their own connections. Better this than the other. Hopefully that particular rumour was confined to Yolanda’s and Corone’s own hurried imaginations—but, considering the gossip that always swirled about Logan, that struck me as unlikely. Of course people would whisper about any woman he spent any significant amount of time with, which meant Jennah, Anise, and—me! Gods, what if Logan himself heard? I’d die. 7 “I—well—” “Something like that,” said Deborah. I almost squirmed under their fascinated regard. Yolanda, I quickly guessed, would expect nearly as good information from a surrogate sister as from a romantic partner. “Surely, then,” she said, “you’d know—” “We usually talk of Seraph matters,” I said, “most of it I can’t repeat without permission, he never speaks of the queen except in his professional capacity, and I’m pretty sure his only lover is Divinity’s Reach.” Deborah grinned, her grip on my arm loose and easy, her eyes crinkling up. In an instant, I forgave them everything. FORTY-NINE 1 Between the skill of the Seraph physicians, the power of the local priestesses and priests of Dwayna, and the Screaming Falcons’ own determination, Deborah and her fellow survivors were cleared for service within the fortnight. A few days more saw Falcon Company in full working order; the Seraph had been shuffling supplies and troops in the meanwhile to re-form the company. Privately, Logan told me that they’d had more Seraph volunteer for the transition than they could possibly assign to Falcon Company, despite the dangers of the post. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” I asked. “It’s raised morale,” said Logan. “Recruitment is up, too.” “That’s a yes, then.” 2 He replied, “Morale won’t save us from the dragons”—I nearly rolled my eyes—“but it’s good, yes.” “Centaurs first, dragons later,” I said lightly. Before he could lecture me, I hurried on, “What about Tervelan?” “He’ll have a proper trial,” said Logan, looking as disgusted as I felt, “but it doesn’t matter. The attack on us alone is enough to keep him behind bars for the rest of his godsforsaken life.” I nodded. “Deborah wanted to pay him a visit.” 3 “I’ll bet she did,” he said. “What did you do?” “Blamed you,” I replied promptly, leaning against the wall—we stood in one of the many labyrinthine halls of Seraph Headquarters, one currently locked on both sides—to peer up at him. “I love my sister, but I wasn’t about to set her loose on one of our only witnesses.” Logan looked unsurprised. “I don’t mind taking responsibility, then.” “I imagined you wouldn’t.” 4 “Speaking of Falcon Company,” he said, “now that they’re leaving, do you plan to remain in Divinity’s Reach? Or—” “No,” I replied, and suppressed the urge to look away. It was nothing to be ashamed of, for Kormir’s sake. “I’m going to Kessex Hills.” “Kessex!” exclaimed Logan. “What for?” 5 I hesitated, then forged ahead. “I make maps,” I told him. “Or refine them, depending on what there is to work with—but I personally travel to every place I have on a map, and make sure it’s as detailed and accurate as possible. Then I send each map off to the Tyrian Explorers Society: they’re trying to to put together a high-quality map of all Tyria, and I thought … well, I can do my part.” Logan blinked, seeming scarcely to know what to make of this. “You’re going to travel through the entirety of Kessex Hills to make a map?” “Well,” I admitted, “I thought I might keep an eye on the Falcons while I’m there.” 6 He gave a short laugh. “That sounds more like you. So, about these maps—do you make multiple copies? If you’re going that far afield, something like that might be useful to the Seraph.” “It wouldn’t be a problem,” I said, though of course duplicating something that large and that detailed would be a… not inconsiderable task. But it was small enough given everything the Seraph did for Kryta—and everything that Logan specifically had done. “I’ll pass them on as soon as I return to Divinity’s Reach.” 7 “Thank you.” He paused. “While you’re not a Seraph, so I can’t give you orders—” I laughed out loud. “Logan, you're almost the only person I do take orders from.” “All right,” said Logan, with one of his faint smiles, “then I’ll expect you to stay in contact, and return if summoned.” “I will,” I promised.

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1) the Tyrian Explorers’ Society: an organization that, in-game, sends you congratulations/thanks when you finish exploring a zone.

[anghraine]

pro patria, 71-77

“These are no innocents, Advocate,” said Ihan. “They’re pirates, and a cutthroat bunch at that—bear that in mind.” Right, pirates. Thieves and murderers and gods knew what else; it still wasn’t the plan I’d have chosen, had another presented itself, but … well, they’d done worse themselves. I’d done worse, arguably, with all the bandits I’d killed—I regretted nothing, but risking murderers’ lives could be no worse than killing them myself, surely.

title: pro patria (71-77/?) stuff that happens: One minute, Althea's realizing that her life as an aristocrat does not represent a universal Ascalonian experience; the next, she's manufacturing pirate slang.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Ailoda Langmar, Agent Ihan; Captain Barnicus, First Mate Gaets, others; Althea & Ailoda, Althea & Ihan chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35, 36-42, 43-49, 50-56, 57-63, 64-70

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SEVENTY-ONE 1 According to our stories and records, all the Fairchilds alive today were descendants of Lady Irene Fairchild. Irene, a cousin of Duke Barradin and member of the first Vanguard, claimed that she’d left Ascalon on a mission before the Searing, and returned afterwards upon being summoned by Prince Rurik himself. She’d defied King Adelbern to help Rurik lead desperate survivors of the Searing to Kryta, and taken over the expedition upon Rurik’s death. She and some companions joined Kryta’s White Mantle government, only to turn on it when they discovered its corruption, at which point they became allies of the Shining Blade instead, and aided Queen Salma's ascension to the throne. Irene even left notes of something to do with a lich and Rurik, though she was vague on the details. The family story went that she became an agent of the Ebon Vanguard, first under Captain Langmar and then Gwen Thackeray, and helped establish Ebonhawke. It sounded like the stories were true—all of them. 2 It made for a pleasant diversion, but after that, I seemed to encounter something disturbing about my people everywhere I went. One man near the gates complained about his offspring creating a guild to attack Ascalonian children. The woman he was speaking to shrugged and replied, “Someone’s got to teach them a lesson.” And people wondered why we stuck to Rurikton and Salma. In the upper city, I overheard a man asking another man and a woman why we didn’t have more Ascalonian ministers, something I’d certainly wondered about enough times. The other man said grimly, “The usual. No land, no vote.” 3 That was what my mother thought; she only knew three or four other ones. Of course, nothing prevented people from voting for someone who just happened to be Ascalonian—but they almost never did. In the meanwhile, I heard various gossip about Queen Jennah, ranging from whispers about Caudecus taking over—over my dead body—to anxious curiosity about when she would marry, to staunch declarations of support. Something must have happened; Logan, evidently, had gotten in a fight with some of Caudecus’s people, though I wasn’t exactly sure when or why it had happened. I could think of any number of reasons, really. Exhaustion crept up on me, perhaps from the exceptionally long morning I’d had, but more than that, too. I had never wished for another heritage, another life, but sometimes I wished I could just get away from everything that came with it. 4 I didn’t want to be poor, of course. But I’d like to pass through my city without hearing about the war or the Charr, or any of the things that Krytans thought were wrong with us. Not bothering to hide my scowl, I made my way back towards Seraph Headquarters and the palace, where the city was particularly beautiful and the people particularly inoffensive. I walked around under the dangling moons and stars of the mossy courtyard until my mood and my headache improved—and even then, I couldn’t help but think of how few Ascalonians could simply show up for a stroll in the royal courtyard when the world became overwhelming. And here I was, the Lady Althea, daughter of a Langmar minister and a Fairchild heir, hero of Shaemoor, Advocate of the Crown, doing absolutely nothing for my people. Helping others in general, sure—but not Ascalonians, who needed it more than anyone else. Someday I would. 5 I promised myself that. Zhaitan or no Zhaitan, I would go to Ebonhawke, where my people had lived and fought for so long, where my own family had, where I’d come into the world. I would offer my services to the Vanguard, in whichever way they saw fit, whether sword and sceptre or political strings pulled or whatever else. I would earn a right to the Ascalonian banners that hung throughout every manor I’d lived in. I’d earn the right to say I am an Ascalonian. I would go home, at last. To Ascalon. 6 I returned to the Salma manor to rest, glad to see the familiar lines and curves of the place I’d known for so many years—a place where I knew myself to be safe from all the rest of the world. Another advantage that most Ascalonians wouldn’t share with me. I’d never thought of that before. This time, I did manage to sleep, my intended nap turning into the hours until dinner. Despite all the irregularities of my schedule, I scrambled to appear on time. My mother, entering the dining room from the opposite side, looked startled. “Althea?” 7 “You’re here!” she said happily. “I can’t stay long,” I replied, seating myself at her right hand, “but I did want to see you.” She smiled. “I would have come home earlier, had I known you were here—what have you been up to?” I weighed what I could tell her, and what I wanted to tell her. “Oh, I had a meeting with Logan and some other people,” I said, “and ran a few errands, and then”—I swallowed—“then I took a long walk about the city.” She gazed steadily at me, and said, “Was any word of that true?”

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1) she was vague on the details: the GW1 PC doesn’t cover themself with glory in their dealings with the lich; they’re constantly fooled through the first half of the game.

2) The family story went that she became an agent of the Ebon Vanguard: in the GW1 expansion Guild Wars: Eye of the North, the PC has the option to become an agent of the Ebon Vanguard, gaining ascending '[x] Agent' titles. The game isn't clear about what happens after that, but I imagine them (or at least Irene) sticking with the Vanguard.

3) a guild to attack Ascalonian children: an actual ambient conversation.  

---------------------------------------------------------------- SEVENTY-TWO 1 “Every word was true,” I assured her. “Vague, I grant you—but true, and no vaguer than they have to be.” She nodded, accepting this, or appearing to. “Can you tell me where you’re headed now?” Only then did I feel the weight of my next destination, a place I’d so often read of, heard of, seen on maps. I took a deep breath. “Lion’s Arch.” 2 “Lion’s Arch!” my mother exclaimed. “What in the names of the Six are—oh, you probably can’t tell me.” “I’m afraid not,” I replied. I didn’t quite regret it; I could only imagine how worried she’d be if she knew I was fighting dragon minions and chasing a deranged Seraph in the company of a spy. “Be careful,” said Mother, already looking worried. “The city’s not what it used to be. It’s full of unsavoury types who think they’re too good for the queen, and it’s crawling with Charr.” 3 Charr! I hadn’t thought of that. I should have. I’d heard that Lion’s Arch paid no respects to the lines between human and Charr, sylvari and Asura, any of them and Norn—paid no respects to anything at all, except money. To me, nothing but perhaps the architecture sounded appealing. Nevertheless, to Lion’s Arch I was to go, if only on my way to somewhere else. And I couldn’t deny a certain curiosity about the place. 4 “I’ll take care,” I promised. “You don’t need to worry—I can look after myself, I promise.” “Sometimes,” said my mother, “that’s what I’m afraid of.” I laughed. “Well, I won’t pick fights with anyone, either. Even the Charr.” But I’d given my word, so I added, “Not in Lion’s Arch.” 5 Mother sighed, but said, “I don’t suppose I can ask for more than that. You’ve grown up so much, Althea.” I picked up my fork, poking at our cook’s best attempts to make something of rationed food. Sometimes I didn’t feel very grown-up. More often, I wished I didn’t. But Tervelan’s plot had yanked me out of childhood forever, and Shaemoor and its consequences had done the rest of the work. “One minute I’m little Althea Fairchild,” I said lightly, “and the next I’m Advocate of the Crown.” 6 “You’re what?” I hadn’t meant it as a distraction, but I seized the opportunity when it presented itself. That was, I supposed, my way. “Queen Jennah appointed me this morning,” I told her. Only this morning? Holy Kormir, what a day. “It’s a sort of diplomatic thing.” 7 I half-expected her to press further, or at least express some disappointment or dismay at the secrecy, but instead, she lit up. “Oh, Althea.” She searched my face, then pressed my free hand, a trembling smile on her lips. “A government position? Darling, I’m so proud; I never dreamed that you’d follow me!” I couldn’t help but return her smile, even though I wouldn’t exactly call fighting undead following my mother’s path in the Ministry—but she’d started with battles against the Charr, hadn’t she? “It’s all very complicated,” I said. SEVENTY-THREE 1 Contrary to my own expectations, I slept as easily as a cat in the daytime. Unlike one, however, I woke at dawn—I had a substantial journey from Lion’s Arch to Lionbridge Expanse to complete this morning. According to a decidedly sketchy map in my collection, I’d go north out of Lion’s Arch into Gendarran Fields, head west out of Cornucopian Fields through Broadhollow Bluffs, and then run into the Expanse. The route would take me right past the Ascalon Settlement, the town that the first Ascalonian refugees in Kryta had established; with Ebonhawke and Rurikton, it was one of the main centers of Ascalonian culture. I’d always wanted to see it, but hadn’t dared the journey. Now, I couldn’t afford any detours—this time. But maybe I’d be able to go once this was all over. 2 I dressed quickly, gathered the supplies for the journey I’d packed last night, left a note for my mother, and headed out to the royal courtyard. I could go through Queensdale instead of Lion’s Arch, and felt strongly tempted to do so, but that would be pure self-indulgence; the Asura gate to Lion’s Arch gleamed right here in the courtyard. Once, I’d been composed of little but self-indulgence. Now, some things had to come first—and efficiency ranked high among them. Despite my best intentions, I hesitated at the gate. I wasn’t a healer, able to identify bone and organs at will, so I couldn’t say exactly what shivered in my chest as I stood before the gate. Did it matter? 3 Footsteps sounded behind me, and someone said, “Are you going through?” I turned, saw a man in merchant’s clothes, saw him step back. “My lady,” he added hastily. “Pardon,” I said, embarrassed at my own weakness. Determined to cast it aside, I summoned up all the resolve I possessed, and continued, “Yes, I’m going.” With that, I paid the Asura by the gate, and stepped through. 4 I only dimly remembered the last time I’d taken an Asura gate, when my family left Ebonhawke. One moment, I was crying as Aunt Elwin kissed me goodbye; the next, with a flash of purple light, I was staring around at Rurikton’s narrow walls and tall buildings. This gate seemed both like and unlike that memory, and like and unlike the waypoints I used so often. As my vision filled with purple, my body felt oddly compressed and heavy, while my heart raced and my stomach clenched down on nothing. But then everything cleared and my feet landed on solid ground, without any lurching disorientation. I took a few steady steps down a wooden ramp, and looked around with interest. So this was Lion’s Arch. 5 I stood on a sort of mossy circle, which centered on small levels rather like a fountain leading up to a flowery crystal. On one side of the circle, a stone ramp ran up to the main city, which from here looked like a very dramatic collection of shipwrecks; on the other side, a wooden bridge headed off into some trees. All around me, Asura gates cast light from their rocky pedestals just beyond the edges of the circle, each accessible by another ramp, and guarded by soldiers of various species. Including Charr. I steadied my nerves; they weren’t even looking at me, but talking in their low growls to a sylvari gesturing at the gate. Something, something Black Citadel. Sweet Lyssa, who would want to go there? 6 I’d heard little of it, of course, and had no interest in finding out more. But I knew that it was the Charr capital, deliberately built on the bones of slaughtered Ascalonians. This must be a gate to Ascalon. I eyed the Charr guards, unable to repress a curl of my lip. I’d never go this way. But they didn’t matter, I told myself; what they stood for mattered, but these were just two monsters among thousands, perhaps millions. I turned away. 7 My gate was likewise guarded, by two professional-looking Seraph who appeared remarkably sanguine about the Charr so near to them. I greeted them by rank, which seemed to gratify one of them, and then said, “I need to go to Gendarran Fields.” “We’re not tour guides,” said one of the Seraph, but the other hushed him. “You go all the way north, past Trader’s Forum,” she told me, and when I thanked them and headed off, she hissed at her companion, “Don’t you know who she is?” “Why should I care?” he said. “She’s Captain Thackeray’s right hand!” He scoffed, saying, “No, that’s Lieutenant … wait, you mean that was the hero of Shaemoor?” SEVENTY-FOUR 1 I nearly got lost about a half-dozen times on my way to the Trader’s Forum, as I navigated assorted buildings pieced together out of assorted ships—many of them looked very much the same, even with strings of glowing lights and the occasional waypoint lighting the way. And the crowds were like nothing I’d ever seen before, even in Divinity’s Reach on its busiest days. Everyone was shouting and shoving and jostling on the ways to the bank and the Black Lion market, which lay right in my path. Once, a Charr actually touched me as she pushed on by. My stomach turned and I jerked away. Eventually, however, I found myself in the much more sparsely populated stretch of crafting stations along the northern edge of the city, very little different from those in the Commons back home. I repressed the urge to stop and look at jewelry and clothes, and more relieved than not, strode through the portal. 2 I emerged into a landscape of green fields and hills, and took off running to the west. At first it looked nearly idyllic—an impression that lasted the three minutes that passed before I encountered giant spiders spitting poison. I killed them without very much difficulty, though I felt decidedly queasy, and raced onwards until I nearly collided into a green and purple sylvari. “Hello!” she said. “I am called Brigid. And you?” “Althea,” I said, certain that neither lady nor Fairchild would carry any meaning for her. 3 “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” she continued happily. “So green and fertile.” I nodded, and she chattered on, talking about the apparently hard-working farmers of Applenook, along with the dangers of pirates. While I certainly disapproved of piracy as both a fellow citizen and a loyal subject to the queen, it came as quasi-welcome news in this case. Evidently, I’d arrived at the right place. “Thank you,” I said, and we parted ways, Brigid peering around herself as I took off for the west. Onwards. 4 Despite the occasional fight along the way, I made good time, and ran through grass and clumps of cheerful yellow flowers to arrive at Lionbridge Expanse early. Ihan was, of course, already at the bridge. Well, under it. At first, when I didn’t see him, I shrugged and clambered down the slope to the stream flowing beneath the bridge. A large skale attacked me, so I thought I’d pass the time in fighting it. “Advocate, over here,” whispered Ihan. I flung aether towards the skale and whirled about. 5 My long skirt whirled with me, and settled neatly back down again, rather to my relief; Faren would have approved, though I couldn’t imagine Ihan cared one way or the other. I could only make out a vague figure in any case. Then Ihan stepped forward, himself once more, and murmured, “Keep your voice low.” I hadn’t said anything, but I nodded. “The pirates are still spooked from Kellach’s attack,” he said. “They won’t be quick to trust newcomers.” I didn’t mean to be impatient, but— 6 “We need them to tell us what they know,” I said firmly. “How do we get them to talk?” Ihan gave one of his thin smiles. “Don’t worry, Advocate. The Order’s been thinking ahead—it’s what we do. The Order of Whispers is the oldest organization in Tyria; we’ve managed to survive this long because we always have a plan.” I’d hoped to hear that.

7

“I’m listening,” I told him. “What do you suggest we do?” “I’ve hidden special torches on the outskirts of the pirate camp—they’re enchanted with pure life force by a priest of Melandru,” he said. “The power of these torches will draw in the undead, but nobody else will notice the difference.” “Draw in the undead?” I hissed. “That’s dangerous!” That was what he’d been doing while I slept?

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1) jewelry and clothes: you can develop crafting abilities in the game, including as a jeweler and a tailor, though Althea would probably just buy things.

----------------------------------------------------------- SEVENTY-FIVE 1 “People could get hurt,” I added. “These are no innocents, Advocate,” said Ihan. “They’re pirates, and a cutthroat bunch at that—bear that in mind.” Right, pirates. Thieves and murderers and gods knew what else; it still wasn’t the plan I’d have chosen, had another presented itself, but … well, they’d done worse themselves. I’d done worse, arguably, with all the bandits I’d killed—I regretted nothing, but risking murderers’ lives could be no worse than killing them myself, surely. I nodded, not quite trusting myself with words. 2 “Disguise yourself,” said Ihan, “and attempt to join the crew. When the undead attack, prove yourself defending the camp. They’ll trust you after that.” Well, now it made sense. It was much easier to do something like this with a clear objective in mind, and clearer plan for achieving it. “I’ll maintain the torches,” Ihan continued, “and watch for undead. I’ll be nearby in case the situation escalates out of control.” 3 That sounded promising. Ihan set a pack down on the bank of the stream, opened it up, and started rummaging inside. He emerged with some things that someone more generous than me might have called clothes. There were leather trousers, which I could have expected. There was a feathered hat—all right. There were assorted belts and straps and scarves, and unexpectedly, a half-corset, something I’d never imagined pirates wearing. There was not a shirt. 4 “Here, put on this disguise,” he told me, his mouth quirking as he glanced from the fashionably slashed caps of my sleeves to my long skirt. “No one’s going to believe you’re a pirate in your current get-up.” “Uh,” I said. “What am I supposed to wear here?” I gestured vaguely at my chest. Ihan, thankfully, didn’t look. “This.” 5 He tossed the half-corset at me. “Fine,” I said, “but what am I wearing over it?” “Nothing,” said Ihan, a trace of impatience touching his even voice as he handed over the rest of the quasi-clothes. “You’re a pirate, Advocate. If you’re going to continue in the Order of Whispers, you have to learn to set Lady Althea aside, and become whatever is needed.” I had never said anything about continuing in the Order of Whispers! I preferred them to the others—maybe—but— 6 “Now you’re Yardarm, Rock Dog of the Eastern Sea,” he added. “Right,” I said faintly. “Now, hurry up.” “Well, turn around,” I said, though with that corset, it hardly made any difference; he’d see everything anyway. Everyone would. I shuddered, but remembered the undead, and once he turned his head aside, swiftly disentangled myself from my coat and skirt and did my best to figure out the pirate gear. With deep reluctance, I said, “Done.” 7 Ihan turned back to me and glanced at the outfit; to my relief, it was only a glance before his eyes returned to my face. “Good. Are you ready?” “Is there anything else I need to know about being a pirate?” This horrible outfit couldn’t be enough. “Work on your swagger, your swearing, and your slang,” he said, and smiled again, more warmly. “You’ll be fine.”

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1) At this point in the story, Althea’s standard outfit is this; the pirate costume is this.

--------------------------------------------------------------- SEVENTY-SIX 1 Swagger I could handle. As for swearing and slang, I didn’t know what about me gave the impression that I might be conversant in either. I didn’t even know people who were; Logan didn’t bother, Faren found them inelegant, Deborah … well, all right, she swore like a sailor when she got angry. I strained to remember some of her more vivid insults. “All right,” I told him. “Thanks, Ihan. Here I go.” 2 Despite all my apprehensions and discomfort, the plan went off like a dream. I made my way to the camp, ignored the low, drunken singing of a small group of pirates, and was promptly directed to the captain by a surly underling. The first mate stopped me on the way there. “Get out of here before I use your parts for chum, you swine-hugging lowlife,” she snarled. I eyed her coolly. “Big talk from someone who smells like an unwashed dolyak.” “That's the best you got?” 3 She gave a hoarse laugh, adding, “Your wits are 'bout as quick as a pregnant cow.” My wits were just fine, and I didn’t care one way or another what some pirate thought of them. My first inclination was to shrug and continue on my way, but I remembered Ihan’s advice, and tried to imagine what Deborah would say. “Hey, don't go bringing your mother into this,” I said, and smiled cheerfully, making sure it showed my teeth. “Someone might get hurt. You, in fact.” 4 She didn’t look intimidated, but her eyes narrowed, which I counted as a success of sorts. “What’s that?” she growled. “I'd murder you right now if I didn't mind getting the blood of a Charr-loving rat-catcher on my blade.” A Charr-loving— Me? Me? My vision tightened, narrowing in on where she stood before me, a sneer on her face, and—I didn’t normally condone them, but I had half a mind to to challenge her to a duel on the spot. 5 In other circumstances. Not now, when I needed information, when undead were loose in Kryta. I forced my fury to a reasonable simmer, steadied my hands and breaths. “Oh, please,” I told her. “You even think about murdering me, you better stop yourself and apologize, skritt-licker.” To my astonishment, she chuckled. “Good one!” 6 “I like you,” she added, grinning down at me. “You can live for now.” “Thanks,” I said, “but I don't need any favors from you, flotsam-face.” I tipped my hat; it seemed a pirate-ish thing to do. “See you around.” I very much hoped I wouldn’t. For her sake. 7 She marched ahead of me as I walked towards the captain, my heart thudding, and Ihan’s torches shining clear and bright around the camp. “Splendid view, isn’t it?” the captain told her. “Only thing missing is our bloody ship! We never should have let that Seraph dog board the Ravenous again.” My nerves all seemed to spring to life at the same time, but I tried not to look too obviously interested. She saluted and said, “Ravenous died a noble death, Cap’n: on fire and full of holes.” Apparently that was their idea of nobility. SEVENTY-SEVEN 1 The first mate sniffed. “She went down fighting, like the grand dame she was.” “Aye, that she did, that she did,” Captain Barnicus said gravely. He glanced my way, and his eyes narrowed. “Here, who’s this new lubber come to stare at us?” I saluted him, aiming for a mix of deference and assurance—like a rough-around-the-edges Logan, maybe, though I could just imagine his face at the comparison. Especially considering the corset. 2 “Reporting for duty, captain,” I said, dropping my voice. “They call me Yardarm, Rock Dog of the Eastern Sea. I hear you’re looking for a new crew?” The captain’s scowl deepened. “You heard wrong. We’re looking for brothers and sisters of fortune. Sailors that’ll stand by us when the blood starts flowin’.” 3 “Now sling your hook before I—” A sylvari pirate (not two words I would have ever expected to use together) swivelled about towards us. He shouted, “Captain! The undead are back! We’re under attack!” The menace on Barnicus’s face turned into surprised fury, his hand already brandishing his sword. “Damn them!” 4 He pointed at me with his other hand. “You there, Yardarm! If you want to earn a berth on my ship, draw your weapon and risk your neck with the rest of us!” Ihan’s plan, such as it was, had gone off perfectly. I seized my own sword and leapt into the battle, dodging the rotting limbs, decaying weapons, and inexorable tread of the Risen. The aether lashing through my sceptre and my illusions destroyed undead as well as anything else. Not easily, though: they just kept coming and coming, and I spent as much time protecting and bracing up pirates as I did fighting—victory wouldn’t go very far if Barnicus lost his crew with it. 5 After three waves of attacks, this group of undead lay, well, dead. We burned the corpses and scattered the bones; you couldn’t really be too careful. Then, astonishingly, the pirates returned to drinking, singing, working, and/or mourning the ship, as if nothing had happened. I’d worried about them figuring out the cause of the attack, but they didn’t even try to guess. Barnicus gave me a slightly painful clap on the arm. “You did well, Yardarm, but if you’re lookin’ to join my crew, fightin’ ain’t enough. You need sharp wit, too.” 6 “My wit?” I said, not prepared for this, but not willing to abandon the plan. “What does that have to do with anything?” He shook his head, hand still on my bare arm. I refused to flinch, though every particle of my body urged me to cringe away. “Listen ’ere, matey. My crew has to settle scores with words, or we’d kill each other off! Speak with Gaets, she’ll set you to rights.” 7 It sounded positively deranged to me, but I agreed; I hardly had another choice—and it gave me some distance, at any rate. When Gaets turned out to be the first mate I’d exchanged words with before, however, I nearly balked. If she called me a Charr-lover again, I’d … well, in all honesty, I’d probably just endure it again, but I wouldn’t forget. Luckily, Gaets seemed to pride herself on a certain level of originality; each insult she threw at me was unique—lily-livered bilge-rat, lice-infested hammock hanger, and the like. Even more luckily, I had enough inventiveness (and enough memories) to return each insult in kind. She took a deep, satisfied breath. “That was amazing.”

[anghraine]

pro patria: chapters 36-42

Logan nodded thoughtfully. “It’s got to be someone else in the Ministry—someone with money, power, and ambition.” “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” he said.

title: pro patria (36-42/?) stuff that happens: Althea and Logan track down the enslaved survivors of Falcon Company.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Logan Thackeray, Deborah Fairchild; Ailoda Langmar, others; Althea & Logan, Althea & Deborah, Althea & Ailoda & Deborah chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35

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THIRTY-SIX 1 “Does the haven often fall under attacks like that?” Dansky seemed startled; whatever she might have expected, it was doubtless less inane. “Not quite like that,” she said. “Those bandits caught us off guard, but”—she frowned—“they didn’t steal anything. It was as if they just wanted to kill people.” I took a deep breath. “I suspect they were here to kill you.” 2 She stared at me. “I’m investigating accusations of treason related to the fall of Falcon Company,” I said. To my own astonishment, she grinned. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that!” she told me. “I always suspected Tervelan was rotten, but I had no proof.” I still held myself ready for danger—this was Kessex, after all—but tension drained out of my body. “What made you suspect him?” 3 She exhaled, her brief exuberance gone. “Falcon Company,” she said, “was the finest unit I ever served with. If I hadn’t been recovering from an injury, I’d have been with them that day.” I almost brought up Deborah, but I didn’t want to distract her; at this point, perhaps it would be better if she didn’t know I had a personal interest in the case. “You must know something,” I said urgently. “Tell me, did you ever see Tervelan meet with a minister?” She shook her head. 4 I’d never felt such a weight of disappointment in my life, and I wasn’t sure I could ever again. I nearly turned away; but some instinct told me to wait. “My job was to deliver messages for the Seraph,” she said, dropping her voice further. Something of Hal’s haunted anxiety seemed to touch her. “The ones I brought from Tervelan were addressed to ‘Minister Arton’—but I know for a fact that Arton never got those letters.” My head snapped up, Arton’s pained dignity fresh in my memory. It’d been so odd—what if— 5 Dansky blinked rapidly. “After Falcon Company fell,��� she went on, “I found out that the guy I’d been delivering them to didn’t even work in Arton’s office. Nobody’d ever seen him before.” She took off her gauntlet and rubbed some dirt off her face. I chose to believe it was dirt, anyway. “I delivered Falcon Company’s last patrol to that guy, too. After the unit was attacked, I put it together … and I just couldn’t stay in the Seraph.” 6 “Understandably,” I said. “Do you know the route they were to patrol?” She brightened a little. “Sure.” Luckily, I’d brought a map with me to help make my way through Kessex Hills. She drew me over to a table, and inked out an oblong shape in red. I stared down at the route, struggling to believe my own eyes—all this, the work of a day, after so many years of grief and confusion. 7 “One more thing,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Is there any chance that part of Falcon Company could still be alive?” Unlike virtually everyone else, she didn’t immediately reject the idea, instead looking thoughtful. “If the centaurs took them captive,” she said at last, “they’d sell the prisoners to human slavers. There’s a bandit camp to the east that dabbles in the slave trade—you could look there.” Hope, so relentlessly quashed for so long, blazed within me like a star. I said, “Thank you for your help.” THIRTY-SEVEN 1 I sent another, slightly more detailed message to Logan, not expecting much more than quick affirmation that he’d received it, and an injunction to proceed carefully. Instead, minutes ticked by while I waited, anxious and increasingly impatient, for his reply. I had just decided that if I didn’t hear from him soon, I’d go ahead anyway, when an exhausted Seraph came running through the gates. “A message from Captain Thackeray, for the hero of Shaemoor,” she gasped out. The Lionguards glanced at each other in bewilderment, then at me. I sighed. “I’m the hero,” I said. 2 I tore Logan’s message open, then stared. Althea — Head to the bandit camp in an hour and a half from the sending of your first message. I’ll be there. Do not assault it on your own. An hour and a half left just twenty-five minutes to reach the camp—and I had no idea how Logan could make it from Divinity’s Reach so quickly. Then again, I had no idea how Logan got anywhere, really. I shoved the note into my pouch and with a garbled thanks, rushed out of the haven. 3 Once I found the camp, I snuck around its edges—and unsurprisingly, Logan was already there, skulking behind some trees in full armour, his white and gold surcoat all but glittering. “Captain Thackeray, you made it,” I said, as professionally as I could, and caught him up on what I’d learned from Hal and Dansky. I concluded, “Minister Arton’s not guilty; someone was framing him to take the fall if this treason was ever discovered.” Logan nodded thoughtfully. “It’s got to be someone else in the Ministry—someone with money, power, and ambition.” “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” he said. I couldn’t disagree with him there. 4 He went on, “Destroying Falcon Company weakened the Seraph, and turned public opinion against the queen. It was a clever plan, and it almost worked.” It had worked, for a time. I dug my nails into my palms. “I want to see if these bandits have any answers,” I told him, “and, if Dwayna is smiling on us, find my sister. Let’s go.” We crept closer. 5 We paused among a nearer stand of trees, where I—less obtrusive in blue and grey clothes—peered around to check for scouts. “I don’t see any, just a couple of guards,” I said, hiding in the trees once more. Logan shook his head. “So it’s come to this—people turning on each other when we need to be working together. If we can’t trust each other, we can’t possibly face the dragons.” I’d done my best not to think about the dragons, in perfect honesty; it wasn’t difficult, with centaurs and bandits and Charr and gods knew what else at our throats. I supposed it was something of an honour that he’d bring them up to me, of all people—if rather an unfortunate moment for it. 6 “There will always be villains,” I whispered, thinking of Zamon, Tervelan, the camp just ahead of us. “I suppose that’s why there needs to be heroes.” “Like me,” said Logan, his smile wry, but he sobered as he added, “and like you. You’ve done tremendous deeds for Kryta. They won’t be forgotten.” I smiled back at him. If we didn’t make it out of this—I couldn’t see any way to attack except a frontward assault—then there were worse notes to die on. 7 “Thanks, Logan,” I told him, genuinely grateful, and peered around again. Several figures stood guard at what looked like another cave system, braced by wooden beams; to go by the rocky hill beside us, it couldn’t be nearly as deep as the one I’d fought through with Faren. Neither guard had particularly good posture; one of them yawned, saying something in a bored drawl to the other. It must be nearly the end of their shift—I hoped. “Is it time?” murmured Logan. Sure enough, two figures emerged from the cave, speaking to the two tired ones. “It’s time,” I said. THIRTY-EIGHT 1 We rushed forward, Logan’s sword slashing at the guards, my own gleaming with aether as I blocked pistol fire with one hand and lashed chaos with the other. “Intruders! Wake up!” one guard screamed, just before I killed him. With that, we had a real fight on our hands, and an unpleasant one. Bandits, pistols, and small enclosed spaces made for an unfortunate combination at the best of times, and in this case, we had to do our best to shield the slaves in cages—gods—and others coughing and working at the rear of the cave. I finally dodged behind Logan and switched out my sword and sceptre for a tall staff: a weapon I always carried, but almost never used. The others helped channel my magic; the staff distilled it, ordinary spells concentrating into near-uncontrollable blasts of aether—but if there was any time to use it, that time was now. 2 With a shout, my magic spread throughout the chamber, purplish lightning crackling as it struck down at our enemies. Only our enemies. With sweat pouring down my face, I bent the spell to my will for as long as I could, then cut off the flow of magic before it could threaten anyone else. Logan was methodically cutting the throats of those struck down by the spell, holding off others with his shield, sword and shield ablaze with blue-white fire. I’d forgotten that he had magic of his own; it looked like he was pulling out all the stops, too. “Stay here—don’t let them through,” shouted a large bandit, who seemed to be the leader. “Get up and fight!” 3 The surviving bandits rushed us, but it didn’t matter; Logan shouted something that lit half of them on fire, while I cast through the staff again, my magic pouring out even as blue light flashed out to protect us, the blue and purple lights mingling. His sword and my clones did the rest of the work. In the back, someone cried, “I need your help!” It seemed a bandit had the clever idea of holding someone hostage; I sent a clone after him, and with a flare of light, he dropped to the ground. Logan was holding the last surviving bandit at swordpoint. He demanded, “Who were you working for? Who set this up?” 4 “Caudecus,” she grunted, clutching at her stomach. “But you’ll never … prove it …” She collapsed on the ground. I checked for a pulse, but she was gone. Caudecus—of course! Zamon, Tervelan, all of it: they weren’t just signs of general corruption, though they’d certainly had their own guilt. This was Caudecus’s handiwork—all of it! 5 “Curse it all,” snarled Logan, as angry as I’d ever heard him, “that bandit’s testimony was the only evidence we had!” “At least we know the truth,” I said, and remembering his weak spot, added, “and we can protect the queen. It’s not enough, but … it’ll have to do.” He immediately calmed. “You’re right. We’ll figure out what to do after we free these prisoners and get them back to the city.” I closed my eyes, fighting for my own calm, then opened them again; it was time to see who lived. 6 I slung my staff over my back and started opening cages as we headed towards the rear of the cave, where groups of slaves huddled or staggered. My heart thudded so hard that it felt like it might crack something, but this was more important. I took out my sword and started cutting bindings and shackles, while Logan cast a series of spells that flashed white light and left injured prisoners standing upright again. I helped brace them as they struggled to their feet, I supported those with remaining injuries, reassuring one after another. They all mattered, not just—if she were here—somewhere— Near the right-hand wall of the cave, another prisoner bent over with a coughing fit: a terribly thin woman, with faded blonde hair, and when she straightened up again, clear grey eyes. “Deborah!” 7 She peered through the gloom, her face drawn beneath layers of grime and weariness—but I knew her, I’d know her anywhere. “Althea?” she whispered incredulously, her eyes wide, and stumbled forwards, nearly falling into my arms. I caught her, dropping my sword and keeping my grip as gentle as I could; they all had bruises running up and down their arms and legs. “Merciful gods,” I said, hardly able to believe my own eyes, my own hands, “you’re alive!” Deborah—Deborah!—coughed into my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” I promised, stroking her hair. “I’m here.” THIRTY-NINE 1 I’d no sooner spoken than I remembered what sort of person I’d been when she got captured—how consumed with trivialities, foolish, near helpless. I’m here might not do much to reassure her of her safety, at least not until Logan made his way over. Deborah didn’t say anything about that. She just lifted her head and whispered, “Am I dreaming?” She coughed again. “Is that … Grenth torment me, is it really you?” “Yes,” I said, almost crying, “it is.” 2 My senses quickly returned. If she was in a condition to think me a hallucination, then— “Wait here, Debs,” I said, and ran for Logan. At his startled glance, I gasped out, “I found her, she’s alive, but … I don’t know, she needs help, she—” Without a word, he followed me over to where Deborah leaned against the wall. “You’re safe now, sergeant,” he said in his most official manner, but nearly staggered, himself, as he cast his glowing shield again. “Can you tell us what happened to the Falcons?” 3 As soon as he spoke, her tired eyes lifted up, widening at the sight of him. “Captain Thackeray?” Somehow, she scrounged up the strength for a respectful salute. “Sir! We were ambushed by centaurs.” After another gasping cough, she went on, “They knew our patrol routes, our tactics—everything!” The shield burst into scattered light, and Deborah finally drew a clear breath. 4 “It’s all right, Debs,” I said, clasping one of her hands. “We’ll make sure all of you get back to Divinity’s Reach. The nightmare’s over.” I could scarcely believe it myself. She nodded, rubbing tears out of her eyes with her free hand. “Thank you. And thank you, Captain Thackeray.” 5 She looked from Logan back to me, still wide-eyed. “You’re both heroes.” I could only imagine what it must be like for her: months of capture, suffering, and enslavement, and then out of nowhere, a Seraph and a lady showing up, wiping out the captors in a bloody battle, and then the Seraph turning out to be Logan Thackeray himself, and the lady—me! In her place, I’d be even more stunned than she seemed to be; as it was, I just tightened my grip on her hand, unable to think of a single thing to say. “I’ll take these Seraph home and inform the queen so that Minister Arton can be released,” said Logan. “No more innocents will suffer from this treasonous plot.” I hadn’t thought of Arton, the poor man—but I certainly agreed on the latter point. 6 With that, he started to turn away, but then jerked back to look at the two of us. Abruptly, he said, “Good work—hero.” Hero, I realized, meant more than Shaemoor now. I nodded my thanks, still at a loss for words. “The truth came out and these Seraph were saved,” he went on, “all because of you.” I was not normally one to refuse praise, but I could only reply, “Not only me, captain.” He paused, then inclined his head. 7 I led Deborah over to the other Seraph; it was time for her to go home. On the way, she murmured, “You never gave up on me.” But I did. We got that letter from godsdamned Tervelan and I believed it and did nothing until Logan asked me for help— “Thank you,” she went on, turning her head to meet my eyes. A shade of her old humour flickered into her face. “I’m lucky to have a hero in the family!” FORTY 1 “I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, Debs,” I told my sister. My sister, alive. “You are stronger than you know.” Deborah gave a smile—a faint one, but it was there. “I missed you, Althea,” she said simply. I squeezed her hand. “I missed you, too.” 2 She re-joined her fellow soldiers, quickly taking the lead in their conversation and gesturing this way and that; Logan’s magic had done much of its work. One soldier crept forward to peer out the cave entrance, then returned, reaching out to shake my hand. “Sure am glad to see the colours of the Seraph,” he remarked. “If you and Captain Thackeray hadn’t shown up when you did, there wouldn’t be anything left of me to rescue—thanks!” He was still wheezing. “It’s okay,” I told him, “you’re safe now. Don’t try to talk.” 3 Another former prisoner, leaning against the back of the cave, grinned outright and said, “Tell those centaur slags I ain’t dead yet—they beat me, starved me, tortured me, and tried to sell me as a slave, but I’m still upright … with a little help from this wall here.” To my horror, I almost laughed. “Everything’s going to be all right,” I assured her. “You’re safe now.” She nodded, turning grave. “Deborah always said her family’d never forget her.” That much, I couldn’t deny, and had no desire to; of course we hadn’t forgotten her, couldn’t forget her—but if the thought had brought her comfort, then I was glad. 4 “There ain’t much left of Falcon Company,” the woman said, “but we’ll be back … thanks to you.” Overwhelmed, I could only say, “She was right. Get some rest, you’ll be home soon.” I’d scarcely uttered the words than Logan returned, a good strong cart following him; I had no idea how he’d acquired it out here, but had long since given up wondering about such things. Logan and I both hurried to help the now only moderately-wounded Seraph into the cart. “Nice work,” he told me, as if he hadn’t lavished me with praise already. “The Seraph will transport these injured soldiers to Divinity’s Reach—they’ll be given a hero’s welcome.” 5 “Thanks, Logan,” I told him, and felt my eyes burn. But I didn’t want Deborah to see me cry—least of all here and now. Instead, I held out my hand to him, bracing myself for his steely grip. He took his gauntlet off and shook my hand, as if we were ordinary people meeting in the halls of the Maiden’s Whisper. But we’d never be ordinary again, would we? I glanced at Deborah, then met his gaze squarely. “We’ll never forget what you did for us today.” 6 Logan looked exactly as I felt: gratified and very deeply uncomfortable. But it had to be said. “It wasn’t just me,” he told me. “You said it—we did this together. And whatever comes, well, we’ll do that together, too.” It had not, for a single moment, occurred to me that we might not. “That’s right,” I said firmly. 7 With that, we got back to work, hoisting the last of the soldiers into the cart, and paying the Lionguard driving it (I didn’t ask). She would take us to Black Haven, Logan told me, where the soldiers could get cleaned up and healed beyond what he’d been able to offer. After they rested, we’d take the nearest waypoint back to Divinity’s Reach. We did exactly that. By the time they’d healed and rested at the haven, Deborah and her companions were itching to go home. “We’ll see our families again,” said the man I’d spoken to before, with a smile, “and the Seraph, and probably the queen.” Deborah said, “Damned right we will.” FORTY-ONE 1 Had there been any meaningful distance to travel, we would have continued in the cart, for a particularly odd triumphal arrival; as it was, Logan and I led the Seraph to the Delanian waypoint just north of Black Haven, and emerged in the courtyard immediately in front of the throne room and Seraph Headquarters. Several of the Falcons wept at the sight—to the clear astonishment of the people milling around—before dutifully following Logan into headquarters. “Captain Thackeray,” began Lieutenant Groban, before catching sight of the others and nearly toppling over. “Can it—how—what—” “Lieutenant, sir,” Deborah said. She saluted him. “At ease, Sergeant Fairchild,” he said dazedly. 2 Whispers of Fairchild? and the Falcons! it’s them! raced around the room, and in an instant, every Seraph in the place clustered around, welcoming and exclaiming over them, a few wiping away tears while a handful of citizens watched in silent amazement. It took a good few minutes for Deborah to extricate herself. “It’s time,” she said, dry-eyed but smiling. After pulling on a hooded cloak that had been provided by the Lionguard, she followed me through the waypoint once again, the two of us stepping through to Salma. We climbed the stairs, Deborah refusing any help, and then—then we stood on the steps before our manor. She lifted her face, taking in the courtyard and the house’s façade, her breaths harsh and unsteady. Unnecessarily, I said, “Here we are.” 3 We made our way inside, Deborah still cloaked and hooded, both of us quiet. It was nearly evening, the tapers were lit, and the dim light of the entrance obscured what might have otherwise been glimpsed of her face. The handful of servants who passed by glanced at the mysterious figure in some bewilderment—but at this point used to my oddities, they simply continued about their business. She looked around, taking in the little changes and familiar arching lines of the manor, her breaths evening out a little. “Welcome home,” I told her. “Home,” she repeated wonderingly. “I’m home.” 4 We had only wandered about for a few minutes, Deborah trailing her fingers over furniture and ornaments, when we heard the front doors open, followed by our mother’s voice. “Yes, yes—that’s right—” My sister drew a sharp breath. “Come on,” I said, and led the way back to the entrance hall. Our mother had turned to slam the doors shut; she turned about again, catching sight of me—started to smile—then frowned at the cloaked figure beside me. “Who is this, Althea?” Deborah pushed her hood back. 5 Mother gasped. For a moment, she simply stared at her; then she took one hesitant step forward and whispered, “Deborah?” We nodded. “Deborah!” My mother ran towards us, and Deborah tore off the cloak and raced the rest of the way forwards, the two of them clasping each other in their arms. Mother ran her hands over Deborah’s cheeks, caught my sister’s face between her palms, kissed her hair and leaned her own face against it. She cried openly; and Deborah, at long last, sobbed too. 6 “My girl—oh, Deborah—how—” “Treason, Mama,” I said, drawing a little nearer. “Tervelan betrayed Falcon Company to the centaurs, but they sold Debs with some others.” “My poor girl,” said Mother, clutching Deborah tighter. Then she looked over her head at me. “You found her? You did this?” I hesitated, then answered, “Captain Thackeray helped.” 7 “Althea saved me,” Deborah insisted, sniffling. “Sweetheart,” said Mother, and I didn’t even know who she meant—I wasn’t sure she did, either—but then she tugged me closer and put her arms about us both, and we were all crying, and I’d never been so happy in my life. Once our tears dried, Mother led us over to her favourite parlour, sat us all down—though she kept her hands tightly clasped about ours—and urged us for an explanation. Deborah fell silent, and I could only imagine how little she wished to remember; instead, I quickly explained the plot and its discovery, and Logan’s role in all of it. “May Kormir bless Captain Thackeray,” said Mother. Then, turning to me, she touched my cheek. “And may all the Six bless you, Althea.” FORTY-TWO 1 For a week, Deborah slept on and off, while Mother hovered over her and I tried to quietly supply whatever she needed. It was easier for me in some ways; I’d grown used to something like the life Deborah had chosen, for something like the same reasons, and I’d been the one to rescue her. The mission, for all of its horrors, had given me a peace of soul—if not quite of mind—that our mother could not share. It didn’t stop me from occasionally haunting Debs’s doorstep, of course. But Mother was in torment, now that she knew the whole truth, and now that nothing could be done for Deborah except keeping her fed and letting her rest. “That’s exactly what she didn’t have before,” I said. It didn’t help; Mother flinched and looked away. 2 The week passed in a blur for me. I stayed at Deborah's side when our mother, very reluctantly, went about Ministry business; I talked to Deborah of nothing in particular when she woke, making her eat and drink; I obeyed periodic summons from Logan and/or Anise, who were orchestrating the official return of Falcon Company alongside new plans for the queen’s protection. When I had time to spare, I found myself unwilling to dwell very much on anything, yet unable to go out and attend events as if nothing had happened. Instead, I spent most of my free time in a training hall I’d fashioned (well, ordered fashioned) out of an abandoned gallery in the manor. I practiced creating clones that would rush up and attack, clones that would protect me, clones that would generate spells themselves, all as indistinguishable as possible. I adjusted the details of illusionary images I made up to confuse people before I blasted them. I turned clones on myself to practice with my sword, my skin damp with sweat—did anything but think of what my sister had suffered. 3 I was there at the end of the week, tossing my sword from one hand to the other, trying very hard not to think about centaurs, and then only about vengeance. I took up a focus for my magic—all the more useful with the chaos magic I drew on—and held my sword in my main hand, imagining Tervelan and then Caudecus. Slash, gash, stab. I ducked a bolt of chaos from the last clone and lashed out with a crippling curtain of light. Slash, gash, stab. Slash—the clone was down. And behind me, someone clapped. 4 I whirled around, one hand tight on the focus, the other already lifting my sword for attack. The stranger stepped out of the shadows— It was my sister. “Very impressive,” she said. Irrationally, I felt embarrassed. “I’m not anything to Anise.” “Nobody is anything to Anise,” said Deborah. 5 “That’s why she’s Master Exemplar, but what you’re doing is nothing to sneeze at.” She paused. “Your magic looks like hers, even.” “She trained me,” I replied, setting the focus down on a nearby table. Deborah was frowning a little, though I wasn’t sure why. I couldn’t read her. “You’ve changed, Althea,” she said quietly. 6 I sheathed my sword, unsure of what to say. Deborah headed for the door, gesturing for me to follow her. We walked a few steps through the high stone walls in silence. At last, I said, “I had to.” “No,” said Deborah, “you didn’t.” Puzzled, I glanced at her. I had made my choices, of course, but it often seemed that each step I took followed inexorably from the one before it—however far those steps might have taken me, might take me in the future. 7 “It felt like it,” I told her. “After you—afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking of what you said when you joined the Seraph, about Ebonhawke and what it means to be a true Ascalonian, and I … I couldn’t ignore the rest of the world any more.” “I wasn’t talking about you!” exclaimed Deborah, her eyes growing wide. “I know,” I said, and I did, though that had never helped much, “but I just wanted to do something—I had to do something—so I asked Anise to teach me, and then the centaurs came to Shaemoor, and … and I couldn’t be you, but I did want to be someone you would have been proud of.” At her startled look, I hurried on, “But I still like the same things, clothes and mapmaking and—I’m still myself, Debs.” She grasped my arm and said, “You promise?” “I promise.”