#julius zamon
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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.
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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.
#anghraine's gaming#anghraine's fic#ascalonian grudgefic#ascalonian grudgeblog#althea fairchild#ailoda langmar#countess anise#marius corone#deborah fairchild#edmund fairchild#elwin fairchild#lord faren#julius zamon#logan thackeray#captain tervelan#guild wars 2#pro patria#footnotes ahoy!
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A Meeting of ministers has one of the funniest lines I've noticed, when you talk to the Queen during the mingling part of the mission, and you ask her why she called the Commander instead of Anise, she says the commander is a trusted friend and that their presence is a welcome relief to the loyal ministers
To put this into perspective: Nyra is a granddaughter of a minister. She's brought Julius Zamon to trial before and killed him in trial by combat. So when Jennah brings Nyra over, it's like she's saying *i brought a woman who has killed ministers before when they're treasonous*
Yes I'm very sure Nyra's presence gives loyal ministers peace of mind because they know they're not gonna end up like Zamon
That whole scene needs a little rewrite for my canon because it's a Nyra and Ren operation but still it's kinda funny to me that Jennah is pulling the big guns like I'M DARING YOU TO BE A LITTLE TREASONOUS ASSHOLE NOW THAT WE HAVE THE DRAGONSLAYER AROUND
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Logan for character opinions?
Wiiii!
First impression : Oh no, he's hot. (also he painfully reminds me of a character in my novel... Oops!... oh no! I hope he doesn't die!)
Impression now : Long story short, I love Logan!
He's a good mentor, one I really appreciate for his guidance of all my human characters, and I love how he subverts the "lawful good paladin" trope by being the most chaotic utter disaster of a man who ever walked Tyria ^^
Seriously, love the interractions we get with him in the Human PS, from his headbutting with the Ministry Guard in the Commoner storyline, to his "As a Seraph captain, I can't really jump around saying, 'Pick me! Pick me!' But I can certainly think it." during the trial of Minister Zamon!
Favorite moment : Ahh I'll go with the Trial of Julius Zamon there too! ^^ This line really made me crack the first time and to be honest it still does! (though Elianora went with Anise and Anwen with Faren during the trial by combat, so both had to deal with Logan's sad puppy eyes afterwards!)
Idea for a story : Hmmm, joker!
Unpopular opinion : I'm utterly convinced he will make a great Pact Marshal. (I don't know if it's such an unpopular opinion tbh)
Favorite relationship : I am quite ambivalent about his relationship with Jennah because, on one hand, I totally ship them, and on the other hand, unrequitted love is a trope I hate and... *sigh* well, it does seem one-sided, in the end... Either that, or it's requited and they're both idiots. It's also a valid hypothesis.
Another, more probable take is that it could very well be requited, but remain impossible for them to be together because of Jennah's duty to her realm, and her needing to remain 'free' to be able to form a political marriage if needed be... Either way it's sad...
Favorite headcanon : Is it weird that I want my fave to be happy? So, favorite headcanon : it will eventually turn out for the best with Jennah! (let's be honest, they'd be too cute but also kick ass together!)
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The Wheel of Fortune (reversed), Judgement (reversed), The High Priestess (reversed),
The Wheel of Fortune in Reverse: When has your character felt their life was no longer under their control?
Before Trahearne died, he asked Mianach to follow the Commander. To assist and protect them to the best of his ability.
Before this point, Mia had been fiercely independent and single-minded in his Wyld Hunt, hardly straying for anything. Once he’s forced to follow the Commander, he has to let go of that control-- that independence-- to be attached at the hip to them.
However, he eventually finds that he’s continuing to discover and learn and experience ever more in following the Commander, so it actually coincides with his Wyld Hunt.
Judgment in Reverse: When has your character found it difficult to forgive themselves?
He harbors a lot of guilt regarding the way Rodrick died. He blames himself for having let Rodrick travel with him to the Straits of Devastation. He doesn’t forgive himself until -- after channeling Rodrick’s spirit from the Mists -- Rodrick tells him to let go of that blame.
The High Priestess in Reverse: When has your character felt betrayed emotionally?
He was barely a year old when one of the Ministers (Minister Julius Zamon) invited him over for dinner and wine. The Minister then drugged Mia and raped him.
Mia didn’t remember what happened until a month later. He blamed himself for what happened, for his own naivety. But he trusted the Minister implicitly, not understanding the warning signs along the way due to his innocence. No Firstborn had experienced such betrayal before, so there was no reason for him to believe the Minister had ill intentions.
#tw: rape mention#cw rape mention#rape mention#rape#I hope I've included enough trigger warnings on this#Anonymous
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american forenames, surnames and states + chinese cities + periodic table elements
Acobalder Acobally Adriet Adriquez Aguirrett Almers Almes Alsh Alton Anders Andez Angfang Angying Anneth Anton Aprin Ariamusse Arlos Artz Ayang Baili Bair Baldinan Baltay Baoto Bari Bartiz Beil Beili Beina Bent Benter Bert Bette Billiotte Blacruz Blandian Blang Bobb Bowe Bozhuaying Bradshand Branda Brantimoth Brenee Brenqiu Brera Burges Cadownsen Calleroach Cami Candry Candy Cangyi Cangzhong Carleshan Carne Carold Caron Carongrace Carvins Casteve Castine Cathangge Chael Chanjiang Cheng Chongxiang Chrium Chroe Clain Clard Claurie Cleah Cock Collouglas Conne Cons Consteng Cookes Cooks Courichoa Cray Cristi Cristy Cruzhou Cummin Cunnie Dalazquez Dangshui Danium Danjian Darry Datoyang Daven Deron Diany Ding Dong Dongcher Dore Dorenhe Doughn Douglances Duanie Dujilium Dyers Ebonne Eleah Elin Elliveron Erium Esteeler Esterines Etha Europinoz Evan Evedo Florina Foshala Frandley Frandra Frandy Fudith Fuqi Fuquanwei Fuyanjian Fuzhondace Garia Gejin Genevanedy Gininggang Gins Glore Gomero Gomers Gong Gongkou Gongqiu Gongyingel Gonzaler Goodmantes Gramonard Grosa Guisiang Guthdakota Guzmandra Halas Hang Hangde Hangdu Harien Hartz Hatt Heathryn Heathy Hega Heid Hestine Hichong Hobbins Holina Hong Honglaibin Hoper Howendy Howers Huana Huang Huangzhou Hughn Hulton Huntes Indy Iridgers Jacquez Jamentium Janes Jare Jarez Jess Jiana Jiannes Jiaobersen Jiaogang Jieshi Jiliamsey Jing Jisheidi Jodingguan Johnstana Jone Joses Juliu Juropium Kangyann Kanshuluna Karez Kathristy Katine Kell Kendersey Kentium Kurtney Laird Lamber Land Laney Lard Lechnett Lelandra Lelinhot Leod Lian Liangyuana Licha Lina Lingde Livas Lone Loree Lowen Lucilina Lushang Lüliandy Mach Magnes Marginan Mariel Mariong Marizhou Marla Marson Marsong Marvis Massa Matti Mcca Mcconwayne Mccraig Mcdan Mcfarr Mcgowayne Mcguirret Mclemarvin Mcmileshi Meador Medinguyen Meishorthy Meith Meitney Miang Miangang Micharla Midt Millman Mily Mire Misti Mond Monradshan Mont Moradley Morester Morsey Muel Muelin Mull Murrantha Nancheng Nand Nandrews Nebra Nice Nielice Ning Ningzhou Nitron Northance Olla Orrolynne Owers Pacholton Padium Palmeryl Panji Patt Patthelson Pauletium Pennis Peterbing Phia Ping Pingel Pingluori Pitt Port Pott Prin Pruichan Qianyunfu Qiaoya Qiaozhou Racey Racia Rady Raqu Reen Rence Rencer Robeith Robers Robertha Roberty Roble Rodge Rodner Rome Rosium Rown Rubidi Ruijian Ruila Rushu Sala Sama Samara Samartez Sampton Sanchen Sanmen Sansas Santu Sarie Schris Schward Selencia Sell Serris Serrishou Setta Shan Shanum Shaogan Shel Shelendy Shelps Shenja Sheparks Shepparks Sher Sherika Shui Shuiz Skins Sopherd Southryn Spencias Statine Stengfang Ster Sterson Stes String Strogentes Stroger Strongang Suixing Swanya Sylvin Sylving Taiyang Tamie Tang Tash Ters Terson Thangchoa Thong Tian Tiannie Tierceliao Timo Tong Trickerson Vanise Velack Vernadium Vers Vila Violandy Viole Viviang Vivingyang Wadela Wadett Walla Wates Watkinson Wattie Weaves Webbie Weller Wheeleona Whitner Wiggs Wight Wilker Will Willene Willo Wilsonia Wischmidd Wisco Woodymium Wudan Wugaoanna Wuweifang Wyater Wynner Wyoming Wyorkman Xing Xingkou Yibinzhou Yicharon Yichelead Yichmony Ying Yola Yons Zachaniel Zamon Zaozhou Zhana Zhanglaine Zhaoyang Zhou Zhuan Zhumphrey Zircon Ziyangzi Zunyi Zunyu
same thing but with lesser order
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pro patria, chapters 15-21
“Ascalonian, eh?”
“Our father was from Ebonhawke and our mother’s a Langmar,” I said, and he looked surprised all over again.
With a quick laugh, he said, “Then get out there, little sister, and make our ancestors proud.”
title: pro patria (15-21/?)
stuff that happens: Althea and Logan take on Zamon in court, and Logan recruits Althea into a new investigation—one that touches her own family.
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Lord Faren, Logan Thackeray, Countess Anise, Julius Zamon; Minister Caudecus, Ailoda Langmar, others; Althea & Logan, Althea & Faren, Althea & Deborah
chapters: 1-7, 8-14
-
FIFTEEN
1
I could always depend on Faren’s loyalty. But even beyond him, everyone I needed looked to be present. Cin Fursarai had arrived to complain about his business losses. Lady Madeline kept me at arm’s length, but indicated she still meant to testify. My friend Corone was ready to identify his stolen chalice, recovered from Zamon's mansion by the Seraph. Reth told me that he’d been fired from the Ministry Guard, but hoped I’d pull this off.
“Just tell the truth,” I said, clasping his shoulder, “and Zamon won’t be able to do any more damage.”
2
Beneath my easy assurance—what I hoped looked like easy assurance—my blood pounded. This could go horribly wrong, and I had no clever tricks left, no clones to conceal myself among, nowhere to run or hide. I could only present the truth, and hope it convinced the ministers.
I couldn’t look at my mother.
Anise and Captain Thackeray quietly joined me on either side.
“Proving Zamon’s guilt won’t be easy,” he said, “but I have every confidence in you. Now get out there and convict that maggot.”
3
I nodded, appreciating both the support and pressure, willing my pulse to slow. It didn’t seem particularly accommodating.
“You look calm, but I can tell you’re worried,” Anise said softly. “Don’t be—you’ve done all of the necessary preparation and the facts are on our side. The case is yours to win.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, and forced myself to breathe evenly. “Now I just have to win it.”
4
Zamon, of course, sneered and denied everything.
“You’re a fool, you know. You’ll never convict me—I’m as innocent as a babe in arms.”
I, too, had noticed the tendency of infants to try bribing extremely wealthy aristocrats. Gods, what an idiot.
I shrugged. “Let’s see who the courts believe.”
5
“Hear ye!” called the judicial scribe, and the hubbub dutifully dwindled. “The trial of Minister Julius Zamon is hereby called to order, Legate Minister Caudecus presiding. Who stands for the prosecution?”
“I do,” I said, and forced myself to add, “Lady Althea Fairchild.”
Just before, the scribe had explained that I would be on trial for slander, if Zamon were acquitted. I thought of my family’s unstained name, and just repressed a shudder.
“Your Honour,” I declared, “we have evidence proving Minister Zamon conspired against the citizens of Divinity’s Reach!”
6
I couldn’t turn back now.
“He abused his authority to commit thievery, murder, and treason. We will present incriminating documents and sworn testimony from respected members of the community, including the sister of the accused!”
Madeline blanched, but met her brother’s glare steadily.
Minister Caudecus studied me for several long moments. Then he turned to Zamon and said,
“The prosecution seems to have prepared quite a compelling case.”
My head swam with relief.
7
“Minister Zamon, can you refute these accusations?”
Zamon simply laughed, and all relief faded. He was an idiot, but one who knew his own interests. Well, sort of—all my witnesses now eyed him with intense dislike, even Fursarai.
“Refute?” he said scornfully. “Why bother? My lord Caudecus”—and now he stood upright, back to his old arrogant height—“in accordance with the most ancient tenets of Krytan law, I invoke my right to trial by combat!”
SIXTEEN
1
I didn’t even have time to hope that Minister Caudecus would restore some sense of order to the proceedings; he immediately accepted the invocation and announced that Zamon would have to nominate a second, and I both a principal and a second.
“I will be the principal, Legate Minister,” I said promptly.
Caudecus granted a short recess to choose my second—my second, in a trial by combat, as if we’d jumped back to the days of the guild wars. I hadn’t really meant this when I hoped for it a few days ago, I’d meant—I’d been angry, frustrated, but I thought of it as a long-dead custom, not a possibility. What did prowess in battle have to do with truth or justice?
Well, I thought, at the least it could be an outlet for justice; I felt not the slightest doubt of his guilt, and very little doubt of defeating him in combat, backed by a decent second.
The only difficulty was finding one.
2
In fact, I had no difficulty narrowing the field to possible candidates. As soon as I turned about and considered the gathered audience, I dismissed virtually everyone.
There was Reth, who had been a Ministry Guard; he must have some fighting skill. There was Anise, a better mesmer than I’d ever be. Captain Thackeray, of course, if he really meant what he’d said. There was even Faren, who had (however ridiculously) held his own in the bandit caves.
But which?
3
I drifted among my friends, not wanting to give Zamon and his massive Norn retainer any chance at preparing themselves. Fending off their inquiries after the case, I saw Faren waving his arm and swivelled about to reach him. Instead, I nearly slammed into Zamon himself.
With one of his most unpleasant smiles, he said, “It’s not too late to abandon this farce. Recuse yourself and I’ll see to it your honesty is rewarded. You don’t want to face the alternative.”
Very quietly, I said, “Don’t threaten me, Minister.”
4
I ducked into the crowd before he could try anything else—I wouldn’t put much past him—and strode up to Faren.
“Ready for action, old friend!” he said brightly.
Tension faded from my shoulders and temples, for all that I’d resolved nothing. Faren could be theatrical, posturing, careless, but somehow he always seemed to soothe my nerves. And no woman could ask for a truer friend.
“I’m sure you are,” I told him, with a quick embrace.
To my surprise, he returned it tightly, his sharp chin digging into my scalp.
5
Faren released me, looking nervous and awkward in a way I hadn’t seen in years.
“And let me add,” he said, his voice far removed from his usual vain cheerfulness, “I’m truly flattered you’re even considering me as your second.”
Oh.
Well, I was, though I hadn’t thought of it as flattery, just pragmatics—but perhaps that was all the more flattering in its way, especially for someone like Faren. In all probability, I wouldn’t choose him, but I was touched anyway.
“Glad to know you’re willing and able,” I replied. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to decide.”
6
I tracked down Anise—or rather, Anise’s vibrant hair, but happily, the rest of her remained attached to it.
“Trial by combat?” she said, with all the incredulity that I felt. “Who’d have thought it? I’m surprised Zamon even knows it’s an option. There hasn’t been one in over fifty years … or, at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”
I shot her an amused glance; she’d been a family friend in my mother’s youth as well as mine, if not before.
“Then we ought to make this as memorable as possible,” I said.
7
Captain Thackeray was the easiest to find; he stood a head above everyone else and was encased in heavy armour, with a bright sword strapped to his side. He grinned at my questioning glance.
“As a Seraph captain,” he told me, “I can’t really jump around saying, ‘pick me, pick me!’ But I can certainly think it.”
I laughed. That resolved the first question.
More soberly, he said:
“I’m ready to go if you need me.”
---------------------------------------------------------------
1) the guild wars: a bloody war between actual guilds that took place shortly before the first game, Guild Wars: Prophecies.
2) Anise’s vibrant hair: Anise has very long, beautiful red hair.
---------------------------------------------------------------
SEVENTEEN
1
“There’s nothing I’d like better than to personally dish out some of the punishment Zamon deserves,” added Captain Thackeray.
I could easily believe it of him—both the sentiment and the approach.
As I left him and moved among very-definitely-not-nominees, I did my best to calculate my chances without betraying any sign of doing so.
Reth seemed to be some sort of brawler, eager to rough up a traitorous noble with his own hands. Captain Thackeray, between his bulk and his armour, could effectively shield me and absorb Zamon’s and Eitel’s attacks while I lashed out spells. Faren was—Faren. And Anise would duplicate the confusion I depended upon, multiply it into mass chaos.
2
I returned to the scribe, expression carefully blank, the observers and guests staring in near-silence—all but my candidates, whom I’d quietly informed. Zamon and Eitel-the-Unlovable looked guarded, but unprepared for any specific approach.
“Have you decided who will serve as the prosecution’s second?” asked the scribe.
In a loud, clear voice, I said, “I’ve chosen Captain Thackeray.”
Logan already knew, but he still seemed like he might nearly punch his gauntleted fist into the air. He, Anise, and I turned cheerful smiles on Zamon, who eyed us all with intense dislike. He didn’t look afraid, but he didn’t look relieved, either—whatever he thought of me, he must know it wouldn’t be an easy fight against a captain of the Seraph and a mage.
3
“An interesting choice,” remarked Minister Caudecus, almost dourly. What had Logan ever done to him? “If Lord Zamon proves victorious, he is innocent. The case is thrown out and these charges against him may not be brought again. If you win, then Zamon is found guilty of the crime.”
“I understand,” I replied.
I understood that Zamon was going to rot in prison or the grave.
4
In the grave, as it happened. Captain Thackeray and I planned our approach with a few words and expressions; he would rush forward, keep them off me, and I’d make sure he had a dizzying array of clones and illusions alongside him to keep things interesting, between shooting Zamon and Eitel full of chaos magic. It worked beyond my most fanciful dreams.
Eitel went down quickly; he seemed to have no resistance to my magic, and no interest in dodging it. Zamon screamed that we were nothing—really, who did he think he was?—and then that our skill didn’t matter.
I only drew near at the end, when Zamon lay groaning and wounded under Logan’s sword.
“I only … did … as I was told …” he mumbled, and died.
5
What? Now we had some other scheming traitor out there?
“Victory is declared!” announced Minister Caudecus, with absolutely no enthusiasm. “According to the dictates of Krytan law, Minister Zamon is found guilty.”
Captain Thackeray—Logan—guessed that Caudecus disliked the proceedings purely for the disruption of normal order, not that it was our doing, but Anise shook her head.
“How do you think Zamon knew about the ancient law in the first place?” she murmured.
Logan and I glanced sharply at her.
6
“If Zamon won the battle,” she continued, “he’d be declared innocent—no more investigation. Now he’s guilty, but he’s also dead. No loose ends.”
Of course—but Caudecus himself? I could hardly believe it, and Logan looked shaken as well.
Anise didn’t move closer, but the sudden intensity in her face made it feel as if she had.
“Never underestimate Minister Caudecus,” she told us.
7
Anise slipped away, always quick to avoid unintended notice, and Logan gave a brisk nod.
“Go and celebrate a well-earned victory,” he said. “I was genuinely hoping for a conviction based on a preponderance of the evidence … but this works, too.”
That was Logan, all right.
The ambivalent expression on his face then vanished, replaced by an unusually cheerful resolve. I’d expected him to return to his own business, like Anise; instead, he gave me a comradely clap on the shoulder that nearly knocked me to my knees. Then, Logan—Captain Thackeray of Divinity’s Reach, heir of Gwen Thackeray, hero of too many battles to count—looked straight at me, a woman who’d been indistinguishable from any young noble until a few months ago, and said,
“I’m starting to think there’s no problem we can’t solve if we tackle it together.”
--------------------------------------------------------------
1) Eitel-the-Unlovable: Zamon’s retainer is a Norn, a member of a species of giant, vaguely Scandinavian shapeshifters.
---------------------------------------------------------------
EIGHTEEN
1
“Now get some rest,” Captain Thackeray ordered. “There’s sure to be more work for us soon.”
“Thanks, Captain,” I said, at once overwhelmed and determined. “I’ll be ready.”
The compliments didn’t end there. Anise half-jokingly offered me a place among the queen’s lawyers; Corone laughed and said that he’d be sure not to run afoul of the captain and me; Lord Benjamin lit up when I suggested he should join the government himself; even the scribe said she was impressed with the trial.
Truthfully, I told her, “I just hope that such proceedings remain rare.”
2
Faren, of course, swept a low, graceful bow, and then pretended to nearly swoon.
“Another fine day’s work—on your part, that is,” he said. “Frankly, I’m exhausted just watching you.”
I managed not to snicker, but only because I stood among the pillars and arches of the Ministry itself, not to mention under the eyes of some of the most powerful figures in Kryta.
With a grin, he went on, “I hope you know I’ll be toasting your success later this evening, with damsels yet to be determined.”
“I know,” I said dryly, and raised a brow. “Just spare me the details, and I’ll toast you for your discretion.”
3
Gladly leaving Faren to his own devices, I made my last farewells to everyone still loitering around the Ministry.
To my relief, I had no immediately pressing duties, although Captain Thackeray—after congratulating me again and urging me to celebrate my victory—assured me that he’d be in touch. I didn’t doubt it, but for now, the best celebration seemed sleeping for three days.
It wasn’t quite three days, but I did ignore everything else to crawl into my bed for hours, only waking for meals and a few dimly-remembered conversations. When I finally emerged, I had to assure my mother,
“I’m not hurt, Mama, just tired.”
Mother looked at me with anxious eyes—only more anxious after, well, watching me duel another minister to the death while unable to do anything, and while her other daughter lay dead and probably mutilated in some lost grave.
I hated that she’d seen it, hated the fear that lived in her eyes these days, but more than that, I hated the idea of turning my back on our people.
4
After I spent a few days with my mother, alternately sleeping and consoling her, I headed back into Queensdale. I didn’t have a clear destination in mind, but I’d often heard Deborah talk about how people out there needed more help than the Seraph could supply, and how much more she wished she could do. I meant to help wherever I could, in whatever ways I could.
Wherever I could took some peculiar shapes over the next few weeks. I made my way to Claypool and helped the Seraph captain there train the militia; in return, she wrote frankly,
I wasn't sure someone of your reputation would stick around to help my militia. I'm impressed and honoured that you did.
I re-read the letter four times, not smiling, just—I hadn’t expected either the surprise or the gratitude; if anything, I counted it an honour to serve the Seraph.
5
Then there was a lumber mill under perpetual threat from a) skritt and b) extremely oversized wasps. I helped the labourers fight them off as often as I could, and received another letter, though it took awhile to find its way to me—probably because it was addressed simply to “Ly Althea of Rurikton.” The leader of the workers was Ascalonian, and had been more deeply impressed that I had a home in Rurikton than that the home was a manor.
Your reputation, she wrote, doesn’t exaggerate your heroism and skill. All of us at the lumber mill thank you for your time.
That time, I did smile. I wasn’t patrolling Queensdale for praise, but neither was I so pure that I didn’t like getting it.
6
When I heard that Claypool had fallen under attack from centaurs, I returned as quickly as I could manage, and helped fight them off. These seemed even fiercer than the centaurs at Shaemoor, but somehow it was easier to drive them off.
The centaurs were shaken, one of the Seraph told me.
“Demoralizing the enemy is key,” he went on, “and you made that happen.”
I’d helped, no more; but if my help had turned the tide for Claypool, I was glad to serve. Perhaps Seraph Elmder saw that, because he clapped my shoulder just as Captain Thackeray would have.
“Thank you, soldier,” he said.
7
I ended up wandering all the way to Beetletun, doing everything from convincing children to work at their chores, to fighting off even hardier, more aggressive centaurs, to slipping inside their encampments to sabotage their equipment and free their slaves. There were pests in the village to eradicate, and farms throughout the shire to protect or salvage.
And I fought alongside Seraph at their outposts, which I preferred to just about anything else. It wasn’t just Deborah or Logan; as I saw just how much the Seraph needed to do, and how thin their resources ran, I’d come to admire them for their own sake. I’d never met a Seraph I didn’t respect.
Of course, there was Deborah’s memory; wherever her spirit might be, I hoped she knew what my life had become. I might not be much for taking orders from anyone I hadn’t chosen, but I was following her steps as closely as I could.
NINETEEN
1
I was in Godslost Swamp, helping historians fight off nightmares from the Underworld—long story—when a letter from my mother arrived.
It had been written weeks earlier, passed from courier to courier along the increasingly dangerous route, then left at the last outpost until someone brave enough to dare the swamp delivered it to the Priory camp. Thankfully, it contained nothing urgent, only accounts of Ministry machinations, the doings of my friends—she dedicated an entire paragraph to Faren, who appeared to be doing a great deal of nothing—and some visits from her own friends.
Anise seemed in poor spirits, she wrote, or rather, irritated ones. Apparently, that nice Captain Thackeray has a bee in his bonnet (can you imagine him with a bonnet?) over something entirely disconnected from his duties in Divinity’s Reach.
My brows rose; that didn’t sound like him at all.
Mother concluded with an unsubtle wish that she would see me again soon, or at least hear from me, and I winced; although I dutifully wrote whenever I had paper and couriers available, this had not been one of those times—and if she’d known where I was, she would have good reason to fear for me.
2
Frankly, after fighting a massive, hellish nightmare creature that took a good hundred adventurers to bring down, home sounded decidedly appealing. I could soothe my mother, see my friends, get some decent meals and rest, and put on unstained clothes—and check in with ‘that nice Captain Thackeray.’
(Mother’s feelings towards him had always been vaguely positive, but seeing him protect me in trial by combat had raised them to eternal devotion.)
I didn’t bother with a letter; thanks to some of my favourite spells, I could travel faster by myself than any series of couriers. And she plainly did not expect an actual arrival; I could surprise her this way.
Sure enough, Mother gave a strangled shriek when she saw me in the street, and disregarded the curious people around us, the state of my clothes, everything, to rush forward and clutch me to her.
I would never turn back from the path I had set myself upon—but though I cared for many people and places, I didn’t think I could ever love anything so much as my family.
3
Doubtfully, a woman I’d never met said,
“Isn’t that the hero of Shaemoor?”
Another replied, “No, it’s Minister Ailoda.”
We ignored them to make our way back to the manor. To her credit, it took Mother a good five minutes to wrinkle her nose.
“What have you been doing? Let me draw you a bath, darling.”
I was only too happy to remove the accumulation of dirt and swamp water I’d never quite managed to scrub off at the Seraph outposts—but I had no intention of telling her just what I’d been doing.
4
I emerged from the bath with a pleasant sense of pristine cleanliness, and a silk robe that had never felt finer against my skin. After I dressed (the clothes freshly laundered, because Mother thought of everything), I supplied a severely edited version of my adventures since she’d last seen me.
Even that much was enough to make her shudder. “I know you’re following your conscience, but—”
“I am,” I said firmly.
I did spend the next few days with her, amusing her with stories of (safe) quirks and mishaps, letting her show me off at the Ministry, staying beside her during the regular courtesy calls she received.
Then I headed to Seraph Headquarters.
5
When I walked through the doors, Logan’s face lit up. He abruptly concluded the discussion he’d been involved in and strode right over to me.
“Good to see you again, my friend,” he said, looking so pleased that I couldn't bring myself to doubt it. “You have excellent timing!”
I had no idea what tangential preoccupation could have irritated Anise. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared me for what he said next.
“Have you ever heard of Falcon Company?”
6
For a moment, my mind went entirely blank. The voices around us faded, my ears ringing. My face and hands felt cold, but my lungs burned.
“Of course I have,” I said, proud that my voice remained even. “One of the most decorated units of Seraph, wiped out by a centaur ambush.” Taking a deep breath, I added, “My sister was a soldier in that command.”
Captain Thackeray looked stricken.
7
“Your sister?” he exclaimed, clearly oblivious. Falcon Company had fallen under a different command, I told myself, unrelated to his own—that was why Anise disapproved of his interest—and that interest was frankly more than I would have expected.
Still.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, turning somber. “I—I didn’t know.”
I nodded, goodwill restored, and remembered myself enough to wonder: if he hadn’t heard about my connection to the Falcons, and didn’t have one of his own, why was he asking me about them?
And why now?
TWENTY
1
Gravely, Logan said, “You'll be even more interested in this information than I thought.”
The chill lying over my skin flashed hot. Information? What—maybe—was—
He lowered his voice, more conscious of our surroundings than I could manage. “Scouts in the Queen’s Forest discovered pages from an old journal. They were apparently written by Willem Harrinton, a member of Falcon Company.”
A member of Deborah’s company.
2
Had Harrinton known something? Oh, he must have, for Captain Thackeray to consider it ‘information.’ He must have written it down. But—
I waited, some approximation of composure returning; I could hear the low murmurs and pen-scratchings of Seraph business around us, though Logan had drawn us away into a corner where we wouldn’t be easily overheard.
“The writing on the pages is rough,” he went on, “hasty. But it describes survivors of the battle taken prisoner by the centaurs.”
3
Damn composure, anyway.
“Survivors?” I breathed, feeling the rush of blood all through my veins. Survivors. No body, no presence at the grave, nothing—was it possible?
I’d never imagined it. Never dared imagine it.
“My sister could be alive?”
4
Desperate hope sparked through me, and I seized his arm without regard to the layers of plate over it.
“Logan, you’ve got to let me investigate!” I burst out.
No, no, I had to stay calm, force myself into some semblance of self-control; friend or not, I’d be left out if I seemed too overwrought for the investigation. And I couldn’t sit back while others took on the danger, while Debs perhaps laboured under centaurs’ whips (great Kormir, I couldn’t even imagine it), while—I had to find out for myself.
In a quieter voice, I insisted, “I need to know what happened to Deborah.”
Instead of eyeing me doubtfully, as I half-expected, Logan gave me a sympathetic smile. “I thought you’d feel that way.”
5
“Let’s update my records,” he said briskly, reverting to his usual determined competence, “and then you can head to Eldvin Monastery and speak to Captain Tervelan.”
I nodded, aiming for the same level of professionalism.
“Though he’s been promoted to Captain of Queensdale, Tervelan once commanded Falcon Company,” said Logan. “He might be able to tell us more.”
I remembered the abrupt letter we’d received, simply signed J. Tervelan. Now I was going to see its author at last.
“Good,” I said.
6
Logan led me over to his desk, which was covered in papers and parchment in various conditions, along with the Seraph roster that I’d seen before.
“Falcon Company’s records were largely destroyed by centaur raids,” he explained. “I’m trying to get a complete roster.” He dipped a quill in ink, then gave me a quick glance. “Your sister was of Krytan descent?”
I lifted my chin.
“Ascalonian, sir,” I said, “and proud of it.”
7
His eyes widened, a smile creeping back. But he confined himself to an indistinct noise of approval, dragging his finger down the faded roster until he reached Fairchild, Deborah. My chest hurt, but something in me thrilled at the quiet addition of Asc alongside her rank, which I affirmed, and age and place of birth, which I supplied.
After he cleaned and capped the quill, Logan shook his head.
“Ascalonian, eh?”
“Our father was from Ebonhawke and our mother’s a Langmar,” I said, and he looked surprised all over again.
With a quick laugh, he said, “Then get out there, little sister, and make our ancestors proud.”
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1) Ascalonian, sir, and proud of it: the line that inspired the whole fic! It solely (as far as I know) determines Deborah’s appearance in the cinematics, but Deborah and the PC being proud Ascalonians seemed something that would profoundly influence them, given the dynamics at play in GW1/Eye of the North/GW2.
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TWENTY-ONE
1
I nearly tripped on my way from the Seraph headquarters to Dwayna’s gate. A Charr was strolling through the plaza right before headquarters, easy as you please—a Charr, in Divinity’s Reach!
It looked like he’d come from the gate to Lion’s Arch, which was … legal, but I hadn’t seen any here in years, and—and he couldn’t mean anything good. I paused long enough to glance back suspiciously; was he scouting out weaknesses?
“That Charr is back,” someone said behind me, not bothering to lower her voice. “He makes me nervous.”
She wasn’t the only one.
2
But I had more important concerns than Charr, at least right now. Logan and Anise could protect Divinity’s Reach; I had Deborah’s fate to uncover.
I jumped from waypoint to waypoint, stumbling out of the last with a few copper for the gatekeeper and the breath nearly knocked right out of me. But I recovered after only a moment, and with a burst of concentration, took off running towards Eldvin Monastery.
I slowed down as I approached, letting the air cool the sweat and flush on my skin, then wiping it with a cleansing handkerchief that I returned to my belt pouch. I might not be Faren, but I didn’t care to confront unpredictable circumstances at anything less than my best. I brushed a few blades of grass off my sleeves and, after a single deep breath, marched up to the main entrance.
3
The Seraph at the gates to the monastery clearly recognized me, by either description or reasoning. They immediately straightened up, and one of them—who seemed to be the leader—saluted me.
“The hero of Shaemoor is finally here, everybody!” she cried. To me, she said, “The captain’s expecting you—he’s up on the wall.”
Well, that should make things easier.
“Captain Thackeray sent a message that you were going to visit,” she said, and looked me over with evident, un-Seraph-like fascination, her eyes wide. “We’re all very excited to meet the hero of Shaemoor.”
4
She was, at least. I thanked her and got directions to the captain, then paused. I had no way of knowing what any of them had seen or guessed, if anything.
“Have you heard of the Screaming Falcons?” I asked.
“Of course!” she said. “They’re legendary, especially around here—the best company in the Seraph, but then … well, you know.”
Yes, I knew.
5
“Did you ever meet any of them?” I pressed.
“They were before my time,” she said, sobering, “but I’ve heard stories about that week, laying out the bodies for burial.” Her jaw tightened. “They say some of the bodies were missing. It sickens me to think what the centaurs did with them.”
My chest clenched, a sick, sour taste rising in my throat. I swallowed it down and replied,
“Me, too.”
6
Inside the walls, the abbey brothers and sisters seemed cheerful enough, concerned first with their ale and secondly with their faith. But I quickly realized that the first Seraph’s enthusiasm was not shared by all.
“Another ‘hero,’ huh?” said a lieutenant. “I’ve met your kind before—you’re brave enough, inside city walls.”
I thought of saying I don’t have a kind, but I couldn’t quite believe it. At any rate, he clearly hadn’t met a map if he thought Shaemoor lay within city walls.
“Out here,” he added, tone even grimmer, “you’re just a walking corpse waiting for your time to come.”
7
“Stiffen your spine,” I said coolly. “You’re representing queen and country. Petulance doesn’t befit your station.”
Lieutenant Gordon laughed. “Queen and country? Yes, they do deserve better—better than this.”
At once irritated, offended, and peculiarly impressed, I told him,
“Keep that in mind.”
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1) the gate to Lion’s Arch: there’s a sparkly Asura gate/portal to Lion’s Arch (the central city of the whole game) from the human home district of Divinity’s Reach.
2) jumped from waypoint to waypoint: waypoints are location markers that let you teleport between them for a price (varying by distance between them).
#ascalonian grudgefic#anghraine's gaming#anghraine's fic#althea fairchild#ascalonian grudgeblog#logan thackeray#ailoda langmar#countess anise#lord benjamin#cardy#minister caudecus#cin fursarai#baron corone#eitel the unlovable#elmder#lord faren#julius zamon#lieutenant gordon#madeline zamon#reth#pro patria#guild wars 2
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pro patria, chapters 8-14
And more Chaucer meme-GW2 fic (though with fewer footnotes)
title: pro patria (8-14/?)
stuff that happens: Althea questions the guests at Minister Wi's party and faces the consequences.
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Lord Faren, Countess Anise, Logan Thackeray; Julius Zamon, Madeline Zamon, Reth, others; Althea & Faren, Althea & Anise, Althea & Logan
chapters: 1-7
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EIGHT
1
Minister Wi greeted me with nothing short of delight.
“Your name has been on everyone’s lips lately! Your presence honours me.”
I doubted that my name had been on anyone’s lips; maybe the hero of Shaemoor, though.
“Fights have a way of finding me,” I admitted.
“Ah, if this city had a few more brave souls like you,” he told me, beaming, “the Charr would withdraw from Ascalon.”
Oh, if only.
2
The minister’s wife fawned over me, which was far less pleasant than it sounded. She bombarded me with questions and compliments while the clock ticked on, and never said anything about Zamon.
“I shall speak with my husband about securing you a position!”
“Thank you, my lady, but please don’t bother on my account,” I said, and fled to the banquet tables. It was difficult to speak to the servants without drawing attention, but I managed it; most of them resolutely had nothing to say, just directing me to the cook, but one girl whispered that Lord Faren was (still) pining after Baroness Jasmina, while the baroness only seemed interested in—me!
I suppressed a flicker of interest. I’d always liked Jasmina, and she was very pretty, but some things mattered more.
3
Faren, as if summoned by the thought, then strolled in from the east courtyard. When he caught sight of me, he grinned widely and waved, transparent as ever.
I couldn’t help laughing and waving back; he might be a fool, but he was a loyal, good-natured one, and I had no intention of giving up a lifetime of friendship for a casual acquaintance’s infatuation.
I headed across the room, still smiling, and found him healthy and immaculate.
“There’s my heroic friend—say, could you hold off on the acts of valour for a bit?” he said, and promptly followed it with a tight embrace that lifted my feet right off the ground and just about smothered me to death in his cravat. I didn’t mind that much; it was Faren-ish for I missed you.
He set me back down again with flawless grace and total disregard for how it might look to the others, then returned to his main concern:
“Makes it hard to strike up a conversation with a pretty lass when she only wants to talk about you!”
4
Several minutes later, Faren was still monologuing:
“I’ve been dying to speak with Baroness Jasmina all night, but she keeps talking about you and won’t believe we’re friends!” He looked deeply offended. “Can you believe that?”
I could, honestly—we must seem an incongruous duo—but it was indeed very inaccurate.
“Would you put in a good word for me?” he asked.
All right, my plans for the evening had not involved smoothing Faren’s current road to romance, but he had said that he’d picked up some information, and—well, it was Faren.
“Anything for an old friend,” I said warmly, and he hugged me again.
5
As soon as I greeted her, Jasmina gasped, her eyes wide; for once, Faren hadn’t exaggerated.
“I was telling Lady Madeline I didn’t know if you would make it,” she said, “but here you are! I’m almost breathless.”
No almost about it, but I forged on. “A good friend of mine said I should speak with you.”
Doubtfully, she said, “Do you mean Lord Faren?”
“Assuredly,” I told her, and not quite lying, went on, “He’s been my stalwart companion in all kinds of adventures!”
6
Within little more than a minute, I had Jasmina asking me to give Faren her regards. I gladly escaped her (and her definitely breathless maid) and headed back to my equally ridiculous friend.
“Kormir strike me if she didn’t look impressed,” he whispered. “You’re a true friend!”
“Think nothing of it,” I said, and then pressed on, “So what was it you wanted to tell me?”
Remarkably, he managed to summarize; he remembered that I’d suspected a minister back when we cleared the bandit caves, and had since confirmed the suspicion, which sounded very competent.
I eyed him skeptically.
7
“I was out with a, ah, a lady friend,” Faren explained (I rolled my eyes), “and I saw him leaving the woods near Gibson Portage. Alone, and most suspiciously!”
“You’re certain he was alone?” I asked; those woods were seething with people, if not the sort that a minister (or Faren) would ordinarily condescend to notice.
“He was dressed for a dinner party and sauntering through the woods like he was at a ball,” said Faren, and there I did trust his judgment. “Might that help your investigation?”
I met his grin with one of my own. “It definitely does.”
NINE
1
I drifted towards a nearby group of men, all of whom I recognized; they were, if not quite friends, familiar from any number of events, and rarely overawed by much. Currently, they seemed to be talking about an orphanage that had nearly burned down, apparently the doing of some arson-minded bandits. That seemed near enough my own investigation that I shifted uncomfortably; even Zamon would draw the line at leaving orphans to burn alive, surely …?
"I'm appalled at the way our politicians turn a blind eye—someone should do something!" Faren said unexpectedly, and marched off towards nothing in particular.
Nicholas Winters said, “I heard you saved that Faren dandy from ruffians—suppose you could let them hold on to him for a while next time?”
“Really, Sir Nicholas,” I said coolly, “Lord Faren is my friend; I could never let them keep him.”
Belatedly, it occurred to me that taking offense at every little thing—or anything at all—was a poor way to gather information.
2
I chatted lightly with the guests as I followed an indirect path towards Anise, picking up on nothing particularly valuable. She and I discovered an immediate need for punch.
“I hope it’s everything you expected,” she said in her driest drawl. “Just be careful whom you trust.”
“Tell me more about them,” I replied, and quickly added, “I know Lord Faren, obviously, but I want to hear what you know.”
“A rascal and an incorrigible flirt,” said Anise, “but a good man.”
I knew that much; she noted his brief flirtation with civic duty in the Ministry, and went on to tell me about Zamon’s sister Madeline (unmarried, waiting on their sick mother), Lord Benjamin (a gossipmonger), Sir Nicholas (nothing without money), Zamon (opportunistic but foolish), and Minister Wi, who turned out to be even richer and more powerful than I’d guessed—perhaps the most so in all of Kryta.
3
Corruption usually followed wealth, but I really couldn’t think it of loyal, good-natured Minister Wi—not without proof, anyway.
“What can you tell me about Logan Thackeray?” I said; even beyond the investigations of the moment, I wanted more information about the man I was more or less taking orders from.
“Charming and loyal, especially to his queen, but what you’d find interesting, I can’t tell you,” said Anise. “He comes from a troubled past.”
Hm—I wouldn’t have expected that, if not for his odd reaction the other day in Seraph Headquarters.
“Logan is in charge of the company that protects Divinity’s Reach,” Anise went on. “How fortunate that he’s near the queen, wouldn’t you agree?”
4
“Oh, very fortunate,” I replied, then took my leave to continue the hunt. I remembered the servants’ reference to the cook, and headed off to the kitchen.
It took a little bit of work to overcome his surprise and general reservations, but the time proved worth it; when I mentioned Lady Madeline, he said,
“I just saw her—she was arguing something fierce with her brother, the minister, and then he stormed off, yelling about ‘business to attend to.’ Something ain’t right there.”
Indeed not.
He also turned out to have suspicions about the presence of so many Ministry guards, which I thought wise, and remarked that Yolanda—one of my closer childhood friends—was on the hunt for conquests.
“It’s a wonder Lord Faren hasn’t gotten himself in trouble there,” he said darkly, and I had to agree.
5
I left the cook to his meditations on the perfect process for making poached moa eggs, then decided to see if Yolanda had anything useful to say. She was an inveterate gossip, so one of the more likely to store up information that might seem useless to anyone else.
“I thought you’d be doing gallant deeds with our own dashing Captain Thackeray,” she said.
“Not at the moment, I’m afraid.”
With a very little encouragement, she told me that our old friend Corone was furious over a theft—the latest of many in Salma—and offering a reward, and that Edmonds was drinking like the dragons would devour us before the morning.
“What’s the story with you and Countess Anise?” she said, startling me more than Fursarai had. “I saw you speaking to her.”
6
It took a moment to grasp where Yolanda’s train of thought had taken her, as if it ever took her anywhere else.
“She’s an old friend of my family,” I said repressively.
Yolanda, who was genuinely good-natured beneath her gossip and various follies—very much like Faren, in fact—looked delighted.
“I knew the countess had peers and admirers,” she said, “but friends? How enlightening! With juicy tidbits like that, you can trade gossip with me anytime!”
“I … of course,” I said, and regretfully suspected that I would.
7
By then, I’d spoken with virtually everyone on the first floor. That only left Lady Madeline and Lord Benjamin, whom I’d noticed talking on the stairs, and anyone on the second floor who might know something.
I withdrew to the (comparative) quiet of the courtyard, calculating my next step. Madeline was my best bet, but also the one that could most easily go wrong; she was well-known to be passionately loyal to her family.
Jasmina’s handmaiden—Faren had sensibly left them to their own devices for now—shifted towards me while I thought, then blurted out,
“I so admire the things you’ve done. Throughout the city, women like me wish they could be more like you.”
I stared at her, then smiled; I’d never thought of that.
TEN
1
“I believe you were at Lord Faren’s party,” I said to Madeline Zamon, determined not to fumble this opportunity.
As a ‘hero,’ I had my weaknesses—a dependence on speed and cunning over strength, dodging and running to wear my opponents down, sneaking among my illusory selves, letting them absorb attacks that might have left Mother with two dead daughters. But I knew how to talk.
Lady Madeline agreed that she had been there, and with a touch of wistfulness, added that she didn’t get the chance very often; she’d moved to the countryside to help her mother, although both she and her brother had been born in Divinity’s Reach.
“Minister Julius Zamon is your brother?” I said, and smiled. “You must be very proud of him.”
Madeline bit her lip.
2
“Yes, but I wish that … ah, forgive me, I shan’t burden you with my worries,” she said, her eyes dropping to the floor.
Please burden me, I thought, but had the sense not to say; she already seemed to be wavering, clearly wanted to tell what she knew—but charm or her own caution wouldn’t bring it out. A direct approach, I decided.
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” I said, “but I have reason to believe your brother is a traitor.”
Her eyes flew wide open, lifting up to stare at me. “That can’t be—he wouldn’t … no—I’d like to believe he wouldn’t, but …”
“I beg you, Lady, tell me what you know!”
3
Anise had taught me how to underscore or soften my words; I stepped fractionally nearer, not menacing, just earnest.
“Lives could be at stake.”
“What about my mother’s life?” demanded Madeline.
“We must consider the greater good, my lady,” I said flatly.
She flinched, but told me, “Gods, I knew it would come to this! He was visiting Mother when a strange man came by—Julius gave him some papers, but he wouldn’t say what the were, even when I asked.”
I’d barely absorbed this when she took an uneven breath, and added,
“It got worse.”
4
I nodded as encouragingly as I could, and it seemed to be good enough; she exhaled, then said,
“Julius left more packages at our mother’s house for suspicious characters to pick up; I came here to confront him, but he refused to discuss it and stormed off.”
Not proof, but certainly suspicious; I blocked all sign of triumph from my face, and asked,
“Would you be willing to testify on this matter at a trial?”
She blanched. “A trial? Oh, Julius, what have you done? May Kormir guide and Dwayna protect me—yes, I will testify.”
“You are doing a great service to all Divinity’s Reach,” I assured her.
5
One of the Ministry guards took my questions poorly, assuming that I’d only doubted the necessity of such a large contingent because of someone called Reth. That seemed promising, so I casually searched the room for him to no effect, then accepted Minister Wi’s proud hint that he’d also opened up the upstairs for the party, and that other guests mingled up there.
I climbed the winding staircase, meeting with a guard at the door.
“How might I help you?” he said.
I couldn’t see any others, so I took my chance. “Is it normal to have this many guards at a personal event?”
He looked as uneasy as Madeline had.
6
“I … I’m afraid it is not,” he admitted, and now I felt sure it was Reth. “I’m not certain why we’re here, precisely.”
“It sounds like you have your suspicions,” I said, keeping my tone neutral and courteous.
“Perhaps,” allowed Reth, “but it’s risky for us to be seen talking.” He paused. “Also, I’m parched—it would look more natural if a kind noble simply offered a hardworking guard a drink.”
Holy Kormir, I thought: I’d found someone competent.
7
Fetching a cup of wine from downstairs, I handed it to Reth and murmured, “To anyone watching, I’m just a kindhearted noble, and you’re just a grateful guard.”
He nodded, looking at once hesitant and relieved. “Burglaries and kidnappings are increasing, yet here we sit, idle; lately, the Guard is never where it’s needed most.”
I met his glance with an even stare; that couldn’t be all.
“I heard what you did in Shaemoor,” he said quickly, “and I know you’ve got Thackeray’s ear.”
I didn't know that.
With a gulp, Reth went on,
“What I’m telling you could get a man killed.”
ELEVEN
1
“Our orders arrive just before the raids,” Reth whispered. “It’s as if someone is sending us away so bandits can swoop in unchallenged.”
My mind leapt ahead, but I said cautiously, “You think there’s a deeper connection, someone in the Ministry Guard working with the bandits directly?”
The caution paid off.
Reth swallowed and said, “Higher than that; the orders come from Minister Zamon himself.”
Three testimonies of Zamon’s guilt, I thought; that should be enough to seal his coffin.
After a manner of speaking.
2
“Please do something with this information!” Reth pleaded, though still quietly.
I let my gaze drift around the room, keeping my posture loose and idle; it was easy, with Faren as my best friend. Nobody seemed to have noticed the outburst, however, or anything else we’d said.
“I will,” I told him. “Now, enjoy your drink. I’ve got someone I must speak with.”
I couldn’t wait to see the look on Anise’s face.
3
I made my way downstairs, but couldn’t find Anise in the main room, and couldn’t appear suspicious; instead, I hovered by a refreshment table, trying to think of what she might be up to.
“Oh, you’re here!” squeaked a familiar voice: Lady Mashewe, a sweet but painfully shy friend of my family’s. “It’s a pleasure to see you—I adore Minister Wi’s parties, but there are so many people talking, I’m afraid to strike up a conversation.”
I blinked when I turned towards her; she’d chopped and curled her hair just like mine. Smiling, I told her,
“Someone as charming as you shouldn’t be so shy!”
Lady Mashewe flushed and said, “Flatterer—you’ve been spending too much time with Lord Faren!”
I didn’t like her any less; it was only an awkward joke, and she meant well; but, gods above, could that be the last time tonight that someone felt the need to insult my best friend to my face?
4
The gods, as usual, weren’t listening.
After wishing Lady Mashewe well, rather more abruptly than I’d intended, I headed to the courtyard where I’d left Jasmina and her handmaiden. Perhaps Anise had made some dazzling discovery there, or …
Halfway down the path, I froze. I didn’t see Anise, or Jasmina, or even the handmaiden.
Only Minister Zamon. He’d arrived at last.
5
At the sight of me, Zamon’s lip curled into something that couldn’t be called a smile.
“The hero of Shaemoor deigns to join Minister Wi’s party,” he said coldly. “Is that your official title now? Has ‘Lady Althea’ lost its lustre?”
The infuriating thing about Zamon was that, for all his many limitations, he had a truly uncanny way of scenting weak spots.
“It’s an affectionate nickname, sir,” I said, and returned his sneer. “If you had ever inspired affection, you’d understand.”
6
“Did you just insult me?” he cried, as if I’d never done it before—and as if he hadn’t insulted my family for years. “Perhaps Minister Wi should hear about his guest’s rude behaviour.”
High words from a traitor.
I shrugged and said, “By all means, let’s see how he reacts to your childish, boorish blather.”
Predictably, he backed off like the coward he was. “Bah! You’re not worth my time, you preening jackanapes.”
7
If he hadn’t betrayed the queen, he wouldn’t have been worth mine. I exhaled, repressing a flash of real anger, and arranged my features into polite contempt, no more. Before I could say anything, however, or even leave, he snarled,
“Go wallow in the filth with that hedonistic pig Faren and leave me be.”
Despite myself, my hands clenched into fists; for one wild moment, I longed to blast him off his feet, whip my magic right through him until he begged us both for mercy. I could; I had the clones, even had a focus hidden in my clothes—
“Better a pig than a snake,” I said, and bowed with a smile.
A pity we’d given up trial by combat.
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1) The gods, as usual, weren’t listening: the silence of the Six Gods is a major component of humanity's current struggle for survival.
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TWELVE
1
I just managed not to storm out of the courtyard.
“Althea, you look like murder,” said Faren cheerfully. “I hope you didn’t leave any bodies behind?”
“Not today,” I said. Not quite lying, I added, “Zamon’s out there—he must have returned while I was upstairs. You know how he is.”
Faren, no doubt remembering what he’d seen, grinned at me and said,
“Oh, I know.”
2
After exchanging a few idle nothings, I asked Faren and his pseudo-friends if they’d seen Anise; fortunately, she’d emerged from wherever she had gone, and stood near the entrance to the manor. Beside her stood Captain Thackeray.
It felt as if tight bands had been wrapped about my lungs, only noticeable because they dropped away when I caught sight of my true allies. I made my way across the room without even trying for subtlety.
“You’ve been a busy little bee, haven’t you?” said Anise, eyes sharp and focused. “I presume you’ve gotten the information we need?”
Finally letting triumph break through my expression, I grinned at her and said, “More than I had hoped.”
3
“I’ve identified witnesses who will testify that Zamon had dealings with bandits,” I told them.
Anise looked immensely satisfied, even smug—more so than usual, like a teacher showing off a prize pupil. I supposed that in a way, she was.
Captain Thackeray gave me a respectful nod.
“I’d love to throw Zamon in a cell, but politics have my hands tied,” he said. “At least with this evidence, we’ll be able to call him to trial.”
I couldn’t wait.
4
Something beyond my shoulder seemed to catch Anise’s attention, amused anticipation filling her face.
“Speak of the fiend and he appears,” she said. “Logan, it seemed Minister Zamon has arrived. You’re free to do your duty.”
I turned about. Zamon stood near the center of the room, talking with a tipsy lady I didn’t know and Lord Benjamin. Captain Thackeray marched straight towards him, leaving everyone in the way to scatter out of his path.
I suspected that people often scattered out of Logan Thackeray’s path.
5
“If it isn’t Logan Thackeray,” drawled Zamon. “I’m sorry, Captain Thackeray. To what do I owe this honour?”
Captain Thackeray drew himself up to his full, towering height, and thundered out,
“As Captain of the Seraph in the service of her Royal Majesty, Queen Jennah, I call you to trial!”
Zamon’s jaw dropped, eyes bugging out in an expression that I immediately committed to memory. I might face darker moments in the future, but I would always have the look on Zamon’s face to comfort me.
Wallowing in filth, indeed.
6
“What?” he sputtered. “This is an outrage! I demand to know the charge!”
“Treason against the crown and citizens of Kryta,” said Captain Thackeray, voice touched by the same satisfaction I’d seen in Anise’s face. “May Kormir judge your words justly, and may Dwayna have mercy on you.”
Kormir had blessed me all my life. I spared a moment to pray that she would grant justice to Julius Zamon.
7
A swarm of Seraph immediately marched inside, ignoring the gasps and exclamations of the crowd to march—nearly drag—Zamon away. I was going to remember that one for the rest of my life, too.
“My, we’ve certainly gone and kicked the hornet’s nest here,” Anise remarked, sounding as unconcerned as she looked. “The moment we’re out of earshot, the place will be absolutely aflame with gossip.”
“See you at the trial, then,” I replied, the corner of my mouth twitching up. “Thanks for a memorable party.”
With a light laugh, Anise said, “Any time.”
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1) Kormir had blessed me all my life: the human PC is always blessed from childhood by one of the gods.
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THIRTEEN
1
In the babbling hubbub that followed Zamon’s arrest, I managed to forge a path towards Faren. For all my affection, I knew better than to trust his, ah, faculties in a crisis.
“I knew it!” he said triumphantly. “I knew he was the one!”
I patted his shoulder. “Hurry home and tell everyone what happened. I’ll see you soon.”
2
As I turned about, reassuring and shepherding the guests, a group of Ministry guards came trooping downstairs; the others marched off, but Reth halted, looking exhausted—was he thinking of rescinding his testimony?
“I’m tired, hero,” he said when I approached, “tired of the lies and the politics, tired of seeing people like Zamon get away with everything. I hope you make these charges stick.”
So did I; not sure what else to do, I promised that we’d do our best.
“If you ever need a night off, Reth,” I told him, “there’s a little inn down at the Salma District—I’ll gladly buy you a beer.” I paused, then reached out and shook his hand gratefully. “Take care.”
3
And that was that. Minister Wi, capable as ever, restored order faster than I would have imagined possible, smoothly ushering the guests out with guards to protect them from any more of Zamon’s plots. I left him to it, returning to Salma and delivering a carefully edited account of the night's events to my mother.
“If only I’d known!” she said, guilt all over her face. “I knew he was lying scum, but not a traitor.”
“Nobody could have known,” I told her. “And I can take care of myself, Mama.”
Even now, she looked unsure.
4
It was dawn by the time that my nerves relaxed enough for rest. I all but collapsed into my bed and let myself sleep a good ten hours; I suspected I’d need it.
Sure enough, Minister Caudecus allowed only two days of preparation for the trial. I worked every moment of those days, preparing the witnesses and drafting my arguments and counter-arguments. But I forced myself to sleep through the second night; I wanted to be entirely alert for the trial.
In the event, I was wiser than I knew.
5
At the Ministry, I immediately directed myself towards Anise and Captain Thackeray, who were talking about a pig for some reason. Anise, with her usual flawless instincts, turned the instant that I fell within earshot.
“Now then, my young friend,” she said, “are you ready to present the case?”
“I’ve gone over everything a dozen times,” I assured her. “Unless something goes horribly wrong, we’ll get our man.”
Captain Thackeray actually looked pleased. “At this rate,” he said, “Queen Jennah’s sure to notice you.”
6
I started. I didn’t—but he knew the queen better than anyone, surely—but I hadn’t acted out of any expectation of royal favours, hadn’t so much as thought about it—but—
“If nothing else,” he added, “I’ll make sure your name reaches her ears.”
I eyed him doubtfully.
With one of her wry smiles, Anise said, “Do you know her name, Logan?”
“Of course I do,” said Captain Thackeray automatically. Then he paused.
7
“Lady A … Al …” He scowled, more at himself than us. “Sorry, I’m not very good with names.”
Clearly—but that was, at least, better than I’d anticipated.
Then he shook his head, as if clearing it of some fog. “What am I thinking? It’s Lady Gwen, isn’t it?”
Anise and I just laughed.
--------------------------------------------------------
1) It’s Lady Gwen, isn’t it?: the original Althea and Gwen were probably the two most iconic Ascalonian women of the Searing era, with the saintly Althea burned alive, and Gwen enslaved before embarking on a path of bloody vengeance. So Logan actually does know the name at some level, enough for a vague association with the Searing, even though he selects the wrong namesake. The implacable Gwen just comes to mind more immediately in connection with this Althea, particularly as she's his own ancestress.
---------------------------------------------------------
FOURTEEN
1
“Lady Althea Fairchild,” said Anise, with a grandiose gesture at me.
He snapped his fingers. “Lady Althea—that’s it!”
“Althea,” I said firmly.
On a whim, I extended my hand. He didn’t kiss it, thank the gods, as Faren or his companions would have done in his position, just clasped his fingers about it in a strong grip.
“Logan,” said Captain Thackeray.
2
We shook hands, less like a court favourite to a subordinate ally than two warriors meeting for the first time. I was no warrior, certainly none to compare with Logan Thackeray, but it felt true in its own way.
It also felt bizarre in its own way. Not that many weeks ago, I’d known him only as the great Captain Thackeray, hero of Divinity’s Reach, and rushed to the gates of Shaemoor for that reason. Now we stood together as Anise and Logan and Althea, plotting the downfall of a minister here in the very heart of Krytan politics.
“Minister Caudecus is waiting,” Anise said, in her pragmatic way. “Good luck, and may Lyssa bless you with unparalleled eloquence.”
3
I’d never felt that Lyssa blessed me with much of anything, except a measure of cunning—and her magic, of course. Perhaps today would be different.
“I’m a loyal servant of the crown,” muttered Captain Thackeray (Logan was going to take awhile), “but if Zamon gets off, I’m going to take matters into my own hands.”
Anise and I had our own way of doing things, but still—it was good to know that, all else failing, we could depend upon the captain to solve problems with his sword and shield. It came as a relief, really. I’d known straightforward people, and I’d known competent people, but rarely both at once.
“Good to know,” I said.
4
The trial of a minister had drawn so many observers that I didn’t see Faren right away; only the ripple in the crowd that accompanied Madeline Zamon’s arrival made him visible. As soon as I saw him, however, I headed through the crowd as determinedly as Logan himself.
“What do you think they’ll do if Zamon’s found guilty?” someone said.
Another replied, “Absolutely nothing—nobles never pay for their crimes.”
We’d see about that.
As soon as I emerged from the cluster nearest him, Faren grinned widely, his face lighting up; with nary a greeting, he exclaimed,
“Don’t you worry one bit!”
Well, that was reassuring.
5
“When it’s my turn to testify,” he went on grandly, “I’ll make your case for you—it’s going to be monumental!”
Faren was, if nothing else, entirely Faren. I smiled back at him.
“So, you feel ready then?”
“I’m more than ready,” he cried, even more excitable than usual. Natural for the occasion, but I still wondered a bit until he added, “Zamon sent one of his sock puppets to try and bribe me away!”
My eyes widened.
6
“I don’t think he realizes how rich I actually am,” Faren said disdainfully.
“The nerve!” I hadn’t expected such … remarkable unsubtlety. Looking around, I could see that all three of my witnesses had arrived—and Reth wouldn’t have Faren’s and Madeline’s fortunes to fall back on. If Zamon had tried with all of them, he’d almost certainly failed. “You turned him away?”
“Of course,” said Faren, with something like dignity.
7
Then he laughed, high and gleeful. “The big, stinky puppet tried to intimidate me, but I demonstrated my dexterity with the blade, and he went running back to Papa!”
I decided that might fall somewhere in the proximity of a truth, anyway.
“Ladies’ll do anything for a hero,” he went on, “if you know what I mean.” He gave a conspiratorial wink.
I shook my head. “Whatever you say, Faren.”
------------------------------------------------------------
1) here in the very heart of Krytan politics: the storyline is officially called “Krytan politics.”
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#ascalonian grudgefic#starring grey-ace bi wingman(?) althea#anghraine's gaming#anghraine's fic#althea fairchild#ascalonian grudgeblog#/#//#///#////#/////#countess anise#lord faren#baroness jasmina#julius zamon#lady mashewe#lady wi#logan thackeray#madeline zamon#minister wi#nicholas winters#reth#baroness yolanda#pro patria#guild wars 2
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