Young Writers Society

Welcome to Ruddlan.

At the heart of Nye lies the city where all paths meet. Along the Axis River, the lifeblood of the Desert Sands, is the bustling city of Ruddlan, welcoming every well-worn traveler with open arms.

Over the past twenty years, Ruddlan exploded from a small river town to a trade center for every kingdom. People are constantly coming in and out of her doors; for business, pleasure, or just passing through. In the past five years, Ruddlan's become best known for the Griffin Games, which it hosts annually as a series of fights between mystical griffins - climaxing at a faceoff between the two finalists.

Ruddlan also boasts grand festivals at the turning of the seasons, celebrating every solstice and equinox.

And here, we find ourselves at another turn of the season. Within a week, citizens of Ruddlan will be hosting a week-long festival welcoming in the summer. The world-renowned Griffin Games will kick off at the end of the festival. You don't want to miss it!

With warmth and cheer, Ruddlan welcomes you for the sunniest time of year.

Meet the Locals

The Ashlunds: Overlooking the city markets of Central Ruddlan, the Ashlund clinic is known as a dependable, affordable source of medical care for residents and passers-through alike. Astrid Ashlund proudly stands as the lady of the house and head doctor of her practice. Closely apprenticing under her are Lyall Ashlund, charming eldest son and heir, and Edith Bennett, the newest nurse on staff. Prickly eldest daughter Hild works closely with both bubbly Mel Sommers, a seamstress, and Clarity Sable, the clinic's primary pharmacist and closest business partner. Ulf and Viktor are the middle sons, and Tove is the youngest at age 5. In addition to the summer festival, the clan is ready to celebrate Lyall's engagement to his partner of 1 year, and Astrid passing on her legacy to her beloved eldest son.

The Alvaros: At the upper part of the South End sits the Alvaro family, but this story takes a closer look at the twins. Alan Alvaro is studying violin performance at the university, bringing pride and joy to his family for setting a strong foundation for a successful life. With his natural ability to connect and network, Alan is well-liked among his social circle and has secured a watchful job with prominent figures in the Barlowe Estates, including with Ms. Barlowe herself. Meanwhile, Alistair Alvaro lives an almost disconnected life, rolling through his days with cigarettes and his closest friend, Shaniece Knowles. They are loyal to the Griffin Games since they make the bulk of their money in one season, but little do they know that their summer sun is about to look more blue.

The Bridgers: A wealthy family living at the heart of the Ruddlan elite, the Bridgers are old money-- to the point that it's a running joke that they make the invention of money look young. While their fortune, built on generations of practicing business and trade, may stretch back for a long time, their residence in Ruddlan is more recent, with only the youngest generation having grown up here. This younger cohort of Bridgers contains Casper, the heir to the business; Allison, a beloved starlet of Ruddlan theatre; Cyrin, a devil-may-care scholar and athlete secretly operating in the mage resistance; and Camilla and Magnus, the youngest children who are still discovering who they are.

The Anti-Magic Guild: Highlighting different areas of the guild's work, we start with Alexander Kingsman - an established solo hunter who's been working for the Ruddlan Anti-Magic guild for the past two years with an unbroken success streak for captures and kills. Working in conjunction with the guild is the guild-owned Lumshade farm, providing the coveted and integral magic-subduing drug that hunters rely on to catch mages. Aaron Keller works as the head chemist, and under his supervision, Elias Bennett manages harvesting.

The Blue Suns: Like all major cities, Ruddlan's got crime. The Blue Suns are a notoriously dangerous gang with anchors in every major city, and Ruddlan is no exception. Various "suns" roam Ruddlan on different assignments. Wilson does intel and drug trafficking. Bency and Andrea distribute and sell drugs within the city. Mireya is a sly, spunky thief as well as a drug trader. And Sparrow - well, he's the kingpin. Best stay away from him.

Meet the Outsiders

The Hawkings: A noble family of Lettera, the Hawkings serve the kingdom's interest in the field of democracy. Gwen Hawking, the Letteran ambassador, will be visiting Ruddlan this summer with her husband Ray for a variety of reasons-- to hold diplomatic meetings, to enjoy the festival, and to visit her son Shane, who is a full-time resident of Ruddlan and a graduate student of history and law at the local university. Shane, while being an academic known for his brilliance and a figure of significant influence, is rather reclusive, most often found at a secluded part of a library or watching the world from the window of his home. Perhaps this summer will open new doors for him.

The King's Hand: These five soldiers are the elite of the elite. They are the most dedicated, loyal, and skilled of the Moonlight Kingdom's army, and are the trusted representatives of King Blackfield and his Kingdom. Of the five include Carter Haddon, the son of the Guild Headmasters; James Hawke, the decorated war hero; Ingrid Price, master war strategist; Hellen Lannom, weapons expert; and Kirk Fayek, the king's alchemist. Together they visit Ruddlan this summer on the king's behalf for political negotiations and to investigate a surge of magic incidents in Ruddlan's walls. Along with them travels Caspar, their stagecoach driver, horse handler, and point-person for their travel needs.

The Resistance: Hidden in the background, an underground network composed of mages and mage sympathizers fight to save and preserve mage-kind. At the forefront of the fight are a group of powerful mages: Bo - a lightning mage, Mel - a healing mage, Robin - a werewolf, and Raj - an earth mage. Under their leadership are many others joining the fight to rescue mages across Nye, but especially here in Ruddlan: Eve, Hendrik, and Cyrin. While their efforts often go unseen by the public eye, they are remembered forever by the ones they save as they move in and out of the city.

It was a beautiful summer day. The sky was clear. The air was clean. The smell of wildflowers carried on a light breeze through the shade of the forest over the dusty wagon road, and for a moment, the world felt small and simple.

Then they approached the Ruddlan gate.

Towering over the trees that made up the forest at the edge of the river, the gate arched at the end of the stone bridge. It was embedded into the 30ft high walls encasing the city. Fortified from all nature and outsiders, Ruddlan's gates were open on its terms, and when they came through, the carriage paused as guards exchanged paperwork with Caspar, their driver at the front.

Their conversation was brief. James had a feeling it was shorter than usual when they saw the King's official seal.

Sent off with a polite welcome into the city of Ruddlan, they left the peace of the forest, its feathery leaves, and the open air to enter a bustling city road.

It had been weeks since James had seen anything so crowded. The trip from the Moonlight Kingdom was long. Trekking this far north had put them on the road for two months, and those months had been filled with meetings, inspections, and formalities at every stop. Now that they'd finally arrived, James couldn't help but feel like he'd turned a corner.

People. The roads were full of people. Some driving carriages. Some on horseback. Most were on foot. The traffic kicked up dust that caked everyone's shoes and swept up on the porches of every passing building.

It was too much to take in. Figures became blurs of color passing by. The life outside the window of the carriage felt distant, but the conversation inside it felt even more so.

He was surrounded by his friends. Hellen, Kirk, Fonzi, and Carter were talking, but James wasn't listening. Ingrid sat silent at his side, but he didn't turn to see her. Something felt empty about all of this - like he was living another man's life, or somehow, all of this was imagined.

He was miles upon miles away from home, and still couldn't escape the pressure of the palace walls. The past year felt like a dream - coming home to celebratory fanfare only to be received by an empty room and caught by a king who saw something in him he didn't want to be there. Anyone else in his position would feel like they were at their peak. Promotion into the king's council meant he could become a permanent fixture on the palace walls. By all means, he was set for life. As for all of the tangible luxuries that could be afforded to him, he wanted for nothing.

And yet, he'd never felt less like himself in his life. With each passing day, he drifted further and further.

The certain loyalty he once had for his kingdom turned to dust. And yet, there was nowhere he could run from it.

It was his life. It was his home. These were his people.

But what did that even mean?

Dark shadows covered the walls between the long windows that lined the hall. Red. They lined every floor with red. Carpet spilled at his feet around the corner as he stood beside a king who now called him a friend.

King Blackfield met James's eyes with a warmth that made James's stomach turn. In the shadow of a window pane, backed by the pale white light of the midday sun, Blackfield looked white as a sheet. Like a ghost. His hair was pale as his skin, and his skin bore the creases of time, yet something uncanny kept it taut around his face. Looking too old to be alive and too young to be right, his smile felt like it belonged to a young man. Not a king of his years.

"I trust you," the king said, his voice soft and fragile, as it always was. "You of all people have sacrificed everything for this kingdom's sake."

The king's bony hand reached out to James's shoulder. His hold seemed weaker than he last saw him.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to, you know," Blackfield said, drawing closer.

And there was a pause that James didn't know how to fill.

"Tiberius," the king said. "What is it that you want?"

The question sunk in slowly. Dread pooled in James's gut as he felt the choice laid in front of him - overwhelming. It would be too late to turn back if he said yes to this. To join the council was a lifelong choice.

"I don't know," he said quietly, looking to the double doors to their right, knowing that there was a room full of councilors waiting inside.

With a small nod of his head, Blackfield pulled away and stepped towards the door, where a guard opened it for him. Blackfield paused, looking at James expectantly.

James stared at the king for a moment, steeling his resolve with a deep breath.

The king had told him the matter they needed to discuss involved James personally. James didn't know what that meant, or what it'd entail, but he knew if he didn't go, he'd spend the rest of his life wondering what would have happened if he'd just said yes and entered the door. And for all of the uncertainty he was faced with, he hated not knowing.

So he stepped in.

Ever since, everything about his life changed. He saw the kingdom in shades of red. The sham of peace they'd built up felt like an insult, but it cut deeper still to know he'd been a part of it for his whole life.

Now that he knew, he couldn't keep living as normal. Things couldn't just stay as they were. With knowledge came responsibility, and the responsibility was eating him alive. He couldn't escape it, but no one was going to understand. No one would even believe--

Ingrid put a hand on his knee. It cut through the storm just enough to bring him back to the present. He looked down at it, staring at her slender fingers curl ever so slightly.

She leaned in. Her shoulder rested against his, and she turned with her mouth by his ear.

"You've been in your head all day," she said softly, barely audible.

Chatter still filled the carriage. The others were caught up in their conversation.

"Sorry," James said after a second, still looking at her hand until the carriage hit a dip in the road. The bump brought his gaze back up to the road.

"I was just looking at the city," he said quietly. "It's lively in a way I haven't seen in King's Peak."

Her head tilted against his.

"How so?" she asked.

James wanted to say: "The people seem... free."

But that was a projection of a desire, not a truth. And the last thing he wanted to hear from Ingrid was that he was being dramatic. Not right now. He just wanted peace, or what little he could get of it.

"I don't know," James finally said. "It's just different."

Ingrid slid down a bit in her seat so she was more comfortably matched to his height as she leaned against him. She hummed.

"I like different," she said.

But James knew that wasn't true.

Looking back out the window with his attention set again, he realized just how far they'd traveled through the city. Where they'd passed through a city gate, now they were about to pass through another, but this time, into the Barlowe Estates.

Guarded behind a steep metal fence, the estates were the wealthiest portion of Ruddlan. Leaving behind the dust of the city roads, they rolled onto clean, paved paths. The transition was jarring, with how much smoother the ride became. The conversation died down as everyone huddled along the carriage windows, looking out at the manors and mansions that lined the road.

Every yard was mowed. Every bush was trimmed. Colorful, healthy flowerbeds lined pathways, framed entrances, or perched along windows. Trees were placed with intent near the roads, spaced evenly like walls of their own, but they reached high enough to create shade from the summer sun. Where the streets were formerly bustling, now that the guards at the estate gate had closed them in, the streets were near-empty, populated only by a few groundskeepers, doing lawn work.

It was quiet. Slightly distanced from the sounds of the city, the Barlowe Estates were isolated; only for those deemed important enough to enter.

He didn't know how he felt about being in that category.

How did he get here? What did he do to deserve this? What did anyone benefit from pouring all of this money into spoiling those already in power--

"Come on," Ingrid said sharply, her voice pitched with excitement as she bumped his shoulder before sliding out of the carriage.

They'd stopped before a two-story manor designed for ambassadors, councillors, and distinguished lawmakers or military men from the Moonlight Kingdom to stay when they visited Ruddlan. As if it were an homage to the kingdom itself, the building looked like it'd been uprooted from King's Peak and placed here, as it bore the same style of steepled roofing, blue-grey paint along the walls, and a large red banner with the kingdom's crest hanging over the door.

A crescent moon, hugged by a ribbon and two ferns.

James watched as his friends poured out onto the road. Some went to grab their things before they were met by three busboys who'd come out of the manor to greet them, carrying their belongings for them. Greeted by another woman who seemed to be the caretaker of the house, James watched as they were all ushered down the path to the front door.

James stepped out a moment after, trailing behind. With the busboys gone, he grabbed his lone suitcase from the back carriage compartment, stopping in front of the carriage to stare at the manor, and the door shutting behind his friends who'd gone inside.

It was hot. The sun was beating down, and it felt warmer with the pavement below his feet.

Maybe it wasn't that beautiful of a summer day after all.

Heavy steps came up alongside him, and the driver stood an arm's length away as he shed his coat.

"Not in the south anymore," Caspar murmured, mustering a weak grin.

James glanced over at Caspar. Normally, the man wore many layers of clothing in the Moonlight Kingdom's cold. Even at this time of year, wearing a layer or two was bearable in the south. Out here, though, it was clear even Caspar was overheated. His sandy hair had begun to stick to his forehead with sweat.

"Yeah," James said faintly.

With his hands set on his sides, Caspar tilted his head and quietly considered him for a moment. "S'new place," he added, trying his best to sound enthusiastic. "You excited?"

James wished he could give Caspar an honest, lighthearted answer. He took in a deep breath.

"I don't know," seemed to be his default answer.

His response was met with quiet. Caspar's lightheartedness faded a little. He only nodded his understanding as he turned his attention back to the manor ahead of them. James sucked in his lower lip as he looked at the ground, feeling the weight he carried all the heavier.

"Well, I've got to get the animals out of this heat," Caspar started again softly, idly stepping back. "Maybe head in and cool down yourself, okay?"

James pulled his lips back into a thin, near-smile. He nodded.

"Yeah," he said, then turned to Caspar. "You should cool off, too."

Before Caspar could respond, the door at the front of the manor opened, and Ingrid's head popped out.

"Tiberius!" she called. "What's the hold-up?"

James flashed Caspar another grin. "Take care," he said.

The driver gave a small, two-fingered salute. "I'll be around," he answered quietly, already starting for the horses behind them.

With a final nod, James jogged up to the door, where Ingrid put an arm around his back and closed the door behind them.

Immediately, James was struck by how clean and well-kept the place was. It didn't even look lived in. The walls were covered in an ornate, blue, and white wallpaper, and the first room they entered was a large sitting room, with plush, dull-red couches angled around a glass-topped center table. Several plants lined the corners of the room along with a wall lined with bookshelves and some small sculptures. It felt like whoever made this manor was trying to mimic the palace, just scaled down. The high ceilings made room for several paintings on the wall, most of them of scenes in the Moonlight Kingdom: snowy mountains, open green plains, and cold, dark waters.

Ingrid had to tug him out of that room and into the hall for staring too long. He heard footsteps faintly upstairs, likely from his friends who'd already been shown around.

"Kitchen to the right," Ingrid said, gesturing to an open door. Inside, James saw a glimpse of an oven and a dishwashing sink.

"Dining room across the hall," she said, and James's eyes caught uncomfortably on the painting at the head of the long dining table.

It was a portrait of King Blackfield, smiling, with his daughter Eliza by his side.

It was a much younger portrait of him. Much younger. Blackfield's hair was still red, and Eliza was just a little girl. He didn't have time to take it all in as he followed Ingrid's hasty steps, but Blackfield's eyes seemed to follow him as he passed by the open door.

Ingrid pointed out a study with a pool table, and a sunroom with a piano, and then finally led them to the stairwell at the end of the hall.

"The Housekeeper said lunch will be ready in just a few minutes," Ingrid went on. "So we can all gather downstairs in the front sitting room where she'll serve us. There's a washroom upstairs and downstairs, too."

They turned a corner at the top of the stairs.

"This one's my room," Hellen said in the middle of the hallway, rushing into a room to the left. Her bright, curly red hair disappeared in a blur.

"Fine, then I'm taking this one," Kirk said, walking at a more relaxed pace into the room across from hers. He glanced back at James and Ingrid, giving a small nod to James.

"Aye, the Tiger finally made it up," Fonzi said, stretching out his hands as he leaned beside the nearest bedroom door. He looked down at the suitcase in James's hands. "Don't trust housekeeping to carry a bag?"

"No," James said, realizing that wasn't really what he meant to say. "I just -- it's my bag. I can--"

Fonzi laughed. "Gods, I'll look forward to seeing you loosen up on this trip, man," he said, coming over to pull James in around the shoulders a little roughly. Fortunately, Fonzi wasn't exceptionally strong - just tall and lanky - so the tug didn't pull him off balance.

"You think you can do that?" Ingrid teased, nudging his elbow. "'Loosen up?'"

"Oh, sure," Fonzi answered for him as James was ushered down the hall with a friend on either side. "Just, you know." Instead of explaining, he mimed himself taking a drink. "It'll fix everything."

James gave Fonzi a flat look as Fonzi's arm pulled away for acting purposes.

"Really?" James said.

"Come on," Fonzi said. "I heard the taverns here are top-notch. Especially the ones in the upper city. And you know they'll pull out the best stuff with the festival and the games coming up. They gotta bring in the gold."

"I'm looking forward to the music," Ingrid said. "I heard they're putting on some big productions in the ampitheater this next week. We should get tickets."

"Now that's what I like to hear," Fonzi said. "Gods, it's been ages since I've had a vacation like this."

"It's not a vaca--," James tried to say.

"Not a vacation," Fonzi mocked, imitating James's voice. "Might as well be. We're just here to be pretty ponies paraded around."

"You mean we are," Ingrid said with a huff. "You're not part of the King's Hand."

James stopped at the last door of the hall. He noticed the room was empty, and he turned, stopping in the doorway to look back at Ingrid and Fonzi. Carter had stepped out of the mirrored room across the hall. Between Ingrid and Fonzi, Carter always looked dramatically short and stocky.

"Wow," Fonzi said in mock offense.

"Honorable sixth finger," Carter posed.

"Ew," Ingrid said with a scoff.

But Fonzi was considering it seriously. He rubbed his scruffy chin in thought.

"A hand with six fingers," he murmured. "Sounds freaky."

"You don't need a title, Fonzi," Ingrid said with a roll of her eyes, walking down to the room beside James's. That must've been the one she'd taken.

"Lieutenant is just so boring, though," Fonzi said, putting his hands on his hips. "There's no spice. Not as exciting as being a finger."

"Please stop calling it that, ugh," Ingrid said, tossing her jacket into her room before she began to march down the hall. "I'm going to go down for food."

Hellen popped out of her room and Kirk did as well at the mention of food. Both murmured something similar about starving and quickly hurried down the steps with Ingrid. Fonzi hung back and looked on with Carter, grinning in success for having annoyed Ingrid for the millionth time. For him, apparently, it never got old.

"See ya down there, Haddy," Fonzi said to Carter, calling Carter the abbreviated version of his last name, Haddon.

No one really liked Fonzi's nicknames, but James thought Haddy was better than "Tiger." It at least didn't have potential unwanted connotations, since it wasn't a real word.

Assuming Carter was following, James turned to enter his room, setting his suitcase at the base of his bed.

This room was at least a little more simple.

At the front of the room to his left, there was an oak dresser. To his right, there was a simple writing desk, an oil lamp, and a padded wooden chair. The bed took up a larger portion of the back center of the room since it was sized for at least two people. In the corner, there was a small closet.

A window above the bed was the only wall decor in there, and James felt a small sigh of relief at having no paintings to look at. Just some simple wallpaper and the house beside theirs through the glass.

In the back of his head, he did the math.

Six doors down the hall. Six bedrooms. Six visitors. Five made the King's Hand, and Fonzi was along for the ride.

He let out a sigh.

Weeks of this, and he was already tired. He didn't think he could keep doing this. All of the placid greetings, the fake interest, the polite but distant conversations. It was exhausting, being your best self all of the time - and as the King's Hand, they'd have to be, if they were to be the king's proxy. Representing the king was no light matter.

He stood up straighter when he saw Carter fill the space in the doorway out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he stood at attention.

An old habit. Maybe one he needed to lose, now that he and Carter were equals, and Carter wasn't his superior.

And he wanted to believe they were still friends.

"Tiberius," Carter said with a tilt of his head. "Are you coming?"

James didn't understand why everyone was in such a hurry.

"Yeah," he said, his voice feeling flat. He knew he hadn't been 'himself,' and that Carter was going to pry, even though James didn't want to say more.

Without saying a word, Carter just raised his brows ever-so-slightly, giving James an expectant, searching look that James knew well.

Fine. He'd give him an inch.

"I haven't been this far from home since the war," he said emptily.

And in a moment, it was like the air was sucked out of the room. Carter's lingering grin dropped to something sobered, and he too, stood up straighter, taking in a deep breath. There was a short delay.

"It'll help you to get some food in your stomach," Carter said, softer.

Not waiting for James to move, Carter walked up, gently grabbing James's hand to lead him out.

"I know we're here for work," he said. "But we're going to have fun, too. It'll help get your mind off things. You should let yourself have it."

James didn't offer a reply, but he followed Carter's lead, pulling his hand lightly out of Carter's as Carter walked ahead of him and James followed behind. For a split second, James found himself glancing over his shoulder at the room he left behind, but his gaze quickly shot forward again.

He guessed he'd have to pretend.

Dear Eve,

Another spring's come and gone here in Ruddlan. The already-warm weather is heating up, and soon all of us will be scorching in the heat, wondering why we chose to live in a desert. The semester just ended earlier this week, which brings me another step closer to that doctorate. I don't plan on sitting still all summer long, of course. The libraries are still open, which means I can still study-- research waits for no one. I won't get bored. You might not expect the Desert Sands to have that much academic literature, but surprisingly, I could still spend my whole life reading it all. Which means these next few months won't go to waste.

A fluttering of wings came from the window, and Shane glanced up, setting down his quill pen. On the other side of the glass, a goldfinch was making its landing on a perch, swooping for the basket of birdseed hanging beside it. Shane smiled softly as he watched the small bird attack the grain. When establishing their second home here, his father had barely waited for their family to be moved in before installing the bird feeder in the window for the room that was to be Shane's. It gave him two things to watch from his desk, where he spent much of his time. One, the birds that inevitably and regularly stopped by for a meal. Two, he could see over the wall surrounding the Barlowe Estates and into the rest of Ruddlan.

It was strange entertainment to watch the people passing by, far away and below. He had to wonder what each of their lives were, where they were going, what was on their minds. He could see hundreds of people moving by in a single day, but none of them never looked up. It felt like being among them, but invisibly. Community in loneliness. Connection without rejection.

Shane tore his eyes away from the bright yellow of the bird before looking back to the letter, picking up his pen again.

There's other things to be looking forward to, though. My parents will be arriving here tomorrow, on their way back from a trip to the Moonlight Kingdom. Last I heard, they're both happy and healthy. My mom's rather tired from all her meetings and diplomatic summits, but she remains hopeful and optimistic about everything. And my dad-- well, you know him. He's as warm and jovial as ever. They're well, but I know they miss you just as much as I do.

Not only are they back in town, but so are the Griffin Games. Whose bright idea was it to chain up two magnificent creatures and have them fight in front of a crowd of screaming people? I don't see the appeal, but if they weren't so popular this city would still be a two-horse settlement, so I suppose I can't complain. The bright side is they'll bring a lot of people here for the summer, and the streets will be full. It'll be fascinating to see how the city changes for the season. You wouldn't believe the view I have from the Cypress. I wish you could see it.

Shane looked back up at the window again. The goldfinch had flown away while he hadn't been looking, apparently satisfied with its meal. He couldn't felt but feel a twinge of disappointment as he faced the paper again.

Most of them will flock to our landmarks whenever there isn't a game, especially the city park. I think you'd like it-- it's nothing like our school's courtyard. There are fountains, and a pond where ducks come to raise their young, and clusters of flower gardens scattered around the lawns. One of them even has a patch of dandelions, and it's refreshing to see them not treated as weeds for once. Do you have any of those, wherever you are? I hope you do. The things you find beautiful should never be a memory to you.

I hope this last winter was kind to you. Over here, it was just quiet and sad, and I realized I'd pick a freezing winter afternoon shivering with you in front of a fireplace over a mild, dull Bruma every single time. Everything seems to lead back to you, in the end. Just the other day, I saw a girl making portraits in the square, and my first thought was that she could be you. She didn't look anything like you, but I still see you everywhere. Maybe that's how I can always find something to write to you about, even though you'll never read this, or any of the other letters. I don't know how to stop looking. I'm not sure if I can.

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing-- I hope that you, at least, can find what you're looking for. If I can't, you should be able to. You deserve all that and much more.

I just wish I could be a part of it.

All my love,

Shane

Shane took a deep breath, dropping his pen to the desk. There. Another one for the drawer that was steadily growing fuller and fuller and threatening to spill into the rest of his life. He prayed that it never overflowed. He needed that layer of separation between his past and present in order to stay afloat.

Carefully, Shane blew on the letter to ensure the ink was dry-- even though the words he'd shaped out of that very ink would never be read-- and folded the paper down the middle, pressing it flat on the desk. He pulled the bottom drawer of his desk open and dropped it in, willing himself not to count how many letters were already down there. Then he closed it up, the wood hitting wood with a thunk.

The moment he leaned back in his chair, something pounced into his lap. Shrimp, demanding pets with a loud mrow. Shane smiled, stroking behind the cat's ears as he cuddled him up to his chest.

"There you are," he said. "You've been awfully quiet today. I was starting to get suspicious."

Shrimp purred, getting snug in his arms.

Shane smooched his head. "Oh, I believe you. You could do no wrong."

He heard the soft whinnying of a horse and went quiet, trying to listen to it. It sounded like it was coming from the street outside, although it was odd for anyone to be leaving or arriving at midday. Curious, he lifted Shrimp against his shoulder like an infant and left his room, moving to the window at the top of the staircase that offered a street view over the house's entrance.

At the edge of the road, a green carriage was pulled over, with the chauffeur already out of his seat and checking on the horses. Shane squinted at the crest over the door-- it was distinctly the Letteran emblem, with the cornucopia and mountain symbols. A spark of hope fluttered in his chest, and he moved his face closer to the glass, his heart racing with sudden excitement.

He felt his face splitting into a grin when the door to the carriage opened and his father stepped out. His father immediately turned back to the compartment with a warm, bright smile, holding out his hand with his palm flipped up for his mother to take as she stepped out too. Shane couldn't hear her laugh, but he definitely saw it when his father quickly pressed a playful kiss to the back of her hand and spun her around on the sidewalk.

Shane couldn't wait another moment. He tore down the stairs, set Shrimp down to throw on his shoes, and then swung the door open so he could race out the entrance.

"You're back!" he shouted, running to them with his arms open.

His parents both turned to him with wide grins, and Shane ran straight into his father's arms. He tugged him tightly as his mother quickly joined them in a group hug.

"There's my boy," his father said gleefully as he ruffled Shane's hair playfully. Shane laughed as his mother pecked a kiss on his cheek.

"You said you wouldn't be here until tomorrow!" Shane exclaimed, moving his arm so he could hug his mother back.

"We were making good time on the trip, so we sent a letter ahead of us informing you that we would be a day or two early," his father said, reaching into a pocket of his jacket. "But we actually made such great time that we intercepted the messenger at the city gate." He held up a letter. "Here it is."

Shane barked a laugh. "I haven't even gotten the place ready for you both. There was going to be a welcome dinner and everything."

"We'll make it with you," his mother said warmly, squeezing him more tightly for a moment before letting go of him. "We've got plenty of time to spend with you and just enjoy the summer."

An eager meow rose up from the house, and they all turned to see Shrimp zooming out the open door to pounce on Shane's mother. She caught the cat with a gentle grin, holding him up to her face so she could smooch his head.

"Hello, sweetie," she said adoringly. "Has he been a good kitty, Shane?"

"The best," Shane confirmed.

"Hey, give me a turn with him," his father protested jokingly, reaching over to scratch underneath Shrimp's chin. He had a hard time, though, because Shrimp kept moving his head to try and nuzzle his hand instead.

Shane's mother smiled, passing the cat over to his father. "We got you something," she told Shane as she reached into the carriage again. Intrigued, Shane watched as she held up a blue hardcover volume, with a seal in the shape of a sea serpent on the front. The gold text above it read Death from the Depths: A Complete Guide to the History of Sea Monsters.

"Oh, wow," Shane exclaimed, excitedly opening it up and flipping through the pages. It looked to be filled with a mix of historical research and sailor testimonials, with elaborate illustrations of various sea creatures breaking up the text. The book was in mint condition, even smelling new. He had to resist the urge to shove his face in the pages and inhale deeply.

Shane looked up with a beaming smile to his mother.

"Thank you so much. This is wonderful," he said eagerly.

"She was worried you might forget what the sea was," his father teased, patting Shane's shoulder affectionately with his free hand as Shrimp purred loudly on his shoulder. "You're so landlocked out here."

"On the plus side, we don't have to worry about any of these," Shane said, tapping the sea serpent on the cover. "They can't fit in our fountains."

"We'll have to travel to the Sheila Sea as a family sometime again," his mother said thoughtfully. "Maybe next summer. It'll be nice and mild. Can't promise the presence-- or lack-- of sea serpents, though."

Shane smiled. "It'd be nice to make it back home sometime."

He heard the clatter of hooves over stone, and all of them turned their heads to see what was drawing near. Another carriage was pulling up, this one larger and in black and gray. Shane's gaze landed on the Moonlight Kingdom's crest over the door. So, someone was coming to stay at the kingdom's diplomatic mansion for the summer, much like his parents were returning to the Cypress. But who was it?

The carriage passed by, and he could see it was full, with maybe a half dozen people in their twenties inside. The three of them smiled and nodded politely as it went by, and his father even waved. Even after it moved on, Shane kept his curious gaze on it.

"That's the King's Hand," his mother said suddenly. "They made the trip north before us on a different route."

Shane turned to her in surprise. "They're here?"

"They've been on a tour," his mother explained. "King Blackfield wants to show off the future of his military to the world, have them form connections. Ruddlan is their stop for the summer."

Shane's father scratched his head thoughtfully. "Maybe we should invite them over for a meal this week. Be neighborly while making positive connections."

Shane shuffled his feet. Having new visitors? He wouldn't think twice if they were more like his parents' age, but they were young enough to be his peers. And that meant he had to figure out how to fit in.

"That would be pleasant," his mother agreed, placing a comforting hand on Shane's shoulder. "It would be casual. We wouldn't be determining the future military policy of our nations over the dinner table."

Shane chuckled faintly. "I would hope not."

"We wouldn't do that to you." His mother took a moment to examine him, gently and proudly smiling up at him, before brushing some hair out of his face and drawing him in for another hug. "We've missed you so much, sweetheart."

"I missed you too," Shane whispered, hugging her tight.

"Hey, let me in, I've missed him just as much," his father exclaimed, rushing in. With a laugh, Shane let himself be hugged by him as well, leaning into the embrace. He felt Shrimp nuzzling his cheek as he did, and he smiled a bit wider.

They spent a comfortable amount of time hugging, and Shane felt some of his worries lift. Things were always better when his parents were around. The Cypress didn't feel so lonely and empty, for one thing. It always felt bleak to wander its rooms and know he was the only one in this huge manor. But it was a strange comfort to be there and hear the creaks of footsteps that weren't his moving around. He held them closer for a moment before they all pulled back, still smiling at each other.

"So, this welcome dinner?" his mother asked curiously.

Shane laughed, grabbing them each by the hand and eagerly leading them inside. "Just wait until you see what's in the pantry."

It was the first of Sol. On this day for the past ten years, Alan would begin packing up his violin and personal belongings to make the long trek to the Moonlight Kingdom so he could spend the summer with his dad. But this year, it was different. This year, he held a box of the same personal belongings-- but not to transport to the southern kingdom. Instead, he was making a much shorter, much quicker move.

Five rooms down.

"Lara?" Alan called curiously, poking his head in his nearly-empty old dorm room. "Are you coming?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm coming!" she called, walking slowly out of the doorway with three huge boxes in her arms.

Alan smiled, lifting his heavy box a little higher and gesturing to the hallway with his head. "It's alright. We can make one more trip. Don't overstrain yourself, love."

Lara laughed, hefting up the boxes a little higher. "Don't worry, I've got this! It's less trips this way."

He thought about taking a load off her hands, but considering she was confident and they were only five doors down his new room, he decided it was best to let her have this moment. With a fond smile, Alan nodded and led the way down the hall.

"Alright. We're almost done."

Thanks to the job with Barlowe, Alan was given a generous scholarship that not only paid for tuition, but also room and board as well. Unfortunately, those with free room and board meant the rooms were subjected to random movings based on supply and demand. Alan didn't quite understand it, but because his previous dorm mate graduated, he was obligated to move in with a new random student.

Which was quite unfortunate, as he quite liked his old dorm mate... since the dorm mate was hardly ever around, which meant he had Lara over quite often.

Alan gestured inside for Lara to go in first, broadly welcoming her in. "Here we are. Ladies first."

Stomping in with heavy feet, Lara dumped the boxes just a few feet from the door with a big sigh. Standing up straight, she shook out her arms and clapped her hands together, looking around the room with a bright smile.

"There! All done," she said.

"All done," Alan echoed, still with the lingering smile.

He gently placed his box of books with the other music boxes, taking a step back to think about how he'd set everything up again. It was only a fleeting thought, since his attention turned back to Lara, his beautiful girlfriend who spent the whole morning helping him move.

"Thank you for all the help." He pushed back the dark hair sticking to her face, hands drifting down to her shoulders to gently massage. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked, getting lost in her deep, ocean blue eyes. "There were a good amount of boxes."

Lara let out a small sigh, visibly relaxing at his touch.

"I feel good," she said. "And now I don't have to lift another box like that for a while."

"Nope. Not at least for another year, when we'll have another lovely morning date moving out again," Alan replied, keeping up with his gentle circular massages against her shoulder.

"And we'll move all of your books. Again," Lara said with a little laugh. "Maybe we can put them in smaller boxes next time."

He hummed. "Perhaps. Especially if I take some books to your place, little by little." Alan smiled, asking with a curious tilt of his head, "What do you think? It would certainly make moving easier."

Lara mirrored his head tilt to the side, her eyes glinting with an innocent excitement as she smiled.

"All of those books," she said. "Well, that's like giving me a little piece of yourself, Alan. They're basically a part of you."

Alan lifted his hand to his lips, pressing two fingers against them. "What's mine..." he began softly, pulling his hand away to press the same fingers against her own soft and lush lips. He smiled, getting lost in her eyes again as he softly finished: "...is yours."

Alan let his hand linger on her lips for a long second, pulling away to push a stand of her loose brown hair against ear. "Always remember that, Lara," he whispered, fingers cradling the edge of her jaw.

There was another reason Alan wanted to stay the summer.

Their two year anniversary was during the festival next week, and Alan had been hard at work, paying a smith to teach him how to make a special silver ring himself. It had been weighing heavy in his pocket the past week. Even now, it felt like it could fall out of his pocket any moment now.

Lara's smile spread wider.

"You always make it hard for me to say something sweeter," she said softly. "I wish I had your way with words. I love you too, Alan."

To which Alan would have affirmed that she was just as sweet and perfect as is, but the moment was stolen.

"Ewwwwwwwwwwwww," a nasally voice pitched from behind him.

At the same time, Alan and Lara turned their heads, coming face-to-face with a complete stranger who looked how they sounded.

A deathly pale, skinny man stood in the doorway with stringy, sandy hair pulled back in a thin ponytail. Large round glasses perched on his nose, and his face was blotchy from acne. A massively oversized too-warm sweater swallowed him, looking like it had to be creating his own internal steam room.

"They didn't tell me I'd be getting two roommates," the man said, looking at Alan and Lara with clear judgement. "I don't think that's allowed."

Right... roommates. Alan had a new dorm mate this year. And right away, Alan knew they were not going to get along.

He mustered a friendly smile, drawing away from Lara as he placed his hand against his chest. "Hello there. My name is Alan." He gestured to Lara, meekly waving at him. "This is Lara, my girlfriend." And to make this extra clear, he added with an amicable smile, "She will not be staying with us. It's just me. It's nice to meet you."

"Wish I could say the same," the man replied. "The name's Emilear. Emilear Falin. I don't like loud music and if you bring your girlfriend overnight I'll report you. Are we clear?"

Alan stared at him blankly for a second, processing. He slowly blinked, forcing the amicable smile to linger as he nodded, glancing at Lara. She was staring at Emilear a bit wide-eyed, plastering on a faint grin that was weakening.

"Of course. I also follow rules, Emilear," Alan replied, but didn't allow a response from his new dorm mate. He nudged Lara's side with his elbow. "Are you ready to go? We're running late."

"Oh, yes, of course!" Lara said with a forced smile. She hooked her arm into Alan's. "You're right. We wouldn't want to be late. Well, it was nice to meet you, Emilear. Goodbye!"

Just in case-- well, mostly because Alan at this moment no longer considered his dorm room a safe spot for music-- he grabbed his violin case, looping the strap against his free shoulder.

"Have a good rest of the day," Alan said politely, giving Emilear one last wave as they left without another word.

He shut the door behind him, slowly turning around to silently grin at Lara. She grinned knowingly in return.

"Might be a interesting next semester for you," she murmured.

"Lara," he called dramatically and patiently, offering his hand for her to take. She grabbed it with a giggle.

"Alan," she echoed, just as dramatic.

"Will you take my books to be your lawfully rent-abiding roommate tomorrow?" he asked, grin growing sillier as he gently squeezed her hand.

Lara smiled wide. "Only if you carry all of them this time," she said with a laugh.

Alan chuckled, bringing her head up to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles. "Deal." With a fond smile, he walked on, tugging her behind him. "Now, let's go. I told my brother we'd meet him for lunch."



The afternoon went by too fast. It was nice to spend time with Lara and family. It was nice to see her get along with his family members, and especially his brother. Or perhaps Alan was overthinking these details he already knew dear to his heart, considering the ring that grew heavier in his pocket day-by-day.

There were a few reasons why he decided to stay in Ruddlan this summer. One of the reasons was not exactly in his control.

Alan had one more year left of school. One more year, and then he'd officially be a professional violinist. How he stumbled into this position was mostly sheer luck, knowing the right people and being at the right place at the right time.

Alan was employed by Mayor Barlowe. In exchange for money and success, Alan gave her information. He had been doing this for the past few years, using his natural wit and charisma to talk to others. That was all he was doing, really. Talking.

That was what he reminded himself as he waited in her office, tapping his finger against his gray slacks. He came in earlier than normal, mostly because the summer schedule was new for him, and he didn't know how late she would be running with her normal schedule. Later than normal, it appeared.

Finally, the doors of her office opened, and Alan could hear and smell her before seeing her come in, her heavy steps rhythmically pattering in with the heavy air of smoke. He whirled around, the doors shutting behind Lady Barlowe as she stepped around the desk, taking a puff of her cigar. She sat down heavily in her chair, pursing her lips as she one-handedly flipped through a stack of files on her desk. Alan waited patiently in silence, once again tempted to make small talk, but knowing that it was better for her to navigate the conversations and topics at hand, no matter how big or small the conversation.

Finally finding the folder she must have had in mind, she set it aside on the middle of the desk with a sigh as she sat up straighter, and briefly adjusted the wrap on her head by tucking it over an ear.

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Alvaro," she said. "I hope your studies are going well for you?"

Alan smiled, inclining his head downwards in appreciation. "It's good to see you again, too, Mayor," he echoed. "My studies are going well. Summer classes are not in session, but I am practicing for the solo for next week's festival. Thank you again for all of your support."

"Of course," she said. "I look forward to seeing you play. You always deliver the most excellent quality of a performance."

"Those are very kind words. Thank you," he said sincerely.

"And, your partner," the Mayor continued. "She's doing well?"

Alan smiled fondly, nodding. "Lara is doing quite well. In fact..."

He and Mayor Barlowe were cordial at best, and he tried to avoid disclosing personal details, but considering this was a public event, and she was a prominent figure who gave him so much support...

"Well, it's still in the works," Alan continued with the lingering smile, "but during the festival, I plan on asking her to marry me. I hope this won't be too distracting for your festival, though."

At that, Lady Barlowe smiled - and her smiling was a rare sight. Normally, she was a very serious person, usually only smiling for show if it was at a public speaking event. But at this, she seemed actually happy for him. It brought Alan great relief and comfort.

"That sounds like a lovely idea," she said. "And I'm sure you won't be too distracting, Mr. Alvaro. There will be many people at the final festival day. If anything, it will be a highlight of someone's day to witness your proposal. Knowing you, I'm sure it'll be a touching moment for whoever is present. I wish you both well for your future together."

"Thank you, Mayor," Alan said just as sincerely, clasping his hands together on his lap. "I appreciate it. Your support and encouragement means a lot to me."

"And I, in turn, greatly appreciate your support for this city," she said, slipping into the straight-to-business tone that Alan was quite familiar with now. "You've been an invaluable resource to me, and I'm grateful for your latest report. I haven't had a chance to read it all in full, but I plan to in the evening. Would you give me a quick summation of your findings on Mr. Costa?"

"Of course, Mayor. It's my pleasure." Alan nodded, sitting up straighter as he thought back to last week as he typed up the report using the campus library typewriter. This was a helpful process that often forced him to commit the facts to memory, especially since Barlowe often asked for a summary anyways.

"I've been talking and observing Professor Costa for about a month," he began. "Unfortunately, I do not have direct ties with him. However, because he is an arts professor, and Lara coincidentally had a class with him last semester, I have been able to strike numerous conversations with him." Still on his lap, he gestured his hands openly to the report on her desk. "The paper contains topics of interest that pertain to his vocal opinions, mostly about Ruddlan politics. I confirmed with Lara that he is not shy to voice his opinions in class, but most of the topics mentioned were from my own questioning. Fortunately, he did not mention the position of mayor. They are mostly related to political and socioeconomic topics."

Barlowe nodded, and it was a nod with which Alan was familiar. It meant that his work was satisfactory, and she was happy with it.

"As always, you are thorough," she said. "I've always appreciated that about your work."

Reaching for the file she'd set aside, she slide it across the only clear portion of her desk. It stopped just at the edge, in front of him. A portion of the papers inside were sticking out, but not enough to read the contents.

"Consider Costa a closed case," she said. "I have a new assignment for you this summer."

Nodding, Alan wordlessly reached forward and slid the file off her desk. Setting it firmly on his lap, he opened the contents with Barlowe keeping a close eye on him, flipping through the pages to get a general idea of the next profile she was assigning him.

The bolded and underlined words were "Hawking Family" and "The King's Hand."

"We have guests in town," Barlowe said. "My sources inform me both groups have arrived today. The Hawking family is one of influence from Lettera. The mother, Gwen Hawking, is one of their ambassadors. With her husband Ray Hawking they have only one child, a son named Shane Hawking who goes to school here at the university for his masters in history. Have you heard of him?"

Alan shook his head, rifling through the papers that were referenced under Shane Hawking. Although the name wasn't familiar, Alan wondered if Lara would know him since Shane was a student in history as well.

"There should be portraits inside for visual reference," Barlowe went on. "But there's only one Shane Hawking attending Ruddlan University, so he will be difficult to miss. You understand already why he's your primary contact point for the Hawkings. I want to know all there is to know about his family - but especially his mother. Shane, too, is in line to be one of King Manning's advisors. The rest of the information we have is in the file. Use it to inform your strategy as always, and if you have any questions after this meeting, send them through Margaret at the front desk, and I'll get back to you in a timely manner."

Alan nodded along, listening attentively while also studying the sketch of Shane he was provided. He had some questions, though he was sure they would be answered in the thorough papers he was given. He just needed time to study them first.

"The next subject of interest is a new group of five young men and women, assembled out of the Moonlight Kingdom military for the king to represent him as his proxy. Coincidentally, they are all around your age. I need as much information as you can find on them, and don't skimp on any details. Their formation is called 'The King's Hand,' and its invention has only existed for the past year. Ruddlan is their last stop before they return to the Moonlight Kingdom, and they'll be here until the end of the summer to establish political relations. Get me a full picture of who they all are. Understood?"

Alan nodded again, glancing down at the give sketches of each member of the King's Hand. There was a lot to take in.

"Understood," he repeated.

"Take your time to do your research, but understand your window to procure this information is small," Barlowe reiterated. "You have only weeks for Hawking's parents, and only a few months for the King's Hand. I trust you'll be wise with your time."

This took a little more time to process since Alan was doing the mental math. These were high profile, prominent figures-- the first ones he'd ever been given. And the timeline was greatly compressed. It felt... well, unreasonable.

But this also meant Barlowe trusted him. A lot.

"I will do my best," Alan said with another incline of his head and a small smile. "With summer classes not in session, I will have plenty of time to work on this. When would you like your reports?"

"By the turn of the season," she said. "The first of Aurna."

That was three months. All summer.

"Understood." Alan closed the folder shut. "I'll work on this right away, Mayor. Thank you for trusting me with this."



Alan was serious when he said that he would work on this right away. He sat under a willow tree at the City Park near the coliseum, flipping through the pages that Barlowe gifted him.

There was a lot to study.

Strategy-wise, it made sense that Alan focus on Shane first, considering his time was more limited since his family was here for a short while. The notes on the Hawking family was impressively thorough, even for Barlowe. Considering that the Hawkings were ambassadors from Leterra, though... perhaps this shouldn't have been a surprise. Alan was too used to studying smaller cases like professors from the local university, not famous political figures from other countries.

His window only lasted a few weeks. This meant he had to get close to Shane fast. At least, close enough to warrant spending time with his family. This was no easy feat, but Alan was intrigued by the challenge.

Alan summarized his own notes in his notepad, noting that it was observed that Shane was very lonely and didn't visibly have friends or connections in Ruddlan. Interestingly, there were observations stated that Shane Hawking appeared to be open and receptive to connection. And in Barlowe's own handwriting, she noted: "Your friendly charm would go a long way here."

A slow pressure built in Alan's chest as he wrote down her words in his notes, exchanging the "your" with a "my."

And of course, there was even more extensive notes on Ray and Gwen Hawking, which Alan also diligently summarized notes on. All reports of Ray show that he was an incredibly endearing and friendly man, and he showed love to any person who displayed kindness towards his son. In comparison, Gwen was more careful and discerning, but she was not difficult to warm up to with sincerity-- especially if there was mutual interest and friendliness in politics.

Which Alan was not familiar with. He made a mental note to study up on politics before taking action. It seemed like the first move would center around Shane, which would naturally revolve to be centered on his parents.

He could do this. Alan could do this.

He stared at Shane's schedule listed out for his convenience, thinking.

Now, how could he set up a meeting with him in the most organic, most natural way possible...

Alan lost track of time. After writing down many ideas, he felt spent and drained, knowing he'd have to pick up this topic again tomorrow. Still, this was only half the task at hand here. On one hand was the Hawkings. On the other hand...

The King's Hand.

He closed the Hawking files, rifling through the King's Hand papers to study instead. He wouldn't take extensive notes right now, but he could at least know the names, faces, and personalities of the next profiles he would be working with.

There were five people total.

Carter Haddon was first on the list. He was affable, a true child of politics. His parents were the headmasters of the Defense Against Magic Guild. There were several disclaimers that he may be difficult to befriend and get close to, especially because he was used to being in the spotlight since childhood.

Next was Ingrid Price. She appeared to be polite and practically minded, prioritizing business over fun and connection with others. So, it was unlikely that Alan could obtain information from her as well. It was also noted that she was currently dating Tiberius Hemming.

Hellen Lannon was next on the list. She was more friendly and open, but recently suffered a great loss; her fiance, Jack Owen, passed due to the Resurgence. Because she was still grieving, it was unlikely she was open for connection.

Kirk Fayek was more promising. Even in his illustrations, Alan could tell he was intelligent, social, and friendly. Fluent in all Nye languages, he was a gifted and proficient linguist, able to converse with everyone from all walks of life.

And finally, there was Tiberius Hemming, a recent war hero. He was naturally quiet and was slower to speak, but otherwise responsive and reactive. It was also noted that he seemed troubled, likely from the lasting traumatic effects experienced from war.

Turning to a new page in his notepad, Alan numbered the King's Hand from most likely to connect to least likely.

1. Kirk
2. Tiberius
3. Hellen
4. Carter
5. Ingrid

Or maybe Hellen should be prioritized over Tiberius? Hm...

Tapping the edge of his pencil against his lips, Alan gave this some thought for a few more seconds, but didn't have much time to stew on this since he caught sight of a familiar figure approaching. His brother.

Quickly closing his notes, Alan waved, stuffing the notes in his bag and getting up on his feet. The wave turned to a disgusted frown as his brother approached.

"Ugh. Alistair, you smell terrible," Alan greeted, turning away.

Releasing a long-suffering sigh, Alistair sunk down to the grass, sprawling against the field. "I'm dead tired and feel like shit," he deadpanned.

"You smell like shit," Alan reminded him.

"Yeah, I was on shit duty with Shay today," Alistair said with a long sigh, rubbing his face. He peered up at Alan between his fingers. "What have you been up to? Lara?"

Alan shook his head. "Nah, she went home after lunch. I was at work."

"Oh, right." Alistair waved his hand in the air. "You're high class now, working with the big dogs in that mansion. Probably scrubbing their shitters too, right?"

"No, of course not," Alan scoffed. "I dust off their gold coins in their money dungeon."

"Mmhmm."

Alan huffed through his nose, staring down at his brother, dressed in all black that he sweat through, with smears of dirt along his arm. At least, Alan told himself it was dirt.

He already told his family that he worked with Barlowe, but he kept the details of the job a secret. No one knew his true job. When asked, Alan was happy to explain that he works for Barlowe as an event coordinator, mostly playing violin for high-profile small-venue entertainment. Which actually wasn't false, because he actually was in a quartet for this.

So, it was a half lie.

Alistair was just being sarcastic, though. As he always was. Alan nudged his limp foot with his own foot.

"What are you up to tonight?" he asked. "Are you heading home?"

"I should, yeah," he sighed, rifling through his hair with his fingers. "Shay wants to go out drinking. I told her that's a bad idea because we have to get to the coliseum early again tomorrow."

Alan hummed, pulling his bag over his shoulder. "If it's convenient, maybe you can stay at my dorm sometime. It's a lot closer."

"Oh yeah?" Alistair pursed his lips, squinting up at him. "Didn't you move today? Do you have a new roommate?"

"Yep." Alan grinned. "And you two will get along fine. I wouldn't worry about it."

To which Alistair only stared at him with suspicion, so Alan continued on.

"Are you going to the tavern tonight then?" he asked.

"I dunno. Maybe." His brother sighed. "We'll see."

Alan smirked, recognizing that wistful look. "Is Aisling going?" he teased.

Pressing his lips together, Alistair cast him a flat look. "Yeah, but." He waved away the thought with a few shakes of his head. "That's not important. We're just friends."

Yeah. Sure they were.

Alistair finally broke things off with Andrea five months ago, but Alan had a feeling the breakup would, once again, be a temporary absence. He respected Alistair and tried not to meddle in his personal affairs, but that woman was-- simply put-- crazy.

So, five months ago, he invited Alistair to join an outing with his art friends from university, where they banded together to drink wine and socialize. It wasn't Alan's intention, but to his surprise, Alistair and Aisling hit it off very quickly. Since then, they had been seeing each other frequently.

If only his brother had the spine to ask her out, though.

"Whatever. Do you want to come?" Alistair asked quickly, changing the subject.

Alan shook his head. "Nah. Have a drink in my honor, though."

He huffed a laugh. "I'd get wasted if I did that."

"Well, if Aisling won't carry your ass home, then I will," Alan teased, nudging his foot again then offering his hand for him to take. "You ready to go? You should shower... unless you want to repel everyone away from you."

"Tempting," Alistair sighed, reaching up to grab his hand, which Alan firmly took, heaving him up. Now on his feet, his brother lightly smiled, and they both bumped their fists over and above each other. "See ya later, I guess."

Alan smiled back, nodding. "Yeah. See ya later, I guess, bro."

Shane took a step back to examine the dining table. Silverware, check. Cloth napkins, check. Chairs for nine, check. Cheese platter, fennel and orange salad, and the pan-seared filet in madeira sauce, check. Baklava cooling in the kitchen, check. Wine glasses, check. What else was--

The wine bottles. That was kind of important.

Shane rushed down to the cellar, grabbing two bottles of red wine he thought would pair well with the meat before hurrying back. He set them down on the table, giving the setup a nod. Everything looked to be in place.

"We're ready for them," he called.

His mother left the parlor, looking the table over with an appreciative nod. "Looks perfect," she remarked. "Are you feeling good?"

Shane shrugged, glancing at the door. "All things considered, I could be feeling worse."

His mother smiled sympathetically, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Just remember nothing hinges on tonight," she said gently. "You don't have to like them. They can even walk away knowing you don't like them-- they probably expect you not to. What we're here to do is be friendly, get to know each other, and hopefully not say a word--"

"About politics," the two of them said together.

"You got it." She patted his back, then added in a teasing tone, "The only thing you need to worry about tonight is whether your father added too much balsamic to the salad."

"They'll be fine," his father protested from the kitchen. "They're soldiers."

Shane chuckled. "I guess out of all the things to fear, that's not too bad."

"See? You've got this." His mother smiled at him again before smoothing his flannel out at the shoulders and pulling her hands back. "Don't fear a thing."

Then, there was a knock at the front door. Four solid raps on the wood.

"I'll get it," Shane's father said excitedly, rushing out of the kitchen and pausing only to give both Shane and his mother a smooch on the forehead before hurrying to the door.

As the door opened-- just out of sight from the dining room-- he heard a jovial "Hello! Welcome in!" from his father and a chorus of greetings.

"Mr. Hawking!" a voice called out merrily. "Good to see you, sir. Oh, man, it smells amazing in here!"

"Please, call me Ray," his father urged, and Shane could see his hand peeking from around the corner as he waved them in.

"Ray. Ray of sunshine?" a tall, lanky man suggested as he walked into view. This man didn't seem to carry himself like one of the King's Hand. He must've been the Lieutenant Heart -- Fonzi-- his father had recounted talking to earlier.

"I try," his father said brightly. "Honorable ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Cypress."

"Aptly named," someone hummed out of view from behind a very tall woman with dark hair and another, shorter woman with bright red hair. They were both dressed nice but causal, with the dark-haired woman in a blouse and slacks and the red-haired woman in a simple blue dress with a short-sleeved jacket. From what Shane had heard, there were two women on the King's Hand-- Ingrid Price and Hellen Lannom. He didn't know much about either of them, such as who was who, except that Ingrid was a war strategist and Hellen was a weapons expert. The dark-haired woman's stare was fierce, but the other woman's expression was friendlier with a pleasant smile. He kept up the easy smile as she and the other woman entered.

The next man was of average height and dressed more formally in slacks, a button-up and a jacket that looked like it didn't keep him too warm. Shane thought it was a nice outfit. His brown hair was curly, although his beard was tamer and shorter, and he had brown skin with a scar over his brow that Shane decided not to look at for too long. He gave him a nod with a cordial smile, but a moment later his attention was side-tracked by the person after him.

Shane had never seen Carter Haddon, but he'd seen his parents before. Like them, Carter was short and broader with brown skin, but his dark hair was longer, pulled into a neat ponytail, and he had a mustache on his upper lip above a goatee. He was certainly the fanciest in a collared shirt and slacks, dressed for a fine meal. One Shane wished he hadn't been invited to.

Carter shot him a friendly smile when their eyes met. It took every ounce of Shane's will not to grimace and instead smile back like he meant it.

No politics at the dinner table. Not even for a bloodbath.

His father closed the door behind the last person to enter, a man who looked... absent. Everyone else-- regardless of how happy they seemed to be here-- at least seemed alert and aware of their setting, but the man didn't quite look at anyone even though he was smiling politely. He had slicked back auburn hair with no beard or mustache, and was dressed similarly as the brown-haired man, but his jacket looked warmer. Shane always felt a little bad for the tourists who didn't dress for the desert heat.

He was either Tiberius Hemming or Kirk Fayek. Hopefully introductions would clear names up.

"I'd like to introduce you to my lovely wife, Gwen," his father said warmly, slipping around the table to rest a hand on Shane and his mother's backs, "and my son, Shane."

Lieutenant Heart stepped up first, offering Shane's mother a hand to shake. She took it with a beaming smile, moving to shake the dark-haired woman's hand next.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Gwen, Shane," Carter said, with a bow of his head to each of them.

"You have a beautiful family," the red-haired woman said with a small smile, moving to find a seat. They all started to find a place at the table, and Shane found himself sitting next to his mother, with an open seat to his left.

"My name is Carter Haddon," Carter said, introducing himself first. It appeared he was the leader of the group, as he went on to introduce everyone else on their behalf, listing their names. "Hellen Lannom," he said, gesturing to the red haired woman who sat at the end of the table. "Kirk Fayek," he said of the man with the beard, who sat next to Hellen.

Carter stopped at the seat next to Kirk.

"Ingrid Price," Carter said of the dark-haired woman, who sat at his right.

"And of course, none of us would be here without Tiberius Hemming," Carter said, gesturing a hand to the man with the slicked back hair and too-warm jacket.

Quite honestly, Shane didn't need that reminder. He was sure his parents didn't either.

Tiberius only sat down at the open spot beside Shane, dipping his head down as a weak acknowledgement.

"And me," Fonzi spoke up, taking the seat beside Shane's father. "Fonzi Heart. I'm just some guy."

"Lieutenant Heart is a good friend of ours," Carter added, finally sitting himself. "We all practically grew up together. "Regardless of rank, we see each other like family. So it was only natural he came along."

"Of course. I'm so glad I ran into him at the door, I wouldn't have known he was there otherwise," Shane's father said with a grin to Fonzi. "As luck would have it, I got to invite him too."

"Lucky for me," Fonzi said with a laugh. "Wouldn't want to miss out on this!"

Everyone helped themselves to the plentiful food, with most people starting on the salad and cheese, but a few got servings of the filet at the same time. His mother informed everyone to save room for the baklava Shane had made for dessert. His father filled everyone's glasses with wine, and that must've helped the atmosphere, because conversations sparked after that. Minutes later, his father was having a lively conversation with Hellen, Kirk and Fonzi, and his mother was cordially getting to know Ingrid and Carter.

The only among their number who weren't actively involved in conversation, really, were him and Tiberius.

Shane turned his head to his left. Tiberius seemed invested in eating his food.

"What do you think of Ruddlan so far?" Shane asked politely after a moment.

Tiberius looked up from his plate, then shrugged. "It's warm," he said. "But I prefer it."

"It's a great place to escape winter," Shane said. "Not the recommended place to be for avoiding summer, however."

Tiberius huffed through his nose. "What brought you here, then?" he asked.

"Studies," Shane said. "I'm a graduate student here."

"What are you studying?" Tiberius asked.

"History, mostly," Shane said, feeling like it could be a poor choice to explain that his focus was in pre-calamity history. For obvious reasons.

Tiberius nodded, offering a faint smile. "A worthwhile pursuit," he said.

Shane smiled faintly back. "It's fulfilling. Ruddlan has connections to the whole world, too, so there's writing and sources from all over Nye. It lends well to different historical perspectives."

"It's definitely good to have a well-rounded perspective," Tiberius said with a small nod. "Lest our opinions be informed by an echo chamber. That's wise that you're giving yourself to being informed."

Shane kept his eyes on him as he reached for his wine. Strange. That was a more positive response than expected for this-- not the uncomfortable and hasty reply he had assumed he would get. If he were less careful, he could've forgotten who he was talking to.

"So, how long have you been studying in Ruddlan?" Tiberius asked after the brief pause.

"Just two years," Shane said. "I actually haven't left the city in all that time."

"How does Ruddlan compare to home?" Tiberius asked.

Shane let out an amused huff as he sipped his wine.

"It's far warmer," he said. "And far dryer. I miss the rain and the sea. I never thought I'd say this, but I even miss the blizzards."

"Well, you can take of all the blizzards from the Moonlight Kingdom," Tiberius said, poking at the food on his plate with his fork. "I'm thoroughly finished with them."

"I'll happily trade you those in return for a heat wave," Shane said sincerely. "If you'd like a drought, too, take some, we've got no shortage of those."

"Even with the rivers just outside town?" Tiberius asked.

"If you're still here in Sil, you might step outside and find one of them missing," Shane said. "It happens. I've been told not to worry, but I always get the thought that it might not come back this time. Such is desert life, I guess."

"Sounds... surprising," Tiberius said before taking a bite.

Shane hummed in agreement. "It takes some getting used to. I'd take a snowstorm over it any day, though."

"So long as you have enough shovels," Tiberius added.

Shane pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You know what, keep your blizzards. I'm not sure we have enough for us all."

"Hey, Tiberius," Carter called over the table.

Tiberius looked up from his plate. Shane cursed internally.

"Gwen was asking about how we all got to meet, and I was telling her you and I go way back," Carter said with a small smile. "We kind of have different memories of our first impressions from when we were kids. I always like hearing yours."

Right. Tiberius and Carter were actually friends, not just colleagues. Shane put on a politely interested expression as he took another sip of his wine to erase the sour taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the balsamic.

Tiberius looked surprised for about a half second, but then nodded.

"It was almost ten years ago, now, I think," Tiberius offered. "When I met Carter, he was a know-it-all. Still is."

Carter let out a laugh, and Ingrid smirked at that, which got a grin out of Tiberius. Shane's mother chuckled, turning toward Tiberius with a gentle smile.

"That's what I get for asking," Carter said with a chuckle.

"Of course, imagine him as a teenager," Tiberius said.

"We all thought we knew everything as teenagers," Ingrid said.

Whatever differences in opinion they had, Shane could get behind that broadly applicable statement, at least.

His mother chuckled. "Did he annoy you?"

"Me? Always," Tiberius said.

Carter gave Tiberius a flat look.

"It was mutual," Carter said.

"But you know what they say," Tiberius added. "Working through differences can make a friendship stronger. We've come a long way."

"And now, we're best friends," Carter said with an easy smile.

Tiberius smiled in turn.

"And now we're all working together," Ingrid said. "Funny how life works."

"Have you all been a friend group for a while?" Shane asked curiously.

Because... it wasn't like his experience was the best to draw on, but generally, he didn't know friend groups from childhood to stick together in a career.

"Well, we've all known each other collectively at least... what, would you say it's been probably eight years? Maybe give or take a year for one or two of us," Carter said, looking between Ingrid and James. "And then we went into the service all at the same time, and we've been friends ever since."

Shane's mother hummed, smiling softly. "It's good you've had each other throughout the life changes. That's a rare and special friendship you all have."

"I'd like to think so," Carter said with a small smile.

"Are you planning on seeing the city together?" Shane's mother asked. "There's plenty to do as a group."

"We're hoping to," Carter said with a smile.

"We're going to," Ingrid corrected. "You know, in-between the meetings and connecting with city leaders."

"Fonzi already has a whole plan laid out," Carter said. "A big list of things he wants to see, and we're going to be brought along."

"We've all contributed to the list," Ingrid added. "He's just the scribe."

"Personally, I'm interested in seeing what the griffin games are like," Carter said. "I heard all about them over the years, but I've never seen them."

"As tourist traps go, they're definitely an exciting one," Shane's mother said, before lowering her voice playfully like she was sharing a secret. "Fill your canteens with water before you go in or they'll rob you of everything you've got there. It will be hot."

"Noted," Ingrid said with a slow nod of understanding.

"Shane," Carter said, turning to him. "Have you ever been? You live here, right?"

Great. Shane nodded, putting on a friendly smile.

"I do live here. I went the summer I moved two years ago, mostly just to say I'd done it, but didn't go back the last," he said. "Maybe I'll go back this time."

He had no plans to, really, but he didn't want to sound that boring.

"Well, if you end up going," Carter said. "Let us know. It could be good to have a local show us around if you're up for that."

Instead of grimacing, Shane made his smile wider. "If you'd like that, I'd be happy to."

Damnit. He'd just told them he was down for stuff. Terrible mistake.

"Perfect," Carter said with a smile. "We'll let you know when we're going."

"Thank you. I look forward to it," Shane said, with such a sincere tone that he felt disguested at himself.

His mother resumed the conversation with Ingrid and Carter, and as their voice blurred together in his ears, Shane forced himself not to think about the sick feeling in his stomach. Did Carter know? Through the pleasant smiles and friendliness, did he know he was speaking to someone who hated the atrocities his family had committed? Did he know that Shane knew just how red the blood on his hands ran? Would he have been the one to go down to the river himself?

"Shane," Tiberius spoke up next to him. "Where's the washroom?"

Shane blinked, turning back to him. Right. This was their house. He was a host.

"Take the door behind Hellen, then take a right, and it's the second room on the left down that hallway," he said.

"Thank you," Tiberius said, getting to his feet as his eyes followed Shane's directions first. Without a word more, he weaved around the table and walked out of the dining room.

Shane nearly said bye. But that might've been weird. So he went back to his food, which he'd been largely neglecting. At least it was tasty.

The conversation at the table was really starting to blend together. Kirk had said something that had made his side of the table erupt into laughter, but Shane hadn't heard the joke. He was pretending to listen to his mother's conversation, but really, while their voices were clear, their words sounded muffled as though spoken underwater or from the other side of a wall. Hoping he didn't look too awkward by not joining in, he cut into his filet and took a bite as he watched, but did not listen to, the people talking at the table.

And then, somehow, above the noise of seven people talking, Shane caught the sound. A door softly creaking.

It wasn't just any creaking sound. The Cypress was full of them. Stairs, floors, cabinets, walls, and doors. When he'd first been alone here, Shane had thought this house was very, very quiet. It wasn't. It was full of noises, and each one sounded different. Over his time here, he'd quickly learned the difference between the floorboard squeaks of the parlor to the squeaks of any other room, between the screech the third-to-last step from the top down made (whiny and short-lived) and the last (drawn-out and loud), between the groan his bedroom walls made at night (like the house was sighing) and the shuddering rattle the library made instead. And the bathroom door didn't make that sound. No, that was a low creak, like the hinges were humming. What he'd heard-- a high-pitched creak, almost a whistle-- was, without a doubt in his mind, the back door that led to the garden between the house and the wall.

Shane frowned to himself.

Why did Tiberius lie about where he was heading?

Even if it wasn't for any bad reason, the principle bothered him. And if he was being honest with himself, he didn't like that a soldier of the Moonlight Kingdom could be wandering around his home. Even though he had technically set foot outside of it.

Shane counted to sixty in his head, eating as he did. When the time was up, he leaned over towards his mother and spoke softly so as not to draw attention: "I'll be back in just a minute."

She smiled and gave him a quick nod, and no one seemed to really notice or care when Shane slipped out the same exit that Tiberius had.

He didn't even bother walking in the restroom's direction, instead heading to the back door. Tiberius would've seen it before he'd gotten there, so at least he didn't have to snoop. Maybe that was comforting to know.

Shane pushed the door open, closed it behind him, then looked down at Tiberius with an unsurprised expression.

Sitting on the edge of the porch, looking out at the dark backyard and the starry sky, Tiberius was in the middle of shaking out a match.

He'd lit a small cigarette. It looked self-rolled.

Pocketing the shriveled, burnt-out match away, Tiberius took the time to breathe in a puff before turning to acknowledge Shane, looking over his shoulder.

Shane leaned against the door, fixing his gaze on the smoke hanging in the air.

"You didn't take that right," he said. "Thought so."

Tiberius looked away, blowing smoke out into the yard, away from them.

"Apologies," he said. "You're very observant."

"The back door and restroom door make different sounds." Shane shrugged. "It's fine. Better for you to smoke out here than in there."

Tiberus hummed, looking down at the cigarette in his hand.

"Figured as much," he said. "Would you rather I put it out?"

Shane shook his head. "I don't mind. Neither do my parents, or the plants, and Barlowe smokes too, so I can't see her having a problem."

Tiberius hummed again. He just nodded and took another puff, taking the time to slowly blow out the smoke.

"Didn't mean to take you from the dinner," Tiberius said.

"It's alright," Shane said, more honestly. "It's not really my scene anyway."

He waved his hand at Tiberius's cigarette.

"I'm guessing it's not yours either," he said, a bit more gently.

At that, Tiberius let out a long sigh.

"No," Tiberius said quietly. But the simple answer was said like a heavy weight, hefted out of him.

He didn't elaborate. Tiberius took another breath of smoke.

"How long 'til you think one of your folks looks for us?" Tiberius asked.

"I don't think they would for quite a while," Shane said. "They're having a good time, and they wouldn't worry too much. If either of us is still gone by dessert time, then they might start to inquire after us."

Tiberius nodded again in understanding, but said nothing more.

Was he planning on staying out here for a while then? Shane glanced over his shoulder, back at the house.

Well, he wasn't in a huge hurry.

"...I've read about you," he said quietly after a few moments, finally letting himself say something he wouldn't have spoken aloud at dinner.

Tiberius didn't move for a solid two seconds. Then he slowly looked over his shoulder at Shane, brows pinched together.

"What?" he asked.

"The events of the near-end of the resurgence are starting to be compiled and synthesized together," Shane said. "You're... a primary figure in them."

"You mean in the papers," Tiberius said, staring at Shane.

Shane shook his head. "No. Well, yes. But I mean primary sources."

Tiberius's stare grew more intense as it went through Shane. Though the rest of Tiberius's face wasn't very expressive, his eyes were transparent that this was news to him.

"The developments haven't made their way into history books yet," Shane said, wondering if he should've kept his mouth shut. "It's too recent for that. These are more like official recordings of that time, and everyone's only just started to agree on what truly happened. But they're starting to appear in academic libraries now." He paused. "Each version of events differs, but across all the ones I've encountered, you're always mentioned."

Tiberius's gaze drifted downward, and he nodded once before once again looking away.

"Sounds like you're all caught up, then," Tiberius said in a tone that was difficult to read.

Shane pressed his lips together, nodding quietly. He actually felt bad for the guy.

"I'm sorry," he said, a little softer. "I wondered if you knew. It's probably not something you wanted."

"No one who wants to be in a history book ends up in a history book," Tiberius said before taking another puff of smoke.

Shane shook his head. "No. It's always the ones who don't even realize they're doing it."

Tiberius just let out another sigh. A trail of smoke blew out in front of him.

"So... what's your focus?" he asked. "You're a history major."

Shane hesitated. Only because he wasn't sure what his answer could get him into.

"The pre-calamity era and the events that led up to it," he said evenly.

Tiberius said nothing for an uncomfortably long time. Then his head bobbed.

"Find anything worthwhile?" Tiberius asked.

Shane raised his eyebrows. What was his purpose in asking? Did he think none of it was worthwhile? Was he truly curious? If he was curious, did he want to know because he'd also wondered about the wiped record, or was this information he wanted wiped?

"I found some personal journals from the time," he said carefully. "They would've belonged to ordinary people writing about their daily lives, and they would've gotten lost for decades before being discovered among a long-dead ancestor's belongings. The details in them tend to be nebulous because people journaling don't always tell the full story, they skip to what matters and how it affects them. Sometimes they'll write an important entry and the rest of the pages are blank. It's an incomplete account." He shook his head. "From what I can determine, people at the time were... scared. They wrote about fear and not knowing what would happen next. There were disasters happening and they didn't understand them. And fear that exists across the minds of so many can shift into violent collective rage with the tiniest push."

He wanted to add that that still applied to today. But he didn't want to push his luck too far.

"I guess those things never change," Tiberius said quietly.

Shane tilted his head slowly, giving him a closer look as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Funny. It wasn't much, but it was yet again a more supportive response than he would've anticipated. It matched what he'd kept himself from saying, even.

"No," he said, just as quietly. "Not one bit."

And, without another word, Tiberius just blew more smoke.

Shane took a deep breath as he kept watching him. This... well, it left him with some questions. But he'd also just accidentally roped himself into the King's Hand's plans for the summer. It was possible the matter could rest for some time.

"Would you like me to leave you alone?" he asked.

Unsurprisingly, Tiberius didn't answer quickly. Instead, he reached over to a garden pot that sat beside the porch steps and pressed the smoking tip of his joint into the edge of the pot. After a second of smothering, it went out.

"I don't mind your company," Tiberius said. "Besides, you said the dinner party wasn't your 'scene.'"

Getting to his feet, Tiberius finally turned around to fully face Shane, briefly wiping the lapel of his jacket.

"Did you suspect I was up to no good when I stepped out here?" he asked, looking up and meeting Shane's eyes for the first time of the night.

Shane shook his head, pressing his lips together in a thin smile. "I have to admit I was only curious," he said honestly. "You don't seem like the kind of guy who would snoop around a host's home. Or get lost after receiving two directions."

Tiberius inclined his head.

"I supposed I could've been more forthcoming," Tiberius said. "But, I wasn't sure how... appropriate it'd be, to admit I was stepping out for a smoke."

He shrugged. "Appearances," he added.

"It wouldn't have raised any eyebrows between the three of us," Shane said. "My dad would've just implored you to be back for dessert."

"A fair request," Tiberius said, flicking his eyes briefly to the back door, then his feet. He looked like he was working through his next words in his head before he opened his mouth.

"I heard you got roped into being our tour guide," he said.

Shane couldn't help but chuckle faintly at that as he glanced back to the door. Thanks for that, Carter.

"I didn't quite think it through," he said. "I'll do it, though. I could use something to do this summer."

"If you were only being polite," Tiberius said. "You're under no obligation." He paused, once again flicking his eyes to the door. "My friends can be a little pushy, but they can take a 'no.'"

Shane was quiet for a moment.

He... well. No, he still didn't exactly want to. But he could recognize it was a good idea, and not just for reasons of politeness. Once his curiosity got piqued by something, it was hard for him to forget about it and not delve in further. And chances were that if there was more to Tiberius than met the eye, the same was also true of his companions.

If Shane was honest with himself, too... he hated the idea of being around Carter and having to keep up a friendly act. But he couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn more about the Haddons.

Several of them even seemed like they might not be such bad people, if he could somehow separate them from what they did. That was an effort he could make.

"It's alright," he assured Tiberius. "If anything, I'm just not used to being asked for that or invited along. I'd be glad to be of help."

Tiberius nodded slowly.

"Alright," he said. "It'd be good to have--"

A split second before the back door opened, Shane heard the beginnings of the signature creak.

Ingrid stepped out onto the porch. Her eyes snapped to Tiberius first.

"Tiberius," she said in a sharp tone, but as she closed the door behind her, she saw Shane leaning against the wall.

It seemed that, for a second, he'd caught the beginnings of what Ingrid thought would be a private interaction. Shane tried not to let any uncomfortable apprehension show on his face.

"Sorry," Ingrid said quickly, adjusting her tone to something far more agreeable. "They're about to serve dessert."

"Well, we wouldn't want to miss that," Tiberius said, shooting a glance Shane's way as he walked for the door.

Shane smiled faintly, falling into step behind him. "Hopefully it's good."

Acting as dedicated coachman to a group of too-young ambassadors just a year after these same kids won a war was not exactly where Caspar might've seen himself decades before. But, here he was, dying in the desert heat on their last leg of some political tour to strengthen the kingdom's international relations. And, honestly, he really wouldn't have it any other way.

In one way, constantly traveling by horse-drawn carriage was similar to steady traveling on a ship: you get off after months of travel, still stuck with sealegs for days after. Another similarity was, you were stuck in tight quarters with your crew with very few places to seek refuge from one another.

It always made him fond and wistful, all these kinds of little similarities. And Caspar was able to bear the discomfort of wagon-travel that much better.

The only one drawback he wasn't able to put much of a positive spin on? The heat. Furthermore, the lack of any substantial bodies of water for miles. Even just looking at what rough, shrub-like vegetation made him feel especially parched. How did anything survive this? Why would anyone want to come out all this way-- much less from a deep and lovely sea-- just to dry up among the dunes?

Well. Okay, the saving grace of the vast desert was the hub of the world-- and thus shaded or indoor places where you could take refuge from the heat.

Once he'd docked both carriage and horses, he made a point to scope the estate and acquaint himself with the residing staff. Those conversations were a little uncomfortable, but only because it was the first time with these nice folks. They were quite welcoming, really, and didn't mind Hugo's quiet company around the mansion either. Good roommate material, Caspar thought optimisitically.

The second evening, however, he seriously needed to recover from both the long days of travel and the persisting heat. From the servant's halls, he found an entrance to the cellar beneath the house, below ground level. He was really happy to find that the cellar was the coolest point in the entire building. Sitting by the small porthole-sized window, Caspar rested for awhile amidst the stored fruit and the dragons' blessings.

Still feeling the rocking of the carriage as he sat, with his dependable dog slumbering peacefully with his large head resting on Caspar's lap, apple in one hand and his sketchbook in the other, Caspar actually started to feel the most at home since they left the south. Since he left the Isles, really. It almost felt like resting in the darkened hull of the Kestrel, just before a new day had fully dawned. All was quiet...

Until the front door on ground level aggressively opening first announced the return of the King's Hand. Blinking himself more awake, Caspar suppressed a frown.

One undeniable drawback of the cellar: no doors, meant no privacy. For neither him, nor the kids upstairs if they wanted it.

Over the buzz of post-party excitement, Caspar could identify everyone's individual gaits. In descending order, Kirk's, Miss Hellen's, and Carter Haddon's steps were always heaviest. Which coincided with, their voices tended to also be the loudest, usually in that same order. Caspar found that consistency amusing more than anything.

Roughly carving off a big chunk of apple, he held out the piece for his dog beside him. Just as he started to manage tuning out the conversations overhead, though, Miss Ingrid's voice suddenly cut through the chatter. And not in just her usual grumpy tone. There was definitely a more serious edge as she harshly demanded:

"Seriously? You couldn't wait until it was over?"

And the room fell dead-silent, just like that. The tension seeped through the floorboards and could be felt in the cellar too.

It was only Hugo, but Caspar instinctively suppressed a frown. The way she spoke lately only seemed to only grow in disdain.

"Really? You're not even going to talk to me?" Ingrid said, the edge growing sharper.

The lack of immediate response quickly indicated, this had to do with Tiberius.

"Ingrid, I think--" Fonzi started, but stopped short. Then he backed off a second later with: "Alright, alright."

And Caspar could picture the icy stare down his piping up had earned him.

"You need to get this under control," Ingrid said harshly.

"It was ten minutes," Tiberius said quietly, but firm.

"We were guests, Tiberius," Ingrid said. "It was rude."

"Shane said he was fine with it," Tiberius defended.

Well, Caspar did frown at this. What had he done that was rude? That wasn't like Tiberius at all.

"People smoke all the time," Fonzi interjected.

Oh.

Wait, since when...? Their voices started overlapping.

"It wasn't like he did anything bad, Ingrid," Hellen offered.

"I didn't ask you," Ingrid shot back.

Oh, Miss Ingrid...

"Guys, let's not intervene in their relational quarrel," Kirk said steadily.

"Excellent idea," Ingrid said cooly.

"Let's take this upstairs, then," Tiberius said.

And for a tense few seconds, there was silence. Then, their hurried footsteps joined together as they walked down the hall and up the stairs. Unfortunately, they stopped short of the second floor. Their footfalls ended in the stairwell, and their voices proceeded to carry down to the basement even clearer, despite the hushed tones.

Oh, dear. Caspar had to move.

"We're trying to establish a good, clean reputation," Ingrid started, already getting into it. "If it was just the smoking I could let it slide, but this is more than just--"

Beckoning his dog along with a quiet click of his tongue, Caspar pocketed his sketchbook and braced himself for an awkward pass-through.

"I know you don't like it when I smoke," Tiberius offered softly.

"It's not just that. I don't like you--" Ingrid stopped abruptly when she saw Caspar as the bottom of the steps.

With a deep grimace, Caspar leaned a little more into view-- more for Tiberius's sake, since his back was facing him-- and offered an awkward salute. Hugo chuffed his own greeting from behind him.

The two of them stared at Caspar, clearly caught off guard and stuck in the tension of their conversation. Tiberius managed the barest of not-quite-smiles.

Caspar stiffly turned and hastened out into the main living space of the house.

Their eyes following him bored holes into his back. The silence left in his wake was even worse.

Well, that was the furthest thing from comfortable.

Fleeing quickly, he made it to the front sitting room, where the others were gathered. They looked at him with brief surprise, and Kirk flashed him a compassionate look of understanding, clearly putting two and two together.

"Ah, Caspar," Carter said, sitting on the couch. "Good to see you."

Quirking his brows, Caspar offered a fleeting, thin smile in acknowledgment to all. "Good dinner?"

"The dessert was divine," Kirk said, leaning back into the couch opposite Carter. Hellen sat down beside him.

"Apparently Shane's a professional chef," Fonzi said, flopping down next to Carter. "Or, at least, I think he should become one. Because I could eat that baklava for days."

Carter reached over and playfully patted Fonzi's stomach. "Maybe then you'd finally fill out some," he teased.

"Hey!" Fonzi laughed lightly, pushing Carter's hand away.

"What did you have for dinner, Caspar?" Hellen asked, looking to him more attentively.

Caspar's next smile came easier, and more genuine at her kind prompting. "A good portion of meat and carbs," he answered, folding his hands behind his back and standing at attention on instinct. "The apples here are really crisp."

Hellen's expression of concern softened into a small smile of relief.

"Good to hear," she said.

Quietly, Caspar gestured to the spot beside her in query. Hellen nodded in invitation, which he gladly accepted.

"First impressions of the Hawkings?" he asked, sinking heavily into the cushions next to her. He figured such nice-looking furniture would provide more support, but. Oh well.

"Really, really, nice," Hellen said.

"I feel like I got adopted into the family, and all I did was talk to Ray," Kirk said.

"It was honestly a very pleasant evening," Carter said. "Good food. Good company.

"Guys, we should totally invite Shane when we go out tomorrow," Fonzi piped up, sitting up straight at the revelation. "I bet he'd know all the good drinks to get, too."

"Really?" Hellen asked. "He didn't strike me as a heavy drinker..."

"He's a local, Hellen," Fonzi said like it was obvious.

"That doesn't mean he knows everything," Hellen said with an amused huff.

"I agree with Fonzi," Kirk said. "We should invite him. Regardless of the suggestions he may have to offer, I think he'd be good company. Seems like a sweet guy, though I'm sad I didn't actually get to talk to him much."

At that, all of their heads seemed to gravitate to the hall, where Ingrid and Tiberius disappeared to. Delayed, Caspar followed their glances, sensing a revelation afoot.

"Guess we'll find out later if Tiberius and Shane hit it off or not," Carter murmured.

Caspar looked back to the young Haddon. "None of you got to talk with the kid, aside from Tiberius?"

"I spoke to him a bit," Carter said. "But he was more of the quiet sort. He and Tiberius spoke for a bit, though, and then they disappeared together for some time. I guess Tiberius went out for a smoke and Shane followed, so that's what Ingrid's on about."

Huh. So Carter knew about the smoking. Interesting.

"I don't know why she makes such a big deal out of it," Hellen said, quieter.

Caspar cast Hellen a questioning look.

"I mean, she doesn't get on me for drinking," Hellen said. "But of course she gets on his case for smoking. Like there's a difference."

Well. There was a difference, but not in the ways Hellen seemed to be thinking.

"She's probably just concerned," Caspar murmured softly. Which he really only partially believed himself.

"Well she has a hell of a way of showing it," Hellen said under her breath.

To which, no one seemed to have a quick reply to. There was an awkward silence.

Gently, Caspar bumped his elbow to hers. "She's more of a 'tough love' kind of lady, anyway," he offered quietly, trying to ease the tensions.

Then, in an attempt to move things along, tilted his head to peer around Hellen at Kirk and said, "You should invite out the young Mister Hawking, then. He might appreciate another opportunity to talk with you, too."

"It's done, then," Kirk said with a smile. "I guess I can go over tomorrow morning and ask him to join us, if he doesn't have other plans. I know his parents are in town, so, if not tomorrow night, we could plan for something else."

Caspar grinned fondly. "There you go," he said encouragingly.

"Maybe he can make us food again," Fonzi said.

"Fonzi," Kirk, Hellen, and Carter all said chidingly in unison.

Fonzi held up his hands innocently. "I'd pay him!" he defended.

"Caspar," Hellen said, looking over to him. "Would you come too? We'll need a driver, anyway."

He was about to contest that he probably shouldn't, he stopped short to consider that. Yes. They could use someone to keep an eye.

Caspar especially wanted to keep closer tabs on Hellen and Tiberius. So he nodded and softly smiled with an easy, "Of course."

And just as it looked like Carter was about to open his mouth to change the subject, they all fell quiet when they saw Tiberius enter the doorway of the sitting room. His face was worn and weary.

"Oh, hey, Tiberius," Kirk said. "We were just talking about inviting Shane with us tomorrow evening. Does that sound good to you?"

Tiberius nodded.

"Sure," he said. "Go for it."

No one said anything else.

Caspar hauled himself back to his feet. Hugo quickly filled the vacancy he left and plopped down beside Hellen. Hellen smiled softly, reaching down to pet the dog's head.

When it started to feel like they didn't know what else to even say, he eventually cleared his throat and nodded to the entrance in beckoning to Tiberius.

"Can I borrow you for a sec?" he asked.

Tiberius glanced at the others, but bowed his head in response. Caspar dipped his head likewise, and turned on his heel.

"We won't be long," he said by way of excusing himself.

Tiberius silently followed behind as Caspar led the way out the front door. A chorus of quick farewells followed them until he eased the door shut behind them.

Caspar was hit instantly by a wave of heat, and thus regret. This was fine.

From the front steps of the manor, they had a clear view of the grand Barlowe Mansion. It still felt a bit surreal, residing so close to figures of prominence, even temporarily. Just one of those things he'd never get accustomed to, he supposed.

He took them along a side path that cut through the green of the lawn. They passed under the sitting room windows-- he wondered how much of them the rest of the King's Hand could see-- and ducked around to the side of the house, where it was shaded.

Tiberius stayed quiet as he trailed behind. Which was completely fine. Caspar didn't want to give him a talking to or anything. A check-in, eventually, but a talking to wasn't necessary.

"It's nothing serious," Caspar eventually explained, glancing back over his shoulder to the younger man. "Just figured some fresh air would be nice."

Tiberius looked up at Caspar, searching his eyes for a moment. Then he let out a long sigh. Nodding in what appeared to be agreement, he relaxed a bit and leaned against the wall behind them, folding his arms.

"Thanks," was all he said. Quiet as ever.

As far as Caspar could tell, Tiberius had always been more a quiet type. The younger man visited Caspar's home on occasion when off-duty throughout most of his training years. Not enough to really get to know him past basics, unfortunately. But it was probably because they didn't see each other as regularly, that the changes war left on Tiberius always felt marked.

The letters also confirmed what Caspar saw-- and could deduce by his own experiences.

Caspar himself was never much of a talker. Yet lately, he'd found himself initiating all sorts of discussions far more than he had in his own years of service. Especially whenever it was just him and Tiberius.

Caspar didn't mind it, though.

When it felt like they'd both recovered long enough from group chats, he leaned back beside Tiberius and gently bumped his elbow. "How're you feeling, bud?"

"Right now?" Tiberius asked faintly.

Caspar inclined his head in answer.

Tiberius sighed, keeping his arms folded over his chest as he stared down at his feet.

"I wish I could be someone... anyone else," he answered.

Drawing in a breath, Caspar nodded sadly.

"I'm going to have to break up with her," Tiberius said after a long pause.

Oh.

Caspar glanced between the young soldier and the window above their heads. Not quite surprised, since all the signs pointing that way had been steadily mounting. The swiftness of the admission just caught him kind of off-guard.

"How long have you been thinking about it?" he quietly prompted.

Tiberius didn't look up.

"A while," he admitted softly. "I just don't think I can make her happy. Not in the way she wants me to."

Miss Ingrid's dissatisfaction was hard to miss.

Tiberius, on the other hand...

Caspar felt a little heavier with the terrible reality of, none of these young men and women were fully equipped to deal with the aftermath of a war-- and were saddled with even more responsibility than they probably should have, far too soon after. And they were all silently suffering for it.

"And..." Caspar debated on how to phrase this. Then opted for, "What about you?"

"What about me?" Tiberius asked, looking up at Caspar with sad eyes.

"Does she still make you happy?" Caspar softly furthured.

At that, Tiberius quickly looked away, his expression saddening even more.

"No," Tiberius said, barely audible.

Awh...

"I'm sorry to hear that," Caspar murmured.

"It's fine," Tiberius said. "I think it's been that way for a while. I don't think we're doing each other any favors by delaying the inevitable."

Tiberius let out a heavy sigh.

"I just... have to find the right time to do it," he said quietly.

That was always quite the challenge, in and of itself. Timing.

"Hey," Caspar quietly called for his attention again.

Tiberius cast Caspar a meek look.

"You're doing a really brave thing," Caspar said, quirking a small, saddened smile. "I'm proud of you."

Tiberius pressed his lips together in a small frown, and he looked down again.

"I don't want to," he said quietly. "But I know I have to."

Tentatively, and despite the terrible desert heat, Caspar held up an arm in a quiet offer of comfort. With a small bow of his head, Tiberius slowly leaned into Caspar's chest, reaching around to hug him weakly. Wrapping both arms around him, Caspar held him in a loose but warm embrace. Wishing there was more he could do to ease his pain.

"I know, buddy," he murmured, "and I'm so sorry."

No matter how many times Shane had urged Shrimp not to, the cat was always insistent on trying to drink from Shane's coffee. It made for a slightly awkward drinking experience to hold a mug in one hand and to gently wrangle the cat in his lap away from it with the other while sitting on the couch. Shane sighed affectionately as Shrimp batted his face in protest.

"Come on, you wouldn't even like this stuff," he told the cat.

He received another smack from a soft paw and a displeased mrrp in response.

"Do you think he'd like some cream?" his mother suggested, lowering her newspaper to smile at him. She was seated on the couch opposite him, looking comfortable with her legs crossed. Next to her, his father was resting his head on her shoulder, his eyes on the newspaper. Shane knew he wasn't really reading, though, because of the dreamy smile on his face. The news didn't make him smile like that. Family did, though.

"I'm sure he would," Shane said, as Shrimp seemed to lose interest in the coffee and curled up on his lap. "But now I hear it's not good for cats? Then again, I can't see how it'd be worse for him than coffee."

"Poor little thing," his mother sighed. "He'll never know what a coffee rush feels like."

Shane huffed a laugh. "Dragons above, none of us would ever know rest afterwards if that happened."

There was a knocking from the door. Shane and his mother both glanced towards the entryway, which wasn't quite visible from the parlor.

"Were you expecting anyone?" Shane asked.

"Not today," his mother said, rubbing his father's back as she turned her head to him. "Want to get that, dear?"

His father pouted playfully, leaning against her a little more. "And leave you, love?"

"Oh, I'll get it," Shane said with a smile and an amused roll of his eyes, setting his mug on a side table. He petted Shrimp before gently moving the cat aside, but Shrimp clung back to his side as he started to stand-- okay, alright, he was going along for the ride.

Shane cradled the cat as he made his way to the door, briefly switching to holding him in one arm as he opened the door. He was faintly surprised to see Kirk again less than twelve hours after they'd parted ways last night. Kirk's outfit was different-- he looked a little more casual than he had at dinner with a short-sleeved maroon button-down shirt, brown slacks, and simple dress shoes-- but the warm, friendly smile was familiar.

"Hey, Kirk," Shane greeted warmly, returning the smile.

"Shane, it's good to see you," Kirk said. "Not that it's been very long," he added with a small chuckle.

Shane chuckled as well. "Long time or not, it's good to see you too."

"Hey, so," Kirk said, getting right to the silent question in the air as to the reason for his visit. "We were talking after the dinner last night and we thought, well, if you're going to be joining us at the games in two weeks, we might as well get to know you more, if you're up for it. We all agreed that it was a really great time and we enjoyed the meal immensely -- delicious baklava by the way --" he added, pointing two fingers at Shane. "But, anyways. To the point. Would you like to join us this evening for what Fonzi has hereby dubbed 'Tavern-Hopping?'"

There was a brief pause, before Kirk added: "We're just going to go all across the city checking out the taverns, really." Leaning in slightly, he said a little quieter: "Forewarning, though, some of these guys can really hold their liquor. But it's all a good time."

Leaning back again, Kirk flashed another welcoming smile. "So, does that sound of interest to you?"

Shane felt his smile spread with pleasant surprise. "Really?"

"You've got to say yes, Shane!" his father called out encouragingly. "Go have some fun!"

Shane let out an airy laugh, glancing over his shoulder in the parlor's direction before looking back at Kirk, still smiling.

"That's really nice of you guys," he said, wondering who had come up with the idea. "I'd be happy to join you all."

Kirk smiled brighter. "Really?" he asked, then laughed a bit at himself. "Okay, great. I'll let them know, then. We'll probably get together and head out around 1800, since we're making a longer ride to one end of the city and working our way in from there. Does that work for you?"

"Sounds perfect," Shane said with an eager nod. "And smart, too. Best not to be too far from home after a long night of drinking."

"You understand," Kirk said with a smirk, waggling a finger at Shane. "See, we planned this out intentionally."

Shane grinned softly. "It's good you're all being responsible. Who's the designated carriage driver?"

"Oh, it's our driver Caspar," Kirk answered. "You'll get to meet him tonight. He's a real sweetheart. He's been with us through all of our travels. He's like..."

Kirk looked up in thought, pursing his lips as he searched for words.

"Like a very caring uncle," Kirk said. "A very gentle man. I'm glad he got stuck with us. I'm sure you'll like him."

"I'm sure I will," Shane said warmly. "It'll be nice to meet him and see you all again. I'll try to keep up with you guys on the drinks to the best of my ability."

"Hey, there's no pressure to do that," Kirk said, holding up a hand. "We're inviting you for the company, not the competition."

Shane chuckled. "Good to know. I appreciate it." He smiled a touch wider, trying to show he was sincere. "Thanks for extending the invitation."

"Of course," Kirk said, and then his eyes dropped to Shrimp, who was curled up in Shane's arm. "Is that your cat?"

"Yeah!" Shane lifted up Shrimp a little more, and the cat, ever the attention-seeker, looked up at Kirk with big green eyes and extended a paw towards him. "Meet Shrimp. He's very friendly."

With an eager smile, Kirk reached out and scratched Shrimp under his chin and around his neck. The cat purred delightedly.

"Hey there, little guy," Kirk said to Shrimp. "Shrimp is kind of a funny name for a cat."

Shane laughed at himself, looking down at Shrimp. "It's a bit of a long story. But the name's stuck."

"Well, we'll have plenty of time to chat tonight," Kirk said, giving Shrimp one last affectionate pat on the head. "Tell me then."

Shane smiled again. "That's a great idea. I will."

Well, Kirk had meant it when he'd said they'd be tavern hopping. They'd jumped ship several times already and were on their fourth tavern already. If Shane had been keeping track correctly, they were now at... the Three Seasons Tavern? He knew they were near the north gate, somewhere in the city center. Honestly, he hadn't read the sign as they'd walked in, but he'd heard this place was famous for its chicken legs, and that was what they'd been eating with their drinks, so he figured that was where they were.

He felt so unused to this kind of liveliness. The tavern was packed, the live music was loud, and everyone was talking. He'd found himself chatting with all of them at at least one point, and he'd surprised himself by turning chattier than he'd thought he would be. Their group felt different after a few drinks-- Hellen was now talking everyone's ears off, and Tiberius and Ingrid weren't talking to each other at all. Weird. He tried to think back to Ingrid's entrance on the porch, but if there was a hint there as to how the two of them were acting this way now, it was just barely eluding him. Well, at least everyone else was having fun. Shane even thought he could be having fun right now.

"So you've got to tell me about how you got started as a history major," Kirk said with a bright smile, clearly engaged. "Why history? What about it draws you in?"

Shane turned away from the rest of the tavern to flash him a smile.

"I guess I've just always been interested by the way our present is the result of every single event and action that's ever happened," he said, with some excitement. "Human history is a constantly unfolding chain reaction where everything matters, because everything goes on to affect something. The most significant historical events can be set in motion by the tiniest decisions." He shrugged. "I think it's hard to have a complete understanding of the present without understanding the past first. Without knowing how we got here, it's hard to know where we're going. I've always been naturally curious about historical patterns and how they shape the reality we live in."

Kirk nodded emphatically.

"It takes a certain level of situational awareness to spot those patterns," Kirk tagged on. "They happen on a small and a worldwide scale. I find they're easier to spot when it's closer, with the people you know. With world events, its so much more challenging to see what's happening in front of you. Not until it's over."

Shane nodded rapidly in agreement. "People on the brink of making history rarely know it's happening until we collectively look back on it and realize how significant the thing they did was. I don't want to be historically famous-- I think that comes with too much baggage, in my opinion-- but I would like to realize it in the moment if I would be that unfortunate."

Kirk laughed in agreement, but then lifted up his glass with a sigh.

"Here's to none of us being in that situation," he said. "Hopefully."

Shane lifted his glass as well. "I'll drink to that," he agreed, and they clinked glasses before each taking a sip.

As Kirk set his cup down, he glanced out into the tavern. They were seated on the second floor loft, and it was left open with high railing to look down at the first floor. The stage was in clear view, and a full band played busy, upbeat music. Some patrons had begun to gather in front of the stage to dance.

"It's nice getting out like this," Kirk said after a small pause, looking over to Shane with a resting smile. "Honestly, most of our time up 'til this point has been spent in meetings or on the road. This is our last stop before we go back home. I'm glad we get to spend more time here. Explore the city a bit."

"I can imagine as crowded as this place feels, it's a lot roomier than being on the road in that carriage for months," Shane said with a chuckle as he gestured around. "And there's never been a meeting that wasn't at least a little stuffy."

"Gods, tell me about it," Kirk said with a sigh. "Listen, I can talk with people all day. And I'll be nice about it, too. But some of these people, some of them even just figureheads, they're such stiffs. I'm like, can we not have a normal conversation? Just as people? Forget the titles? It's exhausting."

Shane let out a soft laugh. "My mother keeps a table of all the people she's ever met with. It's very simple. One side of the table says "stiff" and the other says "not stiff". Guess which side is longer."

"The stiff side, for sure," Kirk said.

Shane faked surprise. "However did you guess?"

Kirk sat up a little straighter, pretending to be proud as he smirked.

"Oh, you know," Kirk said. "You just know things when you have personal experience."

"Well, don't keep it to yourself," Shane said with an amused smile, taking another sip of his drink. "Enlighten me."

Kirk twirled his hand over his drink.

"What is it you'd like to know?" he asked. "Ask me anything."

"I've got to hear the story of the most uptight official you've had the misfortune of meeting," Shane said. "I'll have to see what my mother thinks of them."

"We can compare notes," Kirk said with a chuckle. "I think, so far, the worst one I've met was King Margrave. Controversial, I know. He rules your kingdom and all."

Shane cracked a smile. "Yeah, he's the second name on my mother's 'stiff' list. Both of us would agree."

"He's just--" Kirk held up his hands, gesticulating in the air. "So intense. I don't know how a person can hold so much tension and not explode."

Kirk had just barely finished his syllable when a "Oh shit!" rose up from the other end of the table. They both turned their heads to see a weary-looking Tiberius stare down at his now wine-stained sleeve before rising to his feet, followed by Fonzi. After he announced he'd be back after he cleaned up, the mellow atmosphere returned surprisingly fast, before Tiberius was even gone in the crowd.

"The man has some serious anger issues," Shane agreed as Kirk looked back. "I might be working under him one day, and that won't be the most fun. But as long as he doesn't explode, he might be bearable."

"I guess that's the catch of any job," Kirk said with a small sigh. "You don't always get to choose the people you work for."

He paused, pursing his lips.

"Well, I suppose you can," he amended. "If you quit. But-- you know what I mean." He spun his hand again and rolled his eyes a bit at himself before he took another sip and set his cup down. "There, that'll help," he joked.

Shane chuckled, finding the awkwardness sweet. "How are you doing on your liquor?"

"Things are starting to get a little wobbly," Kirk said, raising a hand. "But while I'm sitting, it's great." He glanced at the water pitcher on the table. "Might be a good idea to... balance things out."

"Get yourself a round of water," Shane agreed.

"Rounds of water for us both, then," Kirk said, grabbing the pitcher and bringing it over. As he aimed for Shane's cup first, he missed a little bit and spilled some water on the table.

Letting out a laugh, he corrected it quickly, tapping the edge of the pitcher to the glass for an exact aim.

"Oops," he said. "We're all making a mess over here. At least water doesn't stain."

Shane shook his head in amusement with a smile. "History repeats itself."

Kirk chuffed at that, and poured himself a glass of water next.

"Unfortunately, I think Fonzi's hoarded all of the napkins," Kirk said.

"Tiberius seemed more in need," Shane said, taking a sip of his water. He hoped they'd be back soon.

"So, Kirk," he said curiously, looking back at him as he set down his glass. "You're an alchemist, right? What's that like? It sounds like it takes some brains."

Kirk huffed in amusement. "Brains, sure," he said. "But mostly, you just get to play in a lab all day. It's kind of fun, actually."

Shane grinned softly. "What do you like about it?"

"Well, for one, I'm getting paid to experiment," Kirk said. "Which, I love. Getting to discover things. What happens when you put different things together... figuring out what's possible. What science is capable of. It's so fascinating. Especially with all of the unique compounds out there. Nye's full of so many... plants, rocks, everything... and possibility's wound in every little thing. We haven't even fully explored what everything can do."

Adjusting in his seat, Kirk turned to face Shane more squarely, holding out his hands in some kind of appeal.

"Take warnan for example. For decades people thought it was just a weed, but then someone had the brilliant-or possibly stupidly desperate idea to make it into a tea. Now it's a natural sleep-aid and even helps manage stress for some people. But just recently -- and this isn't public, yet, since we haven't released the research yet while it's still being compiled -- we learned that the roots also have unique properties. It's like two opposites exist in the same plant. The leaves of the weed make a calming tea, but when the roots are boiled down and liquified, they become a powerful, energizing --" Kirk laughed in an excited burst. "It's like a potion! Hell, it's two-times stronger than coffee!"

"Really?" Shane said with open excitement. "How safe for consumption is it? Because I can't seem to drink enough coffee."

"That's what we're still testing," Kirk said with another small laugh. "It's-- yeah, that's why it's not public. We don't quite know yet what the possible dangers or limitations are insofar as consumption and quantity goes. Wouldn't want someone getting carried away with it when we don't know the risks yet."

"Well, I hope to hear from you one day that it's safe," Shane said with a laugh. "It sounds like it could be a miracle drink." He paused. "Unless it tastes bad."

"That's another drawback," Kirk said with a bit of an embarassed, almost silly smile. "It... it's very strong. Bitter, in a way unlike coffee. It's more earthy in taste. But hey, maybe it can be done up nice with sugar and cream and you won't even taste it."

Kirk waved a hand dismissively. "Results inconclusive," he said. "I'll get back to you later on that."

"I can't wait to hear," Shane said sincerely. "May the dragons bless your work, you're pioneering the cure to all my problems-- a coffee that's stronger than coffee."

"Hey now," Kirk said, lifting a finger as he leaned over the table a little sloppily. His lack of coordination was showing. "Let's not -- you need to be responsible with it, you know. Coffee can't substitute rest."

Shane pointed back at him teasingly. "Tell that to my sleep schedule."

"That can be fixed!" Kirk said with laughter in his voice, lifting a hand. "It's called going to bed!"

"Never heard of that," Shane said with a laugh and a wider grin. "Does it involve coffee?"

"Wow," Kirk barked in laughter. "You need an intervention! Man does not live by coffee alone!"

"I suppose it also takes the occasional glass of water to survive," Shane joked, like he was relenting.

"Oh yes," Kirk replied with sarcasm. "Just the occasional splash of water to remind you you're still human. Sometimes even a sprinkle will do."

Shane lifted his glass of water, peering into it like it contained all of humanity's secrets. Which, maybe it did. "Who knew that's all it took," he mused.

"Sometimes life is simple like that," Kirk said, flicking a small bit of water at Shane out of his glass.

Shane laughed, instinctively ducking a little before flinging a couple droplets his way in return. "Hey! How's that for a reminder?"

Kirk laughed in return, squinting as he let the water hit him with only a slow flinch. He then took a drink of water from his own cup.

"Thanks," he said as he set his cup down. "I feel more human now."

"Anytime," Shane said breezily.

Kirk smiled warmly. "You know, I--"

His smile dropped instantly when there was a loud crash below. The music screeched to a messy, abrupt stop. The crowd had backed away from a fight that broke out amidst the dancing.

Shocked, Shane peered over the edge of the railing. Among the dancers were Fonzi and Tiberius-- but they weren't dancing. Instead, he saw Tiberius recoiling from... a strike, given by an enormously tall, muscular bearded man with a dark look in his eyes. The movement, slow and violent, felt so out of place among the spirited, lively motion that had occupied the floor a few moments before.

Wait. Tiberius was getting attacked?

"Shit," Kirk hissed as he jumped to his feet with the rest of the table. He was a second behind Carter, running down into the fray.

Baffled, Shane turned to Hellen and Ingrid with wide eyes, but they were also in motion, starting to push their way through the crowd. And, realizing he'd be left alone if he didn't do the same, Shane leapt to his feet, joining them in the frantic rush downstairs.

Public spaces used to be pleasant. The atmosphere was full of excitement, and people were content. Happy. For a night, people could celebrate the beauty of life and the simple pleasures of food and drink. The music would entertain. The dancing was something to take part in. Laughter would fill the room in bursts.

But laughter sounded suspiciously like crying if you couldn't see someone's face.

James felt a familiar feeling creeping up on him as he stared into his glass of wine, half-finished. The translucent red liquid tinted his skin through the vision of the glass, and he got lost in the sight of his own hand.

Red. Seeing red.

James pinched his eyes shut. He tried to listen to the voices around him. Pick them out. Pay attention. Shane, at the end of the table.

"I don't want to be historically famous-- I think that comes with too much baggage, in my opinion--"

No. That wasn't helping.

"God, remember when he used to start singing at the worst times possible? His timing was awful, but that's what made it perfect," Hellen said.

That didn't help either. Hellen was talking about Jack again - and she could only ever bear to talk about him when she was drunk. James still couldn't bear to talk about him at all.

"You know what I think?" Fonzi said playfully, to a complete stranger he'd engaged in conversation at the table beside them. "You're a coward. And I'm going to prove it."

And even though James knew Fonzi was talking about taking shots, the word 'coward' stuck in his ears like a heavy stone being pulled through mud. James felt his hands grow numb, and when he opened his eyes to look at them and make sure they were there, all he could feel was the blood. Blood, all over them.

Year 1105, 3rd of Sil. 1.5 Years Ago

He didn't know her. He didn't know her at all.

Verna, the mighty leader of the resistance, lay at his feet. A pool of her blood formed as a puddle around his boots, and James couldn't look away as she took her last breaths. He'd delivered a fatal blow. She was bleeding out. Drawn out seconds remained before she'd lose consciousness. James felt frozen.

He should finish it. He should end her suffering.

Her dark eyes locked with his. On her back, with her legs twisted in a way they weren't meant to, she stared up at him, breathing shallow, ragged breaths as her lungs filled with fluid. At that moment, her face cemented in his memory like a haunting phantom taking residence.

Her troop was gone. They were all dead.

No one was left to take her place.

That meant this was over.

James lifted his sword. And his mind shattered as he pierced her through.

'Mercy kill' speared through everything he knew as a baseless justification, and what should've felt like a victory felt like an abomination.

But just as quickly as the horror sunk in, he remembered his friends, still bound behind the wall. Waiting for him. His mind split painfully in two directions, but duty drove him forward. Stepping over Verna's lifeless body, James hurried. Dread pooled in his gut, and panic sprung up sharper with each step.

He couldn't lose another one. He couldn't lose another one. He couldn't--

"Oh, shit!" Fonzi exclaimed.

His grip had shifted. James had spilled wine all over his sleeve. On the table.

Damnit. Damnit.

James was about to reach for a napkin, but Fonzi beat him to it. As Fonzi patted up the puddle on the table, James pulled his arm away. Of course, Ingrid's attention shot straight to him, and now everyone at their godsdamned table was staring as Fonzi grabbed every napkin on the table to devote to this one mess.

"Are you--" Ingrid started to ask.

James got up abruptly from his chair. It screeched too dramatically underneath him. He wished it hadn't.

"I'm going to go clean up," he said. "I'll be back."

Ingrid almost moved to get up to follow, but James gave her a pointed look, firmly asking her not to. For once she actually listened, and she sunk back into her seat. Motioning with his hands loosely, he meant to assure his friends he was fine. He didn't know if that's what came across, but he didn't have the capacity to stay behind and over-explain. Frankly, he didn't have the capacity to explain at all.

Hoping that Fonzi was capable enough of dealing with the mess he left in his wake, James weaved between the tables.

Noise. Everyone around him was noise.

He went down the stairs. Past the dancing. Past the bar.

At the back, there was a restroom, and he cut right into it, locking the single stall behind him. With no more eyes on him, and the sound of the room outside muted by the heavy wooden door, he bent over the sink, leaning his arms on the edge as he held his hands over his face.

And he didn't keep track of how long he stayed that way, either. All he did was take deep breaths.

One. Two. Three.

In. Hold. Out.

He finally felt his heart starting to slow down, brought to a regular beat. His face felt raw, even though he'd shed no tears. His hands still felt filthy - sticky, now too. The next thing he did was stand up and turn the faucet, running the water over his hands.

There wasn't enough soap in the world to clean them. But he scrubbed. Scrubbed. And tried to think of anything but that damned day that changed everything. The day that everyone talked about like he was a hero out a storybook, when he was just a man. A man who wanted to go home. A man who knew he couldn't anymore.

He shut the water off. Dried his hands. The towels were coarse, and he had the thought that they were often used and often washed. Well-worn.

He looked up into the mirror. Not to see himself, but to see if whoever was there was presentable enough to return to the real world. Aside from the still-wet red stain now on his sleeve, he looked just as he'd last left them; tired, but there. Suitable enough, and at least, only transparent in the ways he meant to be, and only troubled in the ways he allowed - so far as he could control it.

He rolled up his sleeves to hide the spill. Both, so it looked even. He begrudged having to answer to anyone after this, but he knew his friends had long since given up asking anyway.

Everyone except Ingrid, who never listened.

He unlocked the door and stepped back out into the tavern. The room felt louder than it was before, and he noticed a larger portion of the patrons on the lower floor were dancing. Tables and chairs had been moved away; but more importantly, the exit path to the stairs was now obscured.

He'd have to find a way around.

Standing on the fringes of the party, James scanned the crowd, taking in the room. The exit doors. The windows. The access paths to the stairs. People got in the way of everything, but especially in the way of getting to other people, and with everyone in constant movement, James feared he would have to weave through dancing bodies to reach the stairs he meant to, unless he wanted to go the long way around, which probably required hopping a table, which was also something he didn't want to do. That'd get him attention.

And he didn't want attention. But apparently, Fonzi did.

Fonzi leaped over the side of the stairway railing, and down onto the dancefloor. As if he'd been a part of the dancing the whole time, he seamlessly spun with the dancers, bumping hips with others with a laugh. It took a minute, but he made it to James in one piece.

James hadn't registered how loud his ears were ringing until Fonzi opened his mouth and James barely heard him.

James stared up at him helplessly, hoping Fonzi repeated himself so he could pay attention enough to read his lips. Maybe he'd said it more than once, or maybe this was only the second time, but now Fonzi spoke it as if James were nearly deaf; overenunciating to compensate.

"Tiberius Hemming," Fonzi sounded out one syllable at a time. "Earth to Mr. Hemming, sir. Sir Hemming. Come on, Tiger, you can't just run off like that."

James felt his mouth part just enough to show his visible disappointment at being called Tiger in public. Not that anyone was paying enough attention--

A tall man - one that towered over him, like Fonzi - stepped into the picture. But this man was visibly strong.

"Did I hear Tiberius Hemming?" the man asked in a tone that should've sounded friendly, but there was something pointed laced behind it.

"Huh? Oh yeah, this is my friend, the Tiberius Hemming," Fonzi answered with a bright smile. It felt dissonant. "The hero that's got the whole world talking!"

But James had a feeling this man wasn't asking out of hidden admiration. The man nodded, his placid smile turning into a deep frown and violent glare.

"The hero who killed Verna?" he asked, his voice going dark.

But Fonzi was slow to catch on.

"Yeah! I mean--" was all Fonzi got to say.

James felt like he was watching the man's hand move in slow motion.

He'd seen it coming. The punch. The signs of rousing anger. The rage alit in the man's eyes. Whoever this man was, he was with the resistance. At least, he had been. James didn't know what was left of the resistance now, but wherever those that remained hid, they'd been quiet.

The Moonlight Kingdom took that as a victory. James interpreted it as part of the cycle.

The cycle of violence that raged on, as people raged on.

Now, he was just a part of another cycle.

Unable to make himself move, he took the punch square in his face. Something deep inside of him felt right. He couldn't seem to convince anyone else of it, but he knew it to be true: he deserved this. Hell, it'd been a long time coming.

Finally, someone else agreed that his victory wasn't something to be celebrated.

Very quickly, James ended up on the floor.

His back hit a table. The music screeched to a stop. The flood of people around him receded like a wave, and then people started flooding in all over again.

Glass shattered. James felt the knock to his skull, but he didn't really. Hit after hit, he felt his mind finally catching up to the present.

A fire burned in the man's eyes. He wanted blood for blood. Instinct kicked in.

James finally started to scramble away, but at the same time, familiar faces rushed in, mixed in with strangers. The man was being pulled off of him, and James found himself sitting on the floor while voices overlapped sloppily.

It was so loud.

"What the hell?" Fonzi said.

Someone was apologizing. The person holding back the fighter. The soldier.

"Come on," they hissed to the soldier, before locking eyes with James. They spoke through gritted teeth as they said, "My apologies. He didn't mean to do that. Have a fantastic rest of your night."

The man being pulled away, however, had many different things to say. Most of them were swear words slurred together that James couldn't make out.

And then, with no more words, they dragged the man away by his sleeve and out the door.

No, this wasn't right.

"Come on," a voice said, closer to him. It was Carter, putting an arm around him, and pulling him to his feet. "Let's get up. Careful."

"Aw, fuck, he's bleeding," Fonzi said, but James couldn't tell where he'd been pushed away to.

"We need to get him to a doctor!" Ingrid panicked.

James wasn't sure what he looked like, but he had a feeling it was worse than he thought.

"There should be one nearby that treats estate residents," Carter said, holding James up.

"There is," Shane said hurriedly. "I'm their patient-- I can get you there."

"Good," Carter said. "Then let's get out of here."

In his defense, Lyall never planned for nights to go like this. Moreover, he always ensured other affairs were in order, and prior obligations fulfilled, in the event he did wind up absolutely hammered.

As a seasoned general practitioner's first assistant, he had this down to a science.

First, he helped set up the night shift. Most clinics closed around 6 PM or sooner; not so at the Ashlund Family Practice. It was their mission to provide medical care at all humanly hours.

Thus, the night rotation. He couldn't remember who he put on post this particular evening-- again, positively plastered at the moment-- but he knew he had someone posted. Probably Edith. She was highly dependable, and always willing to go that extra mile in this way.

Then he usually circled around to his younger brothers for dinner chats. Drop in and get up-to-date on their day-to-days, make sure they were set with any studies. Though, since Ulf was out attending uni for a time to round out his education, that left Lyall with only Viktor the younger. Which. Lyall loved him to bits, but Vik was a handful on his own. Thus, he counted this as a blessing lately, especially as Lyall's days began to really fill out.

Furthermore, once the house likewise in pristine condition, he ascended to their living quarters for a bit to help little Tove settle for the evening. For some reason he still couldn't pinpoint, but delighted in regardless, the little rascal would find herself a solid second wind right before bed. So, they often spent a good hour burning that extra energy with a game or two. Something that always involved dragons.

Finally, once all was settled in the Ashlund household, and he got their head practitioner's seal of approval, he was a free man for the rest of the late evening.

Mostly. Usually. Tonight, as free as an engaged man could be.

The musically inclined and editorially accomplished Santiago-- and Lyall's stunning fiance-- was likewise a very duty-bound man. He'd declined Lyall's offer to drinks to address a paper that was set to circulate very eary the following morning.

Which was fine. Lyall mostly wanted to blow off some steam anyhow. So he found a few dependable drinking buddies, and the rest of the night drew out into a blur. He could sum it up well enough into one word: summer-like. If pressed to provide a second: quite fuzzy.

Wait, that made three.

To make four: lucrative.

Overall, the night felt like a long, orange smudge. Lyall truly lost track of what followed after several rounds of darts and old-fashioneds.

To his own credit, he was always able to promptly pick up on a different thread before ever finding himself completely without bearings. More a trail, really. Even through the broad messy web of disgusting bodily odors and savory evening scents, he could always pinpoint one scent trail and masterfully navigate the city to a reliable crashing point.

All thanks to the fact that Alan insisted on wearing that really terrible cologne of his. "Mild", Lyall's ass.

Cracking open an eye up at a vaguely familiar ceiling, Lyall felt compelled to momentarily ponder: could he really be considered a master navigator if he always relied on his nose, rather than the actual geography of the city?

He rolled over onto his stomach with a quiet groan, opting to merely tuck away the thought to revisit... whenever. He wasn't sure he knew anyone with a floral-print sofa. Mind lagging, he stared intently at the pastel roses, now wondering where the hell Alvaro's trail had led him.

No, wait. He knew this place. Not very well, mind you, since Lyall really did try to keep his list of go-to crashing points slim. But he knew someone else by the smell of cinnamon.

A floorboard creaked underfoot.

Lyall twitched an ear. Furrowing both brows, he rolled back onto his side to squint into the darkened hallway. He recognized the shadow of his friend in an instant--

But his fond greeting was quite rudely cut short when said friend determinedly charged in, a blunt weapon in hand, of all things!

"Wait, no--" he hissed in a panic. Throwing himself upright, Lyall scrambled back as he stuck out a hand placatingly. "Alan, it's me!"

At the sound of his voice, Alan stopped a mere stride away from Lyall, bat lifted in the air, ready to strike. He froze in place with a rigid frown, squinting at him even more. Though between the darkness and lack of glasses, Lyall wasn't sure he recognized him. In fact, he was sure he didn't for a solid minute.

"Oh my gods, Lyall?" Alan spat out, lowering the bat. He scoffed with dismay, swinging his arms up with indignation, bat pointed towards the window as he harshly whispered, "I thought you were an intruder! I almost hit you!"

Lyall gasped in utter betrayal, clutching at his heart. "Damn right, you almost did!" he agreed, allowing himself to sink back into the cushions with relief. "Now put that down."

Alan sighed in response, setting the bat on its side against the couch, ensuring it stayed upright so it didn't roll away. He patted his hands for matches on the table nearby next. "Lara's asleep. You didn't wake her. Thank gods. She'd freak out," he murmured, lighting up the match.

Ah, yes. The girlfriend's place. Oops.

The flame cast a gentle glow which was quickly fed into the oil lantern on the table. Alan picked up the lantern, turning back to Lyall with a sharper focus. "Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?" he asked more quietly.

Lyall squinted against the new light until his eyes likewise adjusted. Then flopped over onto his side again. "M'fine," he tried not to slur, "just tired." He stretched his hands out in front of him, fighting the urge to shift to get comfier. "Longer walk than normal."

"Right," Alan murmured under his breath, turning away with the lantern to walk towards the kitchen that opened into the living room. He opened up a cabinet, taking out a glass cup. "Which tavern did you go to?"

Lyall rested his chin on the arm of the couch to watch. "Stella's."

"And how did that go?" Alan prodded, turning on the faucet sink to fill the glass with water.

"Met up with Nils," Lyall mumbled, letting his eyes drift shut. "Beat 'im at darts."

"Did you now?" Alan turned off the faucet, opening the bread box that was next to the sink. The pleasant aroma of baked bread filled the air, along with the soft crunch of Alan tearing a piece. "Well, did you place another bet against him?" he asked.

Lyall huffed dryly. "Of course I did. I won."

"Yeah. Of course you did."

Carrying the lantern with one hand and the glass of water and slice of bread with the other, Alan strode back to the couch, hand out in front of Lyall for him to take his offerings. "Here. At least eat something and hydrate," Alan said as he nudged the glass and bread towards him again.

Peeking up at him, Lyall drew in a long breath through his nose. It was a soda bread-- one of his favorite kinds of bread-- and smelled enticingly fresh.

He plucked the bread slice from Alan's hand. "Bread, yes." He straightened up and took a bite out of it, then pointed the slice at the water. "That, no."

"Drink it or I'm going to splash it on you," Alan deadpanned, still stubbornly holding it out for him to take.

Pouting, Lyall begrudgingly obliged. "You're so mean," he whined.

With a victorious smile, Alan set the lantern on the side table and then sunk onto the spot next to him, arm draped along the back of the couch. "The bread and water torture always works," he said smugly.

Lyall was tempted to splash the water at Alan instead, as retribution. He guzzled it down instead.

"So, why the detour here?" Alan asked, watching him gulp the water with mild amusement showing in his smile. "Did you miss me that much that you had to climb into my girlfriend's apartment window late at night to say hi?"

Shoving the empty glass at Alan, Lyall tried putting on his most put-upon frown. "Well, when you put it like that," he retorted, his huffed laugh betraying his own amusement. "I couldn't find you, is why. I went to the dorms first, but it was all out of sorts over there."

"Ah... yeah." Alan sighed, setting the glass on the table before leaning his head towards the side so he could idly run his fingers through his hair. "My old dorm mate graduated, so I moved rooms. I now live with this new guy who is an absolute ass about rules."

Lyall nibbled on his bread to hide his amused grin. He found an odd sense of delight in hearing profanity from his friend-- mostly because, Alan did that a lot less lately.

Alan paused, frowning and sitting up straight again, bending his knee into the couch so he could angle towards Lyall. "She helped me move today, and the new guy walked in when we were having a moment. You know what he said?" Hands in the air, Alan mocked with a nasaly voice, "'I'm going to report you if she stays. Also, don't play music. That's not allowed.'"

Lyall had to bark a small laugh.

Slouching back, Alan's frown deepened as he squinted ahead with disdain, murmuring, "What the hell is even the point if I can't bring love or music into my own living space?"

Sitting lower, Lyall propped up his legs over Alan's. "I'll bet you he's just upset that he's rooming with Alan Alvaro. A man with talent and a woman." He crunched on his bread. "Meanwhile he's likely maidenless because he's married to his studies, or whatever."

With a smile, Alan rolled his eyes, draping one arm against the back of the couch again, his other hand resting over Lyall's knee. "Yeah. Maybe." He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Anyways, that's why I'm here now." He softly hummed in thought, overlooking the bookshelf at the other side of the room. "So, I guess we're unofficially moving in together, book-by-book."

Lyall grinned through a mouthful of bread. "Oho!" he said in a teasing tone. "Already looking to settle down? Mate, your life's just begun."

Alan turned back to him with a smile and a quizzical look. "Not the words I'd expect to hear from a man who's engaged," he emphasized, "but yes. Getting there."

"I'm technically your senior," Lyall countered, gesturing to himself matter-of-factly, "of course I'm a step ahead of you."

Alan stared at him blankly. "Aren't you only one year older than me?"

"And," Lyall went on, undeterred, "I'm taking the proper next steps." He gestured with his half-eaten bread across an invisible timeline between them. "Engagement. Marriage. Then moving in together."

"Eh." Alan shrugged, swirling a hand in the air. "The steps don't need to be in order for me. What's important is that I love her. Which, by the way..." His voice lowered as he sneaked a glance towards the bedroom door before turning back with a soft smile, ruffling through his pocket. "I was going to tell you at a better time, but I suppose there's no better time than the present."

Lyall sat a bit straighter for this, both brows quirked curiously.

With a proud smile, Alan pulled out a silver ring, its shine glinting in the soft light. "Though, maybe you're right," he continued earnestly, admiring the ring. "Engagement ought to be before moving in."

Lyall stared long and hard at it, fog-brained as he was, trying to find a good response to something of this magnitude.

"Oh my gods," he breathed out in amazement. Sluggishly breaking out into a broad grin, he dropped his feet to the floor to lean over and clumsily drag his friend into a tight embrace. "You really should have waited for a better time," he drew out in a playful half-whine, "I'm not nearly sober enough to properly congratulate you!"

Alan chuckled, wrapping his fingers around the ring after Lyall sloppy wrapped his arms around him. Placing his palm over Lyall's face, Alan playfully shoved him away. "But you're sober enough to crawl through windows?" he asked through a laugh.

Letting the momentum carry him, Lyall fell back unceremoniously on the couch, propping up a foot on Alan's lap again. "Drunk enough to do it in the first place," he giggled. "What's the timeline for that, then?"

"Next week," Alan answered with a longing smile, safely patting the ring back in his pocket. "During the festivities, on our two year anniversary." He shrugged a shoulder, back to leaning back on the couch, angling himself towards Lyall. "I'm still thinking through the exact details, but I'm thinking the proposal will be more private and intimate. It's a personal memorable event shared between two lovers, as proposals should be."

Of course.

"That's really a wonderful idea," Lyall agreed happily. "Makes the season that much more special for you both."

"Yes, it does," Alan agreed with a sincere smile that paired with his incessant gaze that was just as openly sincere and warm. "I'll tell you more about it when I'm not threatening you with water in the middle of the night."

"What water?" Lyall asked innocently.

With a half-roll of his eyes, Alan poked his knee repeatedly. "What are your plans tonight, by the way? Did you want to stay here, or go back to the clinic, or go to Santiago's?"

Suppressing a sigh, Lyall slung an arm across his forehead as he stared at the ceiling in contemplation.

It was rather late, so Tove had to have fallen asleep already. That said, she wasn't a steady sleeper. And he really didn't want to risk her waking in time to see him like this.

Nor his mother, for that matter. Nor Santiago, for another. Lyall knew what awaited for him down either path: frank, cutting disappointment.

"I don't want to intrude," Lyall opted to politely counter anyhow, twisting around to slide off the couch. "Your lady wasn't expecting a guest. Thus I shall bid you goodnight."

He meant to then make a dignified, stealthy exit back out through the same window he entered. Instead, he slumped facedown onto the floor. He cursed his uncooperative body, rendered now a tingly prison of paralyzed flesh.

"Well." Even while faceplanted on the floor, Lyall could feel Alan's amused stare boring through him. He huffed a laugh, adding, "You can stay here. It's fine, truly. But can you not stay on the floor?"

Lyall couldn't find the energy to neither glare indignantly at him, nor decline the offer to stay. "Where would you have me stay, then?" he mumbled into the rug.

Alan swooped up his hand, pulling him up. "Come on. Let's get you back on the sofa," he said with a few tugs. "Can you get back on your feet? Gods, don't make me carry you like a princess."

"Do not," Lyall groused. He let himself be lead back up to his feet. Then swatted Alan's hands away and promptly fell back onto the couch once more. "I promise I'll leave in the morning." He curled up into a tight ball in the corner. "Give you two lovebirds some space, and all."

Alan had dipped away to rifle through the storage cabinet by the bookshelf after Lyall laid back on the couch. Just in time, he returned with a light quilt and a fluffy pillow, dropping it by Lyall's feet. Alan picked up the lantern again, holding it by his face to illuminate his smile.

"I'm not tired yet, so I'll stay up studying for a bit. Does the light bother you?" he asked.

Predictable.

Taking the blanket, Lyall unskillfully pulled it over himself. Then picked up the pillow to hug to his chest. "This is unofficially your house," he answered breezily, "study away. I'm good."

"Alright." Alan turned away, but then swiveled back to ask, "Do you need anything else? Bread, water? Perhaps a sweet lullaby?"

Wanker.

"I need you to shut up," Lyall grumbled into the pillow.

"Good night, Lyall," Alan said with a smile in his voice. "Sweet dreams. I'll see you in the morning."

Over the sound of pages turning, Lyall briefly listened for anymore signs of stirring from the hallway. Assured by the still-steady breaths from the next room, and the warm presence of his friend close by, he finally let out a quiet, weary sigh and sank deeper into the couch cushions.

Everyone else's judgements were future Lyall's problem. With a muffled, "G'night," he determined to let his day finally come to a peaceful close.

The night shift at the clinic was oftentimes slow-going and dead-silent. Thus, it was that much more dramatically shattered in the event a case unexpectedly dropped in. In such an event, the patient and/or anyone accompanying were far less likely to require much conversation. Some reassurances, sure, and of course the obligatory diagnosis and rundown of a treatment-- or, better yet, surgical-- plan, but usually not anything trivial like chatting.

It was also fairly routine, given the hours that often needed filling. There were always little tasks to attend to. Such as, checking on the rare overnight patient (of which they had none at the moment). Or transposing the head practitioner's or her assistant's notes. And, of course, organizing and taking stock of both their medical and cleaning supplies. A task which Edith, one of the clinic's most skilled and dedicated doctors on staff, had volunteered to undertake herself.

Moreover, the aforementioned practitioner's assistant-- and Hild's half-brother-- almost always saw himself out before the shift began. Thus relieving her of his hovering and absurdities.

Thus making the night shift Hild's honest favorite.

Usually.

Tonight, Hild found herself in the midst of a slight dilemma: she was struggling to focus. Which was not like her at all.

She first assumed it was the task of notes transposition. They were Lyall's notes. His handwriting was ghastly and a pain to translate. So she set aside the task for another time.

The moment Hild decided she could briefly leave the reception desk to help Edith, however, was the exact moment the deities kindly reminded her as to why they had their doors open at such late hours to begin with. By sending a convoy of drunken visitors careening through said doors.

Hild dropped back into her seat, taken aback a bit by the abruptness of it.

The group's outward behaviours didn't immediately indicate tavern hopping-- but the heavy smells that clung to them did. Otherwise, none of them appeared at first too worse for wear. Aside from the one with the bloodied scalp, bruised face, and unsteady feet. Strongly underscoring the smells of alcohol and the usual dense tavern foods was the copper that matted his hair.

"A fight?" Hild sharply prompted as she rounded the desk to meet them.

"Barfight, yes," the shorter man said, holding up the beaten man under one arm.

Someone stepped out from the group to approach Hild, and she recognized him in an instant. Shane Hawking, the diplomat's son who occasionally stopped by for pain medicine. Whether he was in the clinic, he was always very timid and mild, but when he met her eyes this time, it was with more grim urgency.

"This is the King's Hand," he said lowly to her. "They're residing in the Barlowe Estates on their visit to Ruddlan. Tiberius Hemming here got attacked by someone smashing a bottle against his head." He hesitated to let it sink in. "Can you please help?"

The King's Hand.

Glancing past the group, she caught sight of the crest of the Moonlight Kingdom on the carriage just outside the window. How strange to find young Mister Hawking in the company of Blackfield's entourage.

Biting her tongue, she only inclined her head in beckoning, and sharply turned to lead the way into the patients' ward. Tiberius Hemming was led by the shorter man Hild began to realize could be none other than Carter Haddon. The rest of the hand followed, their steps steady and measured despite the alcohol on their breaths.

Soldiers. All of them.

Thus not in need of reassurances like most visitors, thank gods. But the hospital room was crowded. Usually someone else on staff was present to kindly dismiss guests waiting on a patient, but since they were short-staffed tonight, Edith took this role and only gave Hild an encouraging nod and soft smile to proceed without her. An encouragement Hild would humbly accept most nights.

Slowing in her preparations, Hild held back a sigh as she turned to face everyone else.

"Return to the waiting room," she ordered plainly. "I'll treat and assess the patient, then get back to you shortly."

"Apologies," Mr. Haddon said. "We'll get out of your way. Thank you."

And that was all he said before he left with Edith, the group of concerned friends or colleagues back out the double-doors and into the waiting room. In a moment, the wave of chaos and intensity that came with them receded, and Hild was left alone with Tiberius Hemming, who sat on the hospital bed in front of her with his head bowed.

Bleeding, as he did so. While looking down, the gash was clearly visible on the side of his head. It looked to be from shattered glass. Hild could already picture the smashed bottle.

So, this was the great war hero from the south. Getting into barfights-- and evidently losing them. He seemed in a daze as she scooted her chair closer, a cleaning cloth in hand.

"This will sting," she explained evenly, slowly pressing the cloth to the top of his head.

The man only closed his eyes in response, not saying a word.

Not chatty. That suited her just fine.

The only times she spoke up to give a slight word of warning as she worked. She cleaned the gash and his hair, got the bleeding under control, then proceeded to sew his scalp shut. Counting the sutures as she steadily worked.

In and out, in and out. Apprenticing under the Sommer's for the past year made her fingers nimble, and this kind of work in the clinic swift and painless. No second-guessing, all routine, all evenly measured purely by eye.

She was halfway done when the man spoke up.

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.

Hild blinked, unsure of what brought this on. So, she asked, "Why do you want to know?"

He was quiet for a moment, but he stayed still as her hands continued working, sewing up his scalp.

"...I suppose I don't need to," he said faintly. "It just felt right to apologize to you by name."

"No need," she said simply. "This is my job."

In and out, in and out. Almost over.

"Okay," he said, barely audible.

Satisfied that that seemed to be the end of it, Hild nodded once as she began to delicately tug on the thread to sure up her work. Once the skin was pulled back into place for proper mending, she deftly tied it off, cut the loose end, and was about ready to call it a night and send the man on his not-so-merry way--

Again, the universe had impeccable timing, as far as tormenting Hild went. Her mother, the general practitioner who ran the entire place, strode in with a shawl draped around her shoulders over her evening gown, and her long mane of hair even wilder than normal. Literally just awoken, then. Purely to investigate the cause for the commotion, no doubt. With Edith in tow, to ensure quality of service, no doubt.

Hild rolled her chair off to the side, resigned to wait now until formally dismissed.

"Mister Hemming?" Astrid called pleasantly as she approached.

He looked up, subtly clenching his jaw and swallowing as his eyes landed on Hild's mother. Formerly slouched over, he straightened a bit, and she saw the lines of tension wind in his body.

This man was anxious about something.

"I'd say welcome to Ruddlan," Astrid offered with a warm smile, "but this hasn't been a very kind reception, it would seem. Nor the normal reception, I'd like to assure you."

"It's fine," Mr. Hemming said quickly but quietly. "I'm sorry we disturbed you."

"Nonsense," Astrid replied with a dismissive handwave. "The opportunity to help is never a disturbance."

Not waiting for the soldier to answer, Hild cut in by clearing her throat. "The wound has already been cleaned and sutured." She gathered her tools to clean. "I was just about to clear him--"

"Without first examining the full extent of his injury?" Astrid asked, tilting her head with a furrowed brow.

Hild faltered, unable to answer. Because she knew it would have been a wrong answer.

"She has," the soldier spoke up instead. "I feel fine, really."

Though it wasn't proven by his bloodied shirt or his anxious posture. Tilting her head the other way, Astrid quietly and very pointedly gleaned such details. Hild saw the man's Adam's apple bob up and down.

"Doctor Bennett," Astrid softly called instead, "please assess our prestigious patient while Miss Hild finishes cleaning up."

Hild fought the urge to visibly deflate. Ducking her head, she picked up her tools and politely made way for Miss Edith. As they shuffled past each other, the doctor offered a gentle smile in encouragement.

"Great job, Hild," she said softly to Hild. She nodded her chin towards Hemming. "I'll finish his check-up. Can you clean the rest of the tools for me and check in with the other patients?" She glanced over her shoulder at the waiting room. "There's a small commotion..."

Casting Doctor Bennett an appreciative glance, Hild gathered what was left and bowed her head as she quickly showed herself out.

Behind her, she could hear Edith softly drag a chair closer to Tiberius, saying, "Hello, Mr. Hemming. My name is Dr. Edith Bennett, and I'll be your doctor for the evening. Please tell me if you are experiencing pain..."

Cyrin squinted at the shadow from the gas light. The outline was human, but it was too far out to tell who it was yet. He'd have to wait.

He wasn't the only impatient one. Pia was below, pacing beside the pool. From time to time, he'd witness her kick a pebble into the still water with the toe of her boot, or mutter something furious under her breath that he wouldn't have repeated to Magnus. Still, Cyrin couldn't be noisy or disruptive about it like her. He was in hiding, concealed among the leaves and branches of a tree overhead. If he was noticed, it would be bad news for him indeed.

The figure causing the shadow was drawing closer, cutting across the lawn rather than following a path in order to reach the pond. So it was most likely Wilson and not some stranger, then. When he'd gotten the tip Pia would be meeting with her sometime in the early morning hours today, he'd tracked her through Ruddlan in hopes that wherever she'd stop, there would be a place for him to hide and listen. He'd gotten lucky, because she'd picked a pond that had trees around it. If she'd gone out in the open, he'd have had to turn around.

Cyrin ran the information they had on the two of them over in their head again. Pia Saylor was a Five in the Blue Suns, Sparrow's most trusted and dangerous assassin in Ruddlan, and probably nothing short of a psychopath. Even though she wasn't the focus of their reconnaissance missions, Cyrin had learned more about how vicious she was than they cared to know. She seemed to love her job with a passion, and since that job was killing people, they always took extra caution whenever a mission of theirs involved spying on her.

The other person, Wilson Song-- they could just barely recognize her as she got closer-- was an important drugrunner for the Blue Suns and a Four in their chain of command. They'd lost track of how many times they'd witnessed her stopping by the lumshade farm at suspicious after-dark hours. It seemed that of all the drugs circulating through the city, most of them had passed through Wilson's hands at some point. That was what made her a crucial piece on the board.

Wilson stopped a few feet short of Pia.

"The stars are dim tonight," she said.

Cyrin knew that turn of phrase. It was code in the Blue Suns for an easy, secure arrival to the meeting point and to share that they hadn't been compromised. Which wasn't exactly true, because he was here to hear her say it.

"I noticed." Pia held out her hand insistently. "Have you got it or what?"

"You suck at being subtle," Wilson said flatly, but offered her hand.

"I don't have to be," Pia said, taking whatever was in her hand. Cyrin guessed it was poison, but there was a chance it was drugs. "If there's anyone here, I'll just stab them, and that'll be the end of it."

Wilson gave a highly skeptical, judgemental look out towards the lake.

"Sure," she said. "Well. You've got what you need."

But Pia frowned, giving the thing in her hand-- a small, sealed packet-- a suspicious look.

"Is this even a full dose?" she grumbled. "This is smaller than the last one you gave me."

"You really don't need that much for it to do the job, Pia," Wilson said with a sigh.

Pia huffed. "It's an unreliable method. If the sun didn't want this one being quiet, I wouldn't resort to it at all." Nevertheless, she tucked it in her pocket.

Poison, then. Cyrin knew by now that it was a fruitless endeavor to try and find a target of Pia's before anything could happen to them. She could be reckless with some coded language, but she wasn't dumb or careless enough to give away who they were.

Wilson huffed, already looking disinterested in furthering conversation.

"Do you think it'll storm tomorrow?" she asked. "Because the clouds look heavy."

Now they were talking about lumshade distribution. From the sound of it, Wilson was already carrying quite a bit of it. Cyrin shifted positions silently on his branch.

"Not tomorrow, but the day after," Pia said. "Prepare for rain then."

Major distribution in two days, then. Cyrin took note.

Something moved within the tree, and their gaze immediately snapped to it as they tensed. It was just a bird, hopping out of its nest. The bird and Cyrin shared a few long seconds of direct eye contact.

Don't be a fucking snitch, Cyrin thought vehemently to the bird.

"I'll get my rain shoes out, then," Wilson said. "Have a good rest of your night, P."

Pia waved dismissively at her, already turning to leave. "Whatever."

The bird suddenly squawked, flapping out of the tree with a noisy rustle of wings and into the sky above. Cyrin froze, partly praying they wouldn't give the branches much notice, and partly very irritated that the bird's sudden and distracting departure had absolutely nothing to do with them. But Pia didn't even spare the tree a glance, instead glaring at the bird.

"Oh, fuck off," they heard her mutter to it as she marched off, leaving Wilson behind without another word to her.

Wilson walked off quickly with half a wave.

Once the two of them were both out of sight, Cyrin let out a deep breath, shifting to a more comfortable position on the branch. Alright. Time to write this down somewhere before he--

"Watcha lookin' at?" a random voice said behind him, cutting into his thoughts.

If Cyrin thought anything at all, it was oh, fuck no. Somehow, that thought translated into the action of pivoting and springing on whoever had spoken.

He felt branches bending and colliding against him as he grabbed them by the shoulders and sent them both tumbling to the ground below. They landed heavily, with the other person falling on their back, and Cyrin only spared a moment to pull his hood lower over his face before pinning the stranger down.

"Who are you?" he snapped urgently in a whisper.

"Oouugh..." the stranger groaned, rolling his head back with half-lidded eyes. "I think you cracked my back..."

Cyrin looked the man over. He seemed... normal. Unsuspecting. He dressed like a farmer, in plain clothes and overalls, and the rest of his appearance-- tall, with sandy hair and a freckled face-- wasn't recognizable to him. He'd never seen him among the Blue Suns. But why would a normal person climb up after him?

Also, how could a normal person get the drop on him?

"Doesn't sound like a name to me," they hissed, trying not to sound as panicked as they felt.

"Wait, wait," the man continued to groan, laying limp and squinting up at the sky. "Just give me a second. I think I'm seeing stars."

If it wasn't so important that they needed to keep pinning the man down, Cyrin would've thrown their arms up in frustration. "That's the damn sky!"

"Huh." The man breathed out a sigh of relief. "Wow, you're right. Thank gods. I'm not concussed." He turned his gaze to Cyrin, blinking rapidly. "Unless... How do you test if you're concussed?"

Cyrin stared impatiently at him, suppressing a groan.

"Would you start talking so I can figure out what to do with you?" he snapped.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, sorry." The man glanced at Cyrin's hands pinning him down, offering a half-smile. "Okay, yeah. We got off on the wrong start here. My name's Elias. I was picking apples and chasing a grackle then came across you. That's all." He paused. "I'd also offer my hand to shake yours, but maybe we can do that later."

"That's all?" Cyrin repeated. "Why were you climbing a tree past midnight?"

"Uh... well." Elias squinted up towards the sky again, a deeply contemplative look washing over him. "Well, you see, I was trying to sleep, but this bird wouldn't stop crying. This one's black and has a blue head. I think it's a grackle. Or at least, that's what my bird watching buddy told me one time. Bird watching. What a fun hobby. Have you heard one squawk? There was one right next to you a little bit ago.

"Anyways, I did a bit of investigating, see what's causing this bird a lot of distress. Turns out, grackles are just loud. But I followed it anyways then thought, hey, some picked apples would be a nice change for once. I was going to see my gal after this and thought she'd like one. But the nicer ones are towards the top, so then I started climbing, because she deserves the best apples." He waggled his brows at him. "Y'know what I mean?"

Cyrin kept staring, feeling insane. Well. This bothered them immensely, but all signs pointed to this: they'd just jumped a hapless bystander with no ties to the gang. This was going to be a fun one to explain to Eve.

"What's your name?" Elias asked curiosity in the ensuing silence. "In my head, you're my other bird watching buddy who pushed me off a tree."

"Terrence," Cyrin lied quickly, letting go of Elias and hurrying to his feet. "Another birdwatcher, though it's awkward to admit it. You have a great rest of your night, Elias. Sorry I got startled and tackled you."

They needed to get out of here.

"All's good. I've fallen from bigger heights, so it's no big deal," Elias said with a forgiving smile. He lifted a hand while still lying on his back. "Care to give me a hand, Terry?"

Cyrin did, but let go the moment Elias was standing on his own. His panic was quickly turning to embarrassment. Sure, he wouldn't be dying tonight because he'd been caught by a sun sneaking up on him from behind, but he had just been spotted by some random guy, and his pride might as well be dead after that.

"Oh, hey, speaking of which: want an apple?" Elias suddenly asked, sliding back his belt that contained a decently-sized pouch.

He hesitated, slowing in his sliding when he realized that the pouch had been behind him the entire time. With slow movements, he flipped open the flap, pulling out a flattened, smashed apple by the stem. Elias and Cyrin stared at it in silence for half a second before the remainder of the fruit, barely clinging on to the stem, splattered onto the ground.

"Welp," Elias said, twirling the apple stem between his fingers. "Now I know why my back hurts. I can finally say I've smashed an apple with my back."

"Sorry again," Cyrin said hastily, backing up. "I'm good, and I have to go now. It's getting late."

Elias tossed the apple stem over his shoulder, understanding smile returning. "Hey, it's all good. Don't worry about it. Sorry I scared ya. I'll make bird noises next time."

Cyrin would much rather he made human noises. How else was he supposed to tell when a person was sneaking up on him?

"Cool. Be careful getting back. There's weird people in town," they said, turning away and walking off.

They didn't really want to think about how they were one of those weird people. Tackling a random stranger out of a tree, for dragons' sake.

"Yeah, you too. See ya later, Terr!" Elias called from behind.

Cyrin couldn't think of any sort of reply, so he just sped up, hurrying to the end of the park. It was only when he'd entered the safety and cover of the city streets and looked over his shoulder to find himself alone that he felt the adrenaline and tension wearing off.

Well, it wasn't a complete failure, aside from jumping some poor guy. They'd learned what they need to learn. Two days until Sparrow used his lumshade.

They needed to find Tula.

Cyrin ducked into an alleyway, keeping their hood up as they walked. This was the spot, but Tula was nowhere to be seen. That didn't mean she wasn't there, though. They paused, slowing to a stop in the middle of the alleyway, listening for the tell-tale sounds of baited breathing or shuffling over cobblestones.

Silence, or at least no sound that didn't belong. She was getting better. But they felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck.

Then he heard the swish of a blade through the air at his seven o'clock.

Cyrin immediately dropped to the ground, rolling to the side of the alley. A knife flew through the air, piercing it where his head had been a heartbeat before. It clattered harmlessly into the wall ahead, and he rushed to snatch it up, turning back around.

"Can I keep this one?" they asked to the alley, flipping it in their hand.

Predictably, instead of a verbal response, Tula emerged from the shadows, smirking with a crazed look. With light feet, she ran with her cutlass held up, ready to strike.

Oh, alright. She was feeling playful today.

Cyrin let her swing before he ducked, moving away. The next swing came too fast to dodge, and he had to block it with her dagger. The clang of metal on metal resounded in the alley as Tula forced him back a step.

Tula moved to swing at them again, but Cyrin slid a dagger of their own out of their coat, blocking her with their other hand. They quickly turned to using both daggers to exert pressure on Tula's sword, trying to force it down. Tula grunted, and after a few seconds of both of them straining, the sword slipped out of her hands and fell to the cobblestones with a clatter. Cyrin put their foot on top of it.

"I did not expect the sword tonight," they admitted, as a sort of congratulations. "You're keeping me on my toes."

She rolled her eyes, swishing her curly hair over her shoulder before placing her hand on her hips. "Whatever," she said dismissvely as her way of saying good job. "I'll kill you one of these days."

"Why the delay?" Cyrin asked, picking up her sword and handing it to her along with her dagger. "See, I would expect you to be in a hurry."

Tula snatched the sword first, pointing the blade with a playfully threatening grin. "Patience, Cyrin. I'd rather enjoy playing with my food and killing you slowly," she cooed, drawing a line in the air against his neck.

"I have no doubt," Cyrin said easily.

Pleased, she sheathed the sword then snached the dagger next, spinning it in her hand. Irked, she pointed the dagger at him again, frowning. "You're late."

Cyrin sighed, sobering ever so slightly. "Oh, yes. Bad news. You can no longer be the first person to take me by surprise in the field."

Unflinchingly, Tula stared at him blankly, lowering the dagger ever-so-slightly. "What?" she hissed.

Cyrin shook their head to share in her disbelief. "Some random guy climbed up into the tree I was stationed in after the Blue Suns left and I didn't even notice."

They were opening themselves up to a world of mockery, they knew, but this was more serious than wounded pride or an inside joke.

Tula gripped her dagger even tighter, her face creasing into the beginnings of cisible rage. "Did this 'random guy' attack you?" she said through her teeth, green fire burning in her eyes.

Cyrin huffed faintly, waving her along as he started in the direction of the base. "No. I did tackle him out of the tree, though."

Pleased, she softly hummed, sheathing her dagger in her boot and quickening in her steps to walk by him. "Did he die?" she asked nonchalantly.

"He did not," Cyrin said. "Which does not mean you should kill him, either. He's just some farmer, I think."

Tula sighed disappointingly. "Sounds like a liability. An irritating one, at that." She paused, frowning. "He's better off dead. I'm sure Bo would agree."

"I'm less certain," Cyrin said with a huff of laughter. "What I do think will happen is a talk with him about how we do not ambush random strangers with no stakes in this fight."

Tula grimaced in disgust, crinkling her nose. "Ew," she snarled. "Tell me when that meeting takes place so I won't be there."

"I will," Cyrin promised. "We do have to find him, though. Let's get back to the base."

Per the pattern as of late, Lyall awoke with instant regret. He pulled down the blanket from over his head and squinted out into a bright living room.

Brown ceiling beams. Cinnamon. Pastel roses. Right, the girlfriend's place.

"These turned out great," Alan's voice softly emanated from the kitchen as a strong waft of cinnamon entered the living room. "Do you need help brushing the sugar?"

"It's alright, I've got it!" Lara replied cheerfully, just as soft.

Predictably, Alan replied, "Here, let me help."

Lyall curled up tighter as he sluggishly noted which hangover symptoms he currently displayed. Fatigue, thirst, headache, muscle aches, sensory sensitivity, nausea--

A playful giggle echoed from the kitchen. "Alan!" Lara scolded playfully with a harsh whisper.

Alan chuckled and replied, "Here, stay still. Let me kiss that off you."

Nausea, twicefold.

Alvaro was a shameless romantic, but did he really have to be so saccharine? Right in front of a guest, no less.

Too drained to audibly groan, Lyall pulled the blanket back over his head to block the rest of their affectionate displays out.

Some seconds passed, with only the sounds of their quiet, wordless rustling filling the air. That was, until--

"Hey, you awake?" Alan asked, voice closer and louder, directed towards Lyall.

"Quite," Lyall mumbled, not bothering to peek out to his friend.

"Good morning, Lyall!" Lara said cheerfully from the kitchen, perking up at the sound of his voice. "It's nice to see you again. Are you hungry?"

"Lara made you cinnamon rolls," Alan added, even though that was blatantly obvious at this point.

And, well, of course she did.

"I'm sure he's hungry," Alan replied for him. "Thank you, Lara."

Vague sense of irritation deflating just a bit, Lyall forced himself to sit up and face the day like an adult.

"Thank you, Lara," Lyall echoed weakly. "You are far too kind."

"Don't worry about it. It's my pleasure!" Lara replied happily.

She was still unseen from this vantage point. Alan on the other hand casually lingered at the threshold of the sitting room, a glass of cloudy mystery liquid in hand as he watched him stir. It was clear he was biting back an amused laugh through the incessant smile. Which just made Lyall feel a touch crabby again.

"Good morning to you too," Alan said far too brightly, peeling away from the wall to come closer. "How are you feeling?"

Lyall was about to reply bluntly. Biting his tongue though, he thought better of it and eventually opted for a pleasant, if tired, "Peachy, thank you."

It seemed whatever his answer was didn't matter, because Alan offered the murky glass of liquid to him anyways. "Drink this," he said, nudging the glass to him. "It'll help you feel better."

It was a mostly pleasant aroma, full of zest and savory flavors. Unfortunately, it was mostly obscured by an offensive fishy scent that hit him like a runaway carriage.

Lyall visibly recoiled from the glass. "Gods, what's in it?" he hissed, nudging it back Alan's way as he covered his nose.

"Don't be a baby. Just take it. It'll help your hangover," Alan stubbornly said instead, not answering his question and nudging it towards him again.

Pouting indignantly, Lyall reluctantly took the glass. "Slander," he muttered into the drink, then knocked it back with a grimace.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Alan teased. "You'll thank me later."

"Don't patronize me," Lyall groused as he hauled himself up to his feet.

He'd overstayed his welcome. He meant to be gone before sun-up, and thus before Lara was awake.

Alan pried the glass from his hands, asking, "How are you really feeling? Are you hungry?"

Tilting his head to stretch out lingering any stiffness in his neck, Lyall buttoned up his vest and tried to make himself overall a little more presentable. "Sadly, not at the moment," he smoothly answered. "Though I'll gladly take some of those cinnamon rolls for the road."

Lara peeked her head through the entrance, smiling gently. "I can pack some for you," she said warmly. "Are you sure you don't want to stay a little? It's no bother to us."

"That's very generous of you to offer," Lyall replied in kind, managing a more sincere smile for her. "I do have morning obligations to attend to quite soon, though. Perhaps another time."

Wherein he preferably made a far more appropriate entrance. With the express permission to do so.

"We have morning obligations," Alan corrected with a finger in the air, glancing between the two of them.

"We," Lyall pleasantly amended, burying his confusion as he fought the urge to glance questioningly at his friend.

Lara shyly stepped out of the kitchen with a container in hand, to which Alan quickly closed the distance between them, pecking her left cheek, right cheek, then forehead with his lips. "Sorry we can't stay long. I'll see you later?" he said softly, pulling her in for a quick embrace.

Idly fixing the collar of his shirt, Lyall politely glanced up and all around.

"Alright," Lara said with a nod, adoring smile growing from the open displays of affection. "I'll see you soon." She handed the container to Alan, nodding eagerly and waving to Lyall. "Thanks for coming by, Lyall! It's so lovely to see you again."

Flashing another appreciative grin, Lyall inclined his head. "And it's always a pleasure to see you, Miss Lara. Thank you again for your incredible hospitality."



"What exactly are your 'morning obligations'?" Lyall asked skeptically as he stepped out onto the dusty street ahead of his friend. "Aren't most your classes in the afternoon or later?"

"Usually, yes, but I don't have classes right now," Alan answered, walking alongside with him while tearing a giant cinnamon roll in half. "I finished the semester last week. I'm here for the summer, though. Just not taking classes." He furrowed his brows in thought, wordlessly offering the cinnamon roll to Lyall. "I thought I told you that."

After raking his hands through his mussed hair in a meager attempt to get it under control, Lyall shook his head as he accepted the pastry. "Why not go back to the family home for the summer?"

Alan took a bite as they weaved through the morning crowd. "Mostly because of work opportunities and the events next week." He shrugged plainly. "That, and because half of my time would be spent traveling." With a dazzling smile, Alan playfully elbowed Lyall's side. "Plus, I know you'd miss me. So I'm here to grace you with my presence all summer."

"Come off it," Lyall scoffed, swatting him away. Alan obliged and leaned away, though not without a cheeky smile.

He stopped abruptly to let a carriage roll by. Then hastened across the wide street. He was already late for a family meeting, but decided a few more minutes' in delay couldn't hurt. Not if he returned home bearing gifts.

"What work opportunities?" he asked, ducking into an alleyway, away from the hindrance of heavy foot traffic.

Alan followed suit unquestioningly, letting Lyall lead the way. "Performance opportunities," he answered, pointing the pastry at him. "I'm playing the solo at the festival next week, by the way. Are you going?"

At the other end of the alley, Lyall drew to the side a hanging sheet like a curtain and beckoned him through with a silly flourish of his hand. "Prestigious!" he answered, flashing him an excited smile. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Then I'll see you there," Alan said with a full smile. He was about to take another bite, but then brightened up and pointed the pasty back at him. "Mm! Are you going with Santiago? Maybe we can go to the dance together as a double date. It has been ages since we've done that."

Lyall furrowed a brow as a show of thought. "It truly has been," he agreed. And for a variety of reasons. All of which could be simply abridged with: 'we all got busy'.

"I don't see why not," he went on. Bumping elbows with him, Lyall pointed to the left with his chin and took the lead again. "I'll run it by him. I'm sure he'd like that."

"Yes, please do," Alan said eagerly. He took another bite, and the two of them walked down the brick alleyway in silence for a mere two seconds before it was broken again. "How is Santiago doing, anyways?" he asked curiously. "I feel like it has been a while since I've seen him."

Now that surprised Lyall just a little. He figured the two might see each other on occasion at least. If he recalled correctly, a few of their afternoon and evening routes for work might've intersected. And they seemed to get along so well.

"Doing quite well for himself," Lyall answered proudly. "The success of the paper lies squarely on his shoulders, I swear it. He's putting in late hours since the turn of the season, too. As have I, for that matter. But it helps us be that much more intentional about it, I suppose."

They even played together less amidst the current chaos of their lives, which was a shame. Lyall adored watching Santiago take a seat by the piano in his home, the way he sank so deeply into his performance. He was a true artist, and took his passion so seriously.

Lyall felt himself grin faintly as he concluded with an emotion he couldn't quite place right now, "Makes every evening we do see each other again to be cherished by that much more."

Now that he thought about it, he realized some time had passed since they last played together as well. Which sparked an idea...

Alan watched him speak with awe, smile growing fond, the affection contagious as it likewise pooled in his eyes. "I love hearing you talk about him," he said sincerely with a wistful longing. "He's a lucky man, and so are you." A pause, with curiosity washing over him. "Speaking of which, have you two settled on a wedding date yet?"

Lyall had to bite back a groan at that.

"Not yet," he answered, banking a sharp left turn once the fruit cart was in view.

Alan hummed softly, following in his steps. "I know Santiago dislikes the summer heat. What do you think about a winter wedding?"

Lyall hummed, "He'd suggested as much." Last year.

"What of Alistair?" he asked, casting a curious glance over his shoulder as he approached the vendor. "Where are he and Andy nowadays?"

Instead of answering, Alan quickened his pace and approached the vendor first, leaning against the cart's counter with his elbow on top. With a pleasant smile, he asked the vendor, "How much for a pack of strawberries, blackberries, five apples, and a small melon?"

Trailing behind, Lyall tilted his chin up with a quiet huff.

"Five copper," the vendor, Miss Yvonne, answered smoothly.

"How about four?" Alan bartered, five copper pieces already in hand. With a smile, he slid them on the counter, adding, "One copper for each item, which are about of equal value to each other, wouldn't you say?"

Miss Yvonne pursed her lips, nodding after a brief hesitation. She plucked the coins and waved him off. "Deal. Five copper."

"Thank you kindly," Alan said with a nod, stepping back. With a pleased smile, he caught Lyall's eyes and broadly gestured to the fruit stand. "Go on, then. Pick your favorites."

Flashing Alan a wry grin, Lyall stepped closer to take his friend's place by the cart, and put on a warmer smile for the vendor. While he briefly struck up conversation about the sources of her offerings, offering compliments on the quality as he put together a bundle, Alan dipped out of the way to another stand somewhere to the right.

Miss Yvonne sat straighter, happily answering with a proud smile of her own. Then made a teasing comment about how he spent the night prior. At which, Lyall did sigh good-naturedly, and vaguely confirmed her suspicions about the underlying reason for the fruits.

He gave his sincere thanks and bid her a good morning. Miss Yvonne bid him good luck, then kindly shooed him away to address the next customer.

Standing on his toes, Lyall scanned over people's heads for his friend. By the entrance to a different side road, with a paper bag tucked under one arm, Alan beckoned him along with a wave of his other hand.

Lyall quirked both brows curiously as he slipped into the next alleyway. "What have you got?"

Stepping alongside with him, Alan slapped the paper bag against his chest. A weighty object thudded against him softly, perhaps a jar.

"For you," Alan announced, poking the bag against his chest for him to take. "Or rather, Santiago. Give this to him to cheer him up."

Lyall took the bag with a furrowed brow, and found two jars inside. One filled with honey-- the smell of lavender lingered on the waxed covering-- and the other filled with a bright orange jam. It smelled of some sort of stone fruit. The seals on the glass jars suggested the highest of quality, indicating these were gifts for Santiago.

Subconsciously slowing in his steps, Lyall let out a quiet sigh as he peered back up at his legitimate mind reader of a friend.

"Thank you," he murmured sincerely.

"You are welcome," Alan said warmly, turning the corner to lead the way towards the clinic. "Alistair and Andy are broken up for good this time, by the way," he finally answered, then shrugged. "It's for the best, I think. I suppose it was not meant to be."

He "supposed". Mister Alan Alvaro, who adored love, and watching people be in love, and loved being in love. Merely 'supposing' what was best. Lyall knew he felt more strongly on such matters than that.

"Well, good for him, I say," Lyall said, trying to egg on a stronger admission-- as well as out of a strange bout of indignance on Alistair's behalf. "But sometimes it means something, you know? When someone keeps coming back to a thing. It's..." He waved a vague hand. "You know."

Alan stared at him, patiently waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, he prodded, "No, I don't know. It's what?" with hints of amusement.

Lyall did groan aloud this time. "Bugger," was all he muttered as he marched ahead.

"Destiny? Fate? A sign from the dragons above?" Alan pestered with a grin, quickening his steps to keep up with his pace. "How awfully romantic of you, Lyall."

Whirling around, Lyall stopped them short to get in Alan's space and forcefully poke at his chest. "Nooo," he drawled determinedly, "evidence of what's been built. What they've built up to. Purely scientific and sociopsychological."

Alan stood still, pursing his lips and tilting his head, studying Lyall. With a slight narrow of his eyes, he asked, "So you do enjoy Andrea's presence, then?"

Lyall huffed. "That's neither here nor there," he answered instead, "I was not the one courting her."

"No, but you do seem to have strong opinions," Alan stated. "Where is this brazenness coming from, anyways?"

"I'm merely challenging you," Lyall admitted plainly with a nonchalant tilt of his head. "Your brother is able to decide for himself what is and isn't better for him."

Alan smiled gently, holding up his hands in defeat, palms facing outwards. "I know, I know," he assured. "Don't worry. I've only ever given him love and support. I tell my opinions to you, but I don't act on them. Him breaking up with her was of his own discretion." He poked Lyall's chest in turn, pushing him back with his finger. "Get off your high horse, Mister Romantic," he teased.

Giving way to his nudging, Lyall stepped back with a dry grin. "Gladly," he relented. "Since I've won."

Alan resumed their walk, giving him a pointed look over his shoulder. "'Won' is a strong word. Don't let this get to your already giant ego."

Lyall hummed with satisfaction as he stayed close beside him. "Too late."

"Well, at least have some humility when you see your family?" Alan said, gesturing to the end of the block where the clinic awaited.

Lyall slowed to a stop when the building came into view.

Though grand in size, its facade was humble. Its heart filled with both noble purpose and the very lifeblood of his existence: his family.

Not for the first time, he wished the two could be completely separate.

"Hey, you okay?" Alan said more gently as he stopped in front of him, the playfulness washing away.

"Thoroughly admonished," Lyall smoothly replied, casting him an easy grin in reassurance. "Not to worry."

"With you? Impossible," Alan said with another teasing smile, pointing his chin to the clinic building. "Come on, let's face the music."

Lyall had lost track of how many times he actually thanked the deities for his good friend.

Long trips were well worth it when Bo got to see good friends on the other side. And he'd been preparing for this reunion for a few months, now. Astrid was a good friend of many years, now, and he'd been around when Lyall was just a baby. Now, Lyall was a full-fledged adult, and so were half of Astrid's five kids. Bo had the privilege of seeing them all grow up over the years. Every time he stopped by, they'd be a little bigger, and a little brighter.

When they made the move to Ruddlan almost twenty years ago, it made it easier for Bo to come visit. Ruddlan was a pit-stop for the world, and naturally, all paths weaved back through it every time Bo traveled; which, was always. Especially as of the past three years.

Rescue efforts never ended. Ever since the failed Resurgence, Bo and the resistance had been scrambling to pick up the pieces and the people left behind. And there were still, by some miracle, mages being born everyday.

Finding them and saving them from certain death - as was their fate in most of the world - was something they always had to work against.

And that work was what brought Bo back to Ruddlan again, for the third time this year. For months, mages - some agents of their own - had been falling off the map. With no bodies left behind, Bo had to assume they were kidnappings. And his people weren't the only ones feeling it.

People were going missing. Children, from orphanages homing children of martyred mages. Mages in hiding. All over the map, people were just disappearing overnight. But one thing he and his agents determined for sure was this: all roads led to Ruddlan, and all evidence pointed to the Blue Suns.

Though the assignment ahead of him was great, he knew it'd take time to do it right. Dismantling a criminal organization, however, would have to wait. For the morning, at least.

He had a family to surprise.

Bo quietly found his way around the back of the Ashlund's clinic through their back gate, and Mel, Raj, and Robin all followed behind him. Bo could sense Robin's excitement even though he couldn't see his tail. If Robin was free to shift into his wolf form here, it'd be wagging.

It definitely would be later, when they got inside.

After weaving past the backyard garden, they lined up along the side of the building at the back entrance. Bo used the spare key Astrid gave him to let himself in, a little surprised that the clinic was as lively as it was this early in the morning.

The hustle in bustle was out front, however.

Curious, but always a little careful, Bo motioned to the others to wait by the door as he peeked his head out of the back room. He only needed a moment, really, to assess what was going on.

Lyall had walked in with his friend Alan, and Bo could already smell the remnants of alcohol from afar. It pained him, knowing that Lyall was going out and using drinking to escape the stress of life. But he was glad that Alan was present, at least, and seemed to be a good friend to him.

At the same time, he caught a glimpse of Astrid, ushering out a somewhat disheveled man out towards the lobby while she passed her hungover son. The two exchanged a tense, wordless glance as Astrid diverted her attention to the patient she was leading out of the clinic.

Busy. Things were busy.

Bo was about to tuck away again, but he found himself doing a double take as the double doors opened to the front entry room.

Hold on a second.

First thing: Astrid was wearing an awful amount of perfume. It stunk from across the building.

Second thing: Caspar Calderson of all people - an old, old friend that Bo hadn't seen in quite some time - was standing in the waiting room.

Third thing: Caspar was receiving the patient Astrid was sending off. And upon second glance, Bo recognized instantly who the patient was.

He'd heard the stories. He'd helped write the accounts. He had seen illustrations, and posters, and all of the propaganda that the Moonlight Kingdom flaunted ever since the Resurgence was over.

That was Tiberius Hemming. The man who effectively snuffed out whatever hope the resistance had of enacting change within their lifetimes.

Or at least, anyone's lifetime besides his own. Bo was an exception.

Bo had to force himself to retreat to the back room when the double doors closed and the brief view he had of everything was gone. Firstly so he wouldn't stare, but also, because he was still trying to keep things a surprise. Of course, he hadn't been expecting to see all of that, either.

Maybe best not to mention that Hemming was within reasonable distance of mauling to Robin. That would go poorly.

Bo would mention it later, when Robin would be too far from the man to do anything irrational.

"Looks like they've got their hands full this morning," Bo said quietly.

"I'm tired of waiting," Robin said, ever the patient one of the party.

"Should we come back later?" Mel asked, having a much more gentle approach.

There was stomping heard from upstairs as little Tove let out a high-pitched roar. Viktor, her older brother, roared in return and there was another thump as the two of them likely tumbled on the floor together, playing "werewolves and dragons."

"Let's give it a minute," Bo said.

Things probably wouldn't be long with Astrid. It seemed like she was just tying up loose ends. Besides, Bo heard Lyall's footsteps go upstairs, too. Alan left after greeting their mother and wishing them a good day. Caspar and Astrid exchanged some quiet, polite words and Bo could sense Caspar leave, with Tiberius close behind.

Through the walls, Bo listened for a moment. Letting Robin sit impatiently in the interum.

He was getting restless, of course, tapping his foot.

Ah. There it was.

Astrid was going for the back stairwell. Perfect time to intercept her, with all of the children upstairs.

Bo stepped through the door, catching Astrid just as she came to the end of the hall. She tensed for a split-second, then broke out into a fond grin as her eyes lit up with recognition.

"My dear friend!" she greeted, voice a warm whisper, arms open as she approached without any further hesitation. "I nearly forgot."

Bo stepped into the room, smiling wide and wrapping his arms around her and embracing her tightly.

"Shhh!" he said softly by her head. "I'm still trying to keep it a surprise."

Drawing away, she shook her head in endearment as she beckoned for him to wait. He slug a big bag off his shoulder, lifting it to show to her he'd brought gifts with a wide grin.

"You spoil 'em," Astrid murmured in playful admonishment.

"Hey, there's one for you too," Bo whispered, waggling his brows.

Biting back a laugh, she wordlessly slipped out from the hall to finally address her family, waving for Bo to stay put. Grinning, he did so, waiting for his cue.

On the other side of the door, her steady voice drifted through as she called for her pups' collective attention. Tove took an extra moment to settle and grew restless again as Astrid began to outline expectations for the upcoming weeks.

She left most details of the case pertaining to Tiberius Hemming vague as she explained that Lyall was to follow up with his recovery. No comments were made aside from the eldest brother amicably agreeing, but the tension that inevitably followed was palpable, even through the door to the hallway.

In contrast, Hild was set to shadow Doctor Edith for the rest of the week. Most likely to the eldest daughter's quiet dismay. Ulf returned from uni for the season, was to the helm at the receptionist desk. No complaints there.

Then Astrid finally addressed Vik and Tove. Much to their confusion.

"But," Tove started, small voice lowered with hesitance, "I'm only five."

There was a bright, encouraging grin in Astrid's voice as she answered, "Now, now! You're never too young to practice being a good hostess."

And that was his cue.

Bo led the way up the stairs and entered the living room with the bag of gifts slung over his shoulder. When he got within view of the kids, he beamed when he saw the children's eyes light up with excitement.

It was so nice to see them so happy.

"Guess who's back!" he said, stepping up beside Astrid.

There was a chorus of, "Uncle Bo!" as all the Ashlund children dogpiled him.

Wishing his arms were long enough to hold all of them, Bo received them all in a big group hug, laughing as they all crowded around. He kissed the tops of each of their heads until he got to Tove, who he had to pick up out of the fray. He lifted her up and she giggled as he gave her a silly smooch on top of her head and then spun around, landing her in Robin's arms.

"Uncle Roo!" Tove squealed, throwing her little arms around his neck to hug him tight.

Robin hugged her back tightly and spun her around, but just as quickly shifted into a wolf. The two of them toppled to the ground, with Tove on top of him.

Ah, there it was. His tail was going.

Tove clung to his back like a little monkey, excitedly asking him where he'd been. Before Robin had a chance to answer, Vik shifted in the blink of an eye and lunged down into a playful stance, ready for another game of chase.

"Hild!" Mel said, coming around the group to find the young girl, pulling her into a hug. In an increasingly rare show of affection, Hild was quick to return the hug as she softly greeted Mel.

Moments later, Bo saw Raj and Ulf embrace in greeting as well, patting one another's backs. A beacon of hospitality like his mother, Ulf was quick to offer food and refreshments as he pulled away. Raj followed him over to the open kitchen, never one to refuse.

Bo took a moment to set his bag of gifts on the floor before he turned to Lyall, offering both arms.

"It's so good to see you," Bo said, pulling the young man into a warm embrace.

Leaning into the hug, Lyall heartily patted Bo's back. "It always feels like all and no time passes at once when you're away," he replied with so much affection in his voice.

In the background, Viktor was chasing Robin and Tove around the room. Tove was riding Robin like a horse, laughing.

Bo grinned and pulled away, patting Lyall's back in return.

"And you just keep looking more handsome than the last time I saw you," Bo said, ruffling Lyall's hair a bit. "Santiago's still treating you well, I hope? He better be."

With an indignant shout, Lyall swatted at his hand. "All's well in paradise," he confirmed.

Bo laughed. "Paradise? Last time I checked, Ruddlan didn't fit that bill."

Lyall shrugged nonchalantly. "Look closely enough, and you'll find the occasional oasis in this desert."

"I think I have the keys to the only one around," Bo said, swinging the keys to the Ashlund residence around his pointer finger.

"Perhaps for yourself," Lyall countered amicably. "I've personally found one in the arms of--"

There was an immediate groan of disgust from both Hild and Vik, from opposite ends of the house. Bo couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Alright, alright!" he said, lifting up his bag of gifts. "Let's all sit down. I brought presents."

Tove let out an excited gasp.

"Uncle Bo," Hild said gently, "you really didn't have to."

"Have to, my dear Hild," Bo said, plopping down on the largest couch in the room, "and want to, are two very different things."

He set the bag between his feet and waited for everyone to gather around. Hild and Mel took the spaces both of his sides. Robin sat on the floor, with Vik flopped over his back and Tove across his paws, all still in wolf form. Astrid draped herself over the couch off to the side, chin resting in the palm of her hand as she watched her two youngest settle with a faint smile. Lyall leaned on the arm of the sofa by her. Raj and Ulf came in sharing a plate of cookies, and sat on the floor on the other side of Robin and the pups.

"We'll start with the youngest," Bo said with a grin, looking up to see Tove's head pop up in excitement. Her tail wagged faster than her body knew how to handle, so her whole butt wagged too.

Reaching into the bag, Bo pulled out a stuffed animal dragon.

It was a very nice one at that. Hand-sewn by Mickey himself, and accurate to boot. Tove would never know that Mickey based if off of Bo's own dragon form, but Bo was more than happy just to see the light in her eyes when she saw it.

"You will, of course, have to bestow upon it a name," Bo said as he offered out the plush toy in his hands. "Names are important, you know."

Shifting back, Tove scooted closer and ever-so-carefully took it in her hands with wide, awe-filled eyes.

The dragon was long, more snake-like, and as she held it, the slight shimmer of the blue fabric that made up the scales caught the morning light. She turned the face around to look at the plush dragon's friendly little smile.

"Princess Sparkles of Noodletown," she whispered in reverence, gently stroking the scales on its head.

It took all of the self control Bo had in him not to burst out laughing for how sincere Tove was about the name. Instead, he just smiled wide.

"That's a perfect name," he agreed. "She definitely looks like royalty."

Hugging the dragon tightly, Tove beamed up at him. "Thank you, Uncle Bo!"

"You are very welcome, Tove," Bo said, already reaching into the bag for the next gift. "Alright, hmm, gee, I wonder who's the next on the list? Who's the second youngest?"

Rolling off of Robin's back, Vik hopped up to rest both paws on the top of Robin's head. His tail, too, was waggling his whole body.

"Oh, that's right!" Bo said, smiling. "Viktor!"

He pulled out an ornate musical horn, made out of an ox's horn. It came with a leather strap to hand over the wearer's shoulders.

At the same time, he saw Astrid, Lyall, and Hild's faces fall with mild dread.

Sorry.

"SIIIIIIIICK!" Viktor pounced forward, gingerly took the horn between his teeth, then giddily leapt away again to set it between his paws and admire it up close.

Bo leaned over to Hild sitting beside him, whispering lowly so only she could hear. "I also have ear plugs in the bag," he said.

"All is forgiven, then," Hild murmured back.

Bo pulled them out quickly, slipping them into Hild's hand while Viktor started running around the room with the horn.

"Alright, next up, we have the one and only Ulf," Bo said.

With a bow of his head and small, silly flourish of his hand, Ulf politely stood to receive with more grace than the younger Ashlund brother.

"For you, sir," Bo said, pulling out a very old, very precious book from the secret libraries of New Haven. He'd convinced Mickey to part with it for a very special little Ashlund.

On the cover, the book read: The Extravagant Life of Matvei Petrov.

It was a biography, and a story of a very old, very precious story about a powerful lightning mage, ages before the calamity.

As Ulf gingerly received the book, Bo leaned forward to meet the boy's eyes.

"Now Ulf," he said a little softer. "Please do take care of this book for me. There's only one in the world like it."

With that trademark mix of Ashlund curiosity and awe sparkling in his eyes, Ulf quietly nodded his promise. Smiling wide, Bo patted Ulf's shoulder.

"Now go on," he said. "I know you're already dying to read it."

"Are you sure?" Ulf asked. "I can wait 'til after we've visited more."

"I'll be in town for a good while," Bo said, softer. "You won't miss a chance to see me, I promise."

With another nod, Ulf gave a quiet, wholehearted "thank you" as he retook his seat by Raj and quickly delved into the text. Bo grinned, when Raj looked over Ulf's shoulder with a cookie in hand.

"Alright, three down..." Bo said, reaching in again, feeling for the next gift.

He pulled it out, handing it to Hild beside him with a smile.

"And one for the lovely Ms. Hild," he said. "A kaleidoscope."

Made by craftsmen of Lettera in one of the finest tinkering shops of Nye.

Brows quirked, she hummed in questioning, then sheepishly removed the earplugs.

"Look through this end," Bo pointed. "And spin the bottom half."

Heeding his instructions, Hild held it up and carefully twisted the barrel. She broke out in faint smile of wonder, then lowered the instrument to lean against his shoulder. "It's beautiful," she said, "thank you."

"You're very welcome, Hild," he said gently. "I thought it could give you some inspiration for your clothing designs. I know how much you like patterns and colors."

Hild averted her next smile as she turned the kaleidescope over in her hands. "Thank you," she softly repeated.

Bo pulled her into a small side-hug, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

"Let me know if it gives you any ideas in that brilliant head of yours," he said, and then pulled away to dig into the bag once more.

"Lyall!" he called.

Lyall gave a two-fingered salute. "Yes, sir."

"Hah! Sir," Bo scoffed with a smile. "Get over here."

With Astrid's additional nudging at his elbow, Lyall slid off the arm of the sofa and took the space at Hild's other side. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees to peer around her.

Out of the bag, Bo presented Lyall with a jar wrapped in brown paper. Eyes lighting up, Lyall accepted it with both hands and quick bow of his head, then wasted no time in undoing the packaging.

"Oh my gods," he breathed out in amazement when he read the label, "I haven't had an authentic Isles jam in ages!"

"It's blackberry," Bo said with a fond smile.

Hugging it to his chest with a little gasp, Lyall grinned impossibly brighter. "My favorite!"

And that made Bo's heart melt with affection even more. Lyall didn't smile like this much anymore. It was special to see, if a little bittersweet.

"I hope it tastes like how you remember it," Bo said.

Leaning away from her brother a bit, Hild poked at the lid of the jar. "An unusual method for sealing," she mused.

Bo smirked. Hild was always quick and observant, so it didn't surprise him that she noticed the whistle tied around the lid before Lyall did.

Brows furrowed in confuzzlement, Lyall drew it away to examine the jar himself. "Unusual indeed," he agreed under his breath as he tugged the cord loose. He turned the whistle over in his hand, then cast Bo a questioning look.

"You can wear it," Bo said, gesturing around his neck.

From some unseen corner of the room, Vik tooted his horn in encouragement.

Frowning from the lack of explanation, Lyall hesitantly obliged and slipped it over his head. Per Vik's additional toots in prompting, he haltingly raised the whistle and gave it a blow.

Silence. At least, to everyone but Bo.

For him, it was rather shrill and loud.

Lyall's expression fell flat. "Har," he said with no amusement, "I'll treasure this forever."

All the younger siblings snickered quietly, trying to stifle their delight.

"It's not a dog whistle," Bo said after a beat. "It's a Bo whistle."

Which got a bit of a stunned and confused silence out of the room at first. And then Lyall actually laughed this time.

"What--" He threw a hand skyward in a perplexed shrug. "What game are you playing?"

Bo smiled softly. "No games. Just blow it if you need me," he said. Then added: "But, try not to do so all the time. Nuance, you know."

Grin turning confused again, Lyall faintly shook his head. "Sure, yeah," he conceded, "thanks." Pressing a hand over his heart, he held up the jar of jam and offered a far more sincere, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Bo said, reaching over Hild to give Lyall's knee a pat before he reached down for the final gift.

"And finally," he announced. "For the woman who brings us all together. Would the lovely Ms. Astrid please step forward?"

Astrid scoffed playfully. "You truly should not have," she said.

"Too late for that," Bo said cheekily.

"You pest," she murmured, her own grin betraying her fondness and a hint of excitement. She obliged, and gracefully crossed the room.

Bo lifted up the last gift from the bag, carefully pulling out the package wrapped in cloth. Gingerly, he handed it to her.

"Do be careful," he said. "It's fragile inside."

Her grin turned flat. "Careful," she echoed in playful disdain, even as she obliged and carefully took it in both hands. "I'll have you know, sir, that I am a highly successful surgeon, and an accomplished alchemist to boot. 'Careful' is far more than a warning to heed; it is a default state."

Bo smirked, but just waited for her to retake her seat and open it.

Sitting straighter this time, Astrid went on as she detailed the highlights of her career, her skillset, as she delicately unwound the cloth over her lap. Her long-winded touting trailed off as the edges of the outer cloth hung loose and revealed a fabric of a different color and type underneath. Setting aside the covering, she unfurled the second layer to reveal a large clamshell, its surface and edges all smoothed by the current of an ocean.

Astrid's eyes softened by the slightest bit as she lifted the shell, fingers brushing the concave side. Lifting her eyes, she silently beckoned Lyall back over. Curious, he switched again and settled close beside her. He fell into a quiet awe as he studied the shell-- its contents, closely.

"When did you draw this?" Astrid asked, casting Bo a fond smile.

"It was in a sketchbook from many, many years ago," Bo said. "I found it a few months ago while I was clearing through some things. I figured you deserved to have it."

It was a picture he'd sketched of Astrid and Lyall around the time he first met them. Astrid had been reading Lyall a book, and Lyall was sitting still and engrossed in the story as he sat in his mother's lap. It had been a sweet moment that Bo had tried to capture in his sketchbook at the time.

It'd been years, of course, since he'd thought of it until he found it again.

He'd used a shell to frame it. He picked the shell up off the Isles from the beach he knew Astrid grew up near.

"You draw?" Lyall asked incredulously, picking up the shell.

"I used to do it a lot more," Bo said with a shrug. "Been a bit too busy and paperless lately."

Astrid turned her attention to the second layer of cloth, spreading it out over her lap. "Oh," she said, "dear. Bo, you really should not have."

Bo couldn't help but smile as Astrid held up the second layer-- a dress, to herself to look over. Mel had helped him pick it out for her. It was a long, flowing gown where the shoulders would have draped loosely. The soft, smooth fabric was a gentle sage, a color they both knew to be one of her favorites, with delicate floral emboroidery on the bodice.

But something pricked Bo through the midst of the merriment and gift-giving as Astrid raised her arms.

He'd expected the heavy wafting of perfume coming his way. But underneath it all, he caught the slightest hint of something sour.

Something sickly.

As briefly as the smell struck him, the overwhelming scent of perfume drowned it out once more. Bo felt his resting smile start to fade as a quiet, worried dread began to settle over him.

Astrid never liked strong perfumes because of her wolven senses. Bo should've recognized this sooner. The only possible reason she had use them was to cover something up. Something she didn't want her children to smell.

Was Astrid... sick?

Bo tried not to let his smile fall too dramatically. He didn't want to ruin the moment. He mustered up a small smile again.

He would have to speak with her later. In private. He wouldn't have a chance to now, and he knew her well enough that she would hate him bringing this up in front of her kids with no warning.

"Do you like it?" he asked, in reference to the dress.

"Of course I do," she answered appreciatively, finally glancing up again to smile more fully at him. "I'll have to wear it during the upcoming celebrations, it's lovely."

Bo nodded, trying to suppress the rising worry. He would get to this later.

Later.

"I was hoping it could be of use for that," he said. "All of the style credit goes to Mel, though. You know I've never been as spiffy as you. Mel picked it out."

"Mel, you are darling," Astrid said fondly, admiring the dress again, "you know me so well."

"A woman of your tastes deserves something to show them off," Mel said warmly.

Astrid crossed the room again to sit by Mel and pull her into an embrace. "Thank you, my dear. You continue to impress with your impeccable eye for color and trends."

"You're so welcome, Astrid," Mel said, hugging in return.

Standing again, Astrid then tugged Bo up to his feet to give him a hug in thanks as well.

And when she did so, he caught a hint of that scent again. Bo got a better sense of it this time, but he didn't like what he knew.

It wasn't just sickness. It was the smell of someone dying. Slowly.

"Mister Mastermind of gift-giving," Astrid murmured fondly as she pulled away. She maintained her easy smile, but the light in her eyes had dimmed, giving way to something serious.

She knew. She knew he could sense it. The look in her eyes bordered pleading as she affectionately went on, "We'll have to catch up very soon, after my work day is done."

"That sounds like a good plan to me," Bo said. "I'll have to get going in a moment, but I can stop by in the evening when your shift is over."

He looked around the room at the others. Tove was showing Robin her new toy, Viktor was still tooting his horn in corners of the room, Ulf was consumed by the book he was reading, and Lyall was fixated on the drawing and the shell.

But Hild was watching. As she always was.

The poor girl would always pick up on things. And Bo knew Lyall did, too. More than he let on.

"Would you let me make dinner for you all tonight?" Bo asked.

Astrid of course was at first resistant, retorting with a, "Nonsense! You're the guests, we should be cooking for you."

"But I have this really good recipe I want you all to try," Bo said, giving her a pleading eye.

Astrid patted his chest with a firm, "No."

"Can I help you, Uncle Bo?" Tove asked, hope pitching her voice.

"I'm sorry, Tove," Bo said with a pout, knowingly and playfully setting up the scene to pit the children against Astrid. "Your mom said I can't cook tonight, so I guess we can't."

Astrid would have further argued, had her children not all chimed in at once, begging for her to let Bo take charge of dinner plans. Her expression turned utterly flat with offense.

"Please please please?" Tove shimmied in between the two, bouncing on her heels. "It's my turn to help Bobo!"

"We haven't had a proper meal in foreverrrrr!" Vik whined dramatically, poking his nose out from behind the couch.

"I love you, Mother, but--" Ulf diplomatically started.

"--distilling antidotes and cooking a substantial meal are two entirely different beasts," Hild bluntly finished for him.

"Let the man cook!" Lyall grandly pleaded their case. "To live out his secret dream as the finest chef Ruddlan will never know they've hosted!"

Bo shouldn't have felt so vindicated that they liked his cooking better than their mothers'. But he couldn't deny he did feel a little pleased. He had to suppress a smile.

"I think the jury's out," he said, failing to hide the smirk on his face. "I'm taking over the kitchen."

With a sigh, Astrid pursed her lips in displeasure. "Fine, fine!" she relented, throwing both hands heavenward. "Have it your way!"

The children all cheered.

Bo let out a giddy little: "Heehee," and then pulled Astrid in for another quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Thank youuuuuu," he said.

"Cheeky," she muttered, pushing him away with the slightest hint of amusement finally showing through. "A monarch, still outvoted. I never..."

Bo leaned down to pick up his now-empty gift sack, tucking it into his belt.

"Alright, kiddos," Bo said. "I'm going to have to get on my way for the day, but I hope you all have fun with your presents and work goes smoothly. I shall see you all later."

He was met with a chorus of happy farewells, thank you's, and a string of toots.

He turned to Astrid, giving her a brief, but knowing look.

"You still like flatbread, right?" he asked, softer. "Some beef, yellow rice. Hummus?"

Astrid gave her most theatrical, put-upon sigh. But conceded, "Yes, I do."

"Perfect," Bo said with a grin. "Then show up to dinner hungry. I'll see you then."

"We most certainly will," she answered warmly. Quieter, she added, "Safe travels until then."

"Safe travels."