I'm not sure the two of them could actually work out as a long term pairing but I really do want to give it a go and see what happens after reading this chapter.
On the Road to Elspar [Book 1] (Dryad Mercenary Schoolgirl Quest)
- Thread starter Kei
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
- Location
- PA
Hrrm.
Seiglinde...Well, after hearing Elizabeth's thoughts I'm actually kind of concerned as to where her character arc is going, because I don't see Neianne changing her mind...Then again, she's under enough pressure that the right word at the right time just might shift what otherwise would be impossible to move.
Lake? Haha!
Seiglinde...Well, after hearing Elizabeth's thoughts I'm actually kind of concerned as to where her character arc is going, because I don't see Neianne changing her mind...Then again, she's under enough pressure that the right word at the right time just might shift what otherwise would be impossible to move.
Lake? Haha!
Mother Nyx
Mother of Elpis
- Location
- The Kei Klub
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I really enjoyed the information that we got from this. From a young Lisa trying to skate in the summer to finally getting to see how deep her well of cynicism actually is.
I also think Lisa heard Nei's little speech through the words she didn't say, even if she was asleep when she actually said it.
I also think Lisa heard Nei's little speech through the words she didn't say, even if she was asleep when she actually said it.
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Don't knock her chances -- Neianne is capable of carrying both her and both of their stuff!
More seriously, the issue of class is one that seems primed to come up with most of Neianne's hypothetical love interests. Both Elizabeth and Sieglinde in particular are heirs to major fiefs and will presumably be expected to marry for political reasons. It's something that would come up in some way or another with a lot of others as well. Even Vesna would be... "Trading down" slightly, depending on how successful her family are.
As a firm believer in the power of love I don't let things like class differences stand in the way of shipping. No my concern is more about their personalities, philosophies, and general outlook on the world. Neianne is the classic optimist; someone who dearly wants to believe things ultimately work out for the better. Elizabeth is the classic disappointed optimist turned pessimist; once upon a time she too wanted to believe things would turn out better, and secretly still does, but experience has taught her that isn't the case.
As things currently stand I don't think the two could handle a long term relationship. They would just clash too much due to their differing viewpoints for any relation to be stable. The only way I can see them working out would be through the quest's events developing their characters such that Neianne become more pessimistic, Elizabeth more optimistic, or some combination of the two.
Opposites might attract but it is your similarities, not your differences, that keep people together in the long run.
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
On the other hand, does Elizabeth actually dislike clashing with Neianne?
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
I don't think she minds the clashing. It makes Neianne more willing to speak up for herself, to say whats on her mind and whatnot and Elizabeth finds Neianne 'adorable when angry'. I don't think she's just saying that but what do I know.
Sightedjt
Everlasting Flames
I mean, if Liz is more of the "cynicist who used to be optimist", part of it could just be her seeing a bit of how she used to be and liking that for the same reason she wants sieglinde to have luck in her attempts at reforming things.
Also it must be noted that just because it is liz, that doesn't by any means mean she has all of the picture / the exact reality of how the lower classes have it so while her view on things may in some ways be accurate, it's also likely to be a bit reductive.
Also it must be noted that just because it is liz, that doesn't by any means mean she has all of the picture / the exact reality of how the lower classes have it so while her view on things may in some ways be accurate, it's also likely to be a bit reductive.
- Location
- Chicago
- Pronouns
- She/They
It seems like Liz likes our dryad so much because she is both smart enough not to hold to stupid arguements, and optimistic enough to give Liz hope even as she tries to squash it. Someone who is scared of her but still willing to stand up against her at need- that's probably unfamiliar. Someone who knows people outside of vassal relationships and politics is probably a good sounding board for Liz too- she seems like the type to re-evaluate assumptions if Nims doesn't react the way she expects.
TimEd
Meteor maker
dont know what it is supposed to be, but this is most probably a wrong word or sentence structure.
Also fun to bully in that she overreacts to everything but isn't actually hurt and will push back if you go too far.
Next update is about 75% done, maybe I can even post it in the next twenty-four hours.
...Don't get your hopes up. I am known for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
Not going to lie, this made me grin.
Fixed, thank you for catching it~
...Don't get your hopes up. I am known for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
Not going to lie, this made me grin.
Fixed, thank you for catching it~
AnonymousRabbit
Rabbit Faced
Looks at time.
12:42 am
Kei are you doing this on purpose?
We'll wait warmly, take your time. No pressure.
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
Decoded: Kei had three minor deployments and one major one, while taking a minor wound in the leadup to the major op.
Oh noooo I'm so sorry : (
Eating it slower doesn't make the calories go anywhere else ;X
Quiet support builds for Neianne subclassing into magic instead just so she can burn more calories? ;P
Snnnnnnnnnnnrk.
And no, Liz, there is also value to you have those attributes yourself ;X
RIP, Neianne dead. No coming back from that one.
The war. ;P
While technically true, I would say that not taking the current conflict seriously fairly obviously contributes heavily towards eventually losing, which introduces a whole host or other systemic issues. (Economic or otherwise)
And deterioration of society is the work of decades.
(And not that many if you can introduce social media olol)tfw you realize Penelope is a candidate to be radicalized and be used as a patsy for someone else's agenda
Excuse you, Neianne is always adorable!
She totally tried.
*looks down* Called it!
Sword on the back, elf in the arms, picnic supplies wrapped up and in one hand. Totally doable!
host
Looooooooool. The suffering has only begun.
They're clearly not the prodigies if they couldn't see that after the first day. ;P
1.20.8 Summer Vacation (Part 8)
hahaha twenty four hours i said
@Gazetteer forbade me from making a comment about me hating myself and wanting to die. So.
The wagon rumbles along a broad, well-kept road busy with traffic. Most of it flows in the same direction you're headed. Well-dressed ladies in wagons like yours or occasionally on horseback, farmers and merchant carts hauling necessities and luxury goods alike, and seemingly endless travellers on foot, stepping obligingly aside in order to give the vehicles the right of way.
The last two and a half days of your journey - helpfully identified for you by Anya, who seems to have become your self appointed tour guide - sees the road following the slow, muddy expanse of the River Sten. It's wide enough in places that the far shore is rendered distant and toy-like, more water than you've ever seen in one place.
"Oceans are even bigger than that," Anya explains wisely, a gently worldly teacher imparting her hard-won knowledge about the wide world beyond Caldrein's borders to a callow village girl.
Elizabeth, sitting curled up beside you, stretches slightly, making a sound like a dozing cat being roused and cracks one sleepy eye. "She's never been outside of Caldrein," she mutters, smirking slightly at Anya's displeasure.
"I've read books about the sea!" Anya shoots back, annoyed.
"Books about Ornthalian merchant's daughters becoming cabin girls for beautiful pirate queens don't count as being 'about the sea'."
"Elizabeth!" Anya whines, to no evident effect, even as you blush to think of the content implied in such a book. She gets quieter after that.
Without having seen Stengard before, you can only draw on your fuzzy-edged, childhood memories of Arkenvale in imagining what the proverbial heart of Caldrein would be like. A dense sprawl on the edges, perhaps, giving way to orderly, well-paved streets near the city center. In your mind's eye, the buildings in the regional seat of Apaloft still loom larger than life. Instantly, as soon as the de facto capital for the Confederacy becomes more than an undistinguished blur on the horizon, your eyes grow wider and wider the closer you grow, and you remember Lucille's casual remark from that afternoon in her room with Melanie, about how Arkenvale - for however pretty it is - pales in its grandiosity compared to Stengard.
On the first count, at least, you are immediately forced to concede she's right. The Sten curls protectively around the city that bears its name, its natural banks forming the base for a third of Stengard's outer walls. Beyond that, however, the land itself has been painstakingly shaped; you have read at some point in your childhood that centuries ago, laborers dug a great channel so that the River Sten would split on one side of Stengard and reconverge on the other, forming what is functionally an artificial island surrounded by a deep, flowing moat. You can spot several gates and bridges along the channel, as well as numerous docks and jetties set into the Sten, the water as busy with boats and barges as the road.
The walls are smooth and white, similar in color to Faulkren Academy itself, rippling out to cover the entire channel-facing side of the city and most of the riverfront. You can see towers and battlements along its edges, the tiny figures of distant, armed guards manning them. Rising even higher than the walls, though, are the peaked roofs and flat towers of the city's buildings, most made in the same whitestone as the walls, shingled in a myriad of colors. Most prominent of them all, of course, is Tower Vigilance, the hundred-meter spire that dominates any view of the city, marking where the five Caldran countesses meet during political season, and thus the heart of the entire confederacy.
Actually, as Anya explained to you days in advance, "Tower Vigilance" refers not only to the tower itself, but also the sprawling complex connected to it, far larger than the tower itself, but that's admittedly somewhere far in the back of your head as you crane your neck to catch a better view from the window of your carriage.
"You," Elizabeth mutters against your side, as you actually near the walls, "are the world's most obvious villager." She seems to have no compunction about using you as just another surface to curl up against. Her sisters, beyond a few amused looks early on, don't seem to find this behaviour too surprising, so your flushing has substantially died down.
"Y-Your eyes are closed!" you tell her, tone mildly accusatory.
"I can hear you gawking. And pouting now."
"I'm n-not!" you insist, trying to school your features, even as the rest of the Zabanyas in the wagon attempt to disguise their amusement. You can't help but feel like you're being ganged up on, and you vow not to let yourself be too dazzled going forward. This resolve breaks embarrassingly fast.
Theda's Gate looms up larger and larger, oaken doors as thick as you are pulled back to admit the flow or people into the city as it slows to a trickle and funnels across the drawbridge. You imagine, as you pass, that you could fit your entire hand in between the chain links that could pull the bridge up. Stengard is, as you've always read, a truly fortified city, prepared to withstand siege or assault, for all the long centuries in which this hasn't come up. As you pass through the gates - progress slow and laborious, guided by a collection of exhausted looking women in guard livery - a small, unwelcome voice speaks at the back of your head, asking you if, perhaps, you might live to see that change in coming years.
That thought puts a damper on your enthusiasm far more effectively than Elizabeth's teasing, although you do manage to mostly put it out of your mind once you have something to look at other than arching stone and impatient wagon drivers.
It feels almost closer to being in old growth forest than in what you think of as a city, the surrounding buildings rising up so high and so dense that they block out the sun in some places. Yet this is still completely undermined by the sheer weight of people thronging the streets, glimpsed through windows, operating stalls and shops along the roadway. The city has a permanent population of roughly fifty thousand, and that number doubles during the political season, when the aristocracy, their retinues, petitioners, merchants, and even foreign dignitaries all come to Stengard to pursue their own interests. So, too, are the streets crowded with peddlers and cooks trying to hawk their wares, taking advantage of this annual confederacy-wide gathering. It reminds you of Midwinter's Feast in the town of Faulkren, except far larger and more crowded. Humans, elves, and aseri seem almost equally represented here, even if the glimpse of another leafy head is far more rare; yours is not typically a city-dwelling people, and you can't help but imagine how utterly and miserably overwhelmed your parents would be in such a setting. Elana, you're equally sure, would love it.
"The Violets District is a little ways in from the walls," Anya informs you.
"Th-That's where we're going?" you ask, still shamelessly wide-eyed.
"It's where our townhouse is," Diana explains. "Where most of them are. Like...vacation homes, for the political season. It's a little cramped."
You nod. In spite of the size of some of the larger buildings you can see over the rooftops looming over you, you can well imagine that space is at considerably more of a premium here than back in a place like Marloch. Certainly, as the caravan of wagons roll down the brick streets of the Violets District, you take note of the rows of townhouses that, while certainly fancy and elegant-looking, are not actually very wide. Certainly, the yellow-painted townhouse your wagon pulls up to - one that presumably belongs to House Zabanya - does seem to be a mere fraction in size relative to the Zabanya manse back in Marloch.
It does not take much time for the front door of the townhouse to swing open, maids emerging from the building to help the caravan with unpacking. You are stepping out of the wagon with Elizabeth and her family when a well-dressed, middle-aged brunette steps out onto the street, smiling in a way that's warm, in a restrained way, an expression of familiarity marred by the fatigue in her set of shoulders. "You made it," she declares to the members of House Zabanya, and you somehow get the impression that her relief at the presence of the viscountess herself is born from practical considerations almost as much as from affection.
Elizabeth, nose already in her book, lazily steps out of the wagon, walking past the woman as she gives her offhand greeting: "Father." Then she simply walks past, heading through the door presumably to find a more comfortable place to resume her nap.
This is the first confirmation of who, precisely, the brunette is. At first, you can't identify any particular family resemblance between her and her three daughters, who all take so strongly after their mother. But now, looking between the two of them, you pick out a little of Elizabeth in her short stature and almost fragile looking, fine-boned face. She watches her eldest go past with a long-suffering, almost fond expression on her face, before turning her attention back to her lady-wife. "Was the trip alright?" Elizabeth's father asks, accepting a chaste peck on the cheek from the viscountess, which makes you feel a little embarrassed and wondering if you should be anywhere in the vicinity.
"It was," nods Isabella; it was a fairly uneventful trip beyond the conversations you've had with the Zabanyas. "Is Council not in session?"
"Closed briefing with the war pavilion."
The tired smirk on the viscountess' face suggests she's not actually being serious when she asks, "A daring new counteroffensive?"
Elizabeth's father shrugs noncommittally, bearing taking on a more subtly grim contenance. "The girls from House Nornfel looked somber, so it's more likely that the situation is worse than they're letting on. The general assembly reconvenes tomorrow." She pauses as Diana and Anya step out of the carriage, the two daughters exchanging warm hugs with their father - a marked contrast from Elizabeth - before she murmurs, "You girls head on in." Obediently, and with pointedly respectful nods, the two sisters file past, belatedly following Elizabeth. Momentarily uncertain as to whether or not you were included in "you girls" you dither in place, mixing in with the maids unloading the luggage off from the carriage, tentatively watching after them.
The viscountess waits until her daughters have all gone in before asking in a somewhat quieter voice, "Have we had a chance to speak on matters of trade yet? The guilds are being very antsy; Dakota visited twice last week alone."
"I haven't been heard yet, and see no reason to be optimistic. They're not ruling anything out, but any attempt to discuss trade and the supply of silver from Elspar has been co-opted by Countess Cenoryn for more strategic discussions. Countess Athalast is trying to maintain a balance in these deliberations, as is Countess Celestia, but they'll give ground. If Elspar falls, both of us will be next. And, frankly, Countess Cenoryn is on the warpath. I don't see us having much room edgewise."
Viscountess Zabanya frowns. "You're not pressing hard enough."
"I'm pressing plenty. As are the other houses. One of the older Cenoryn daughters - Vivica, I think - got very pointed at one of the Apaloftian baronesses who didn't get the hint. It was somewhat painful to watch Countess Celestia personally intervene." She appears unmoved in the face of her spouse's annoyance. Her green eyes, by happenstance, belatedly fall on you, taking note of a strange dryad standing awkwardly on her doorstep. "Who is this?"
Viscountess Zabanya unbends again, nodding at you politely. "She's Neianne of Caelon. She and Elizabeth are squadmates at Faulkren. Elizabeth invited her from Apaloft as a guest."
"Elizabeth?" The viscountess-consort glances behind her, the direction her eldest daughter was last seen in, before turning her attention back to you. She masters her obvious surprise a moment later. "I...see." Her expression - despite the fatigue - unfurls into something that seems a bit more genuinely warmed than the mastered elegance and grace of her taller wife. "It's my pleasure to meet you. Thank you for training together with my daughter. I am Elizabeth's father, Viscountess-Consort Anastasia Sonya Zabanya." She leans in, pretending to whisper furtively, "But that's long and stuffy, and you've traveled too far for long stuffiness. Just call me Ana."
You try not to giggle as you manage a curtsy. "I-It's an honor to meet you, m-milady. I'm N-Neianne of Caelon." Then you wincingly realize that you've already been introduced as such by Lady Zabanya, a fact that - despite a knowing, amused flicker across her face - Anastasia mercifully does not call attention to.
"We do have a guest room for you even here," she reassures you before turning to the pair of maids still present. "Please have Neianne's things brought up."
The two are already slipping past the nobles speaking in front of the house, beginning to unload luggage from the carts. You dart forward, as a uniformed servant visibly struggles to lift one particular belonging of yours. "O-Oh, I'll take that," you kindly say to the maid in question, taking the heaviest of all your things and - fighting down a feeling of awkwardness in terms of letting the maids handle your things - taking your bag as well before turning for the front door of the townhouse.
And you would've been fine with letting the two nobleladies continue with their discussion - Anastasia is already turning back to her wife - at least until the viscountess-consort catches a glimpse of your belongings in the corner of her eyes, does a double-take, then stares for a long moment.
"...Is..." she blinks, "...that a sword?"
It is unsurprising that you want to go sightseeing in Stengard, not having ever stepped foot - or even laid eyes upon - a city of this size and scale. It is amusing, then, that despite being made to carry your buster sword - again - the two younger Zabanya sisters act as your amused chaperons as you stare and gawk and admire the expansiveness of the confederacy's capital. The streets seem to stretch on forever this way and that, lined with shops that are far beyond your budget and restaurants that offer foods that rival what you've been indulging yourself in at the academy. All over, too, can you find traces of your nation's history, from statues to shrines to relics, installed at strategic locations to maximize pedestrian traffic, to remind all of their esteemed heritage.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, though, you remember what people like Lucille and Wendy have told you, that the prettiest cities have their underbellies. The Zabanya sisters don't take you there or show you, but you are sure that even in Stengard, there are those of lesser means, living in relative poverty in the darker sides of the city.
But eventually, the day comes and goes, and you eventually return to the Zabanya townhouse for another rich and fulfilling meal - one that makes you feel guilty about your weight - and then it's to bed. The next day comes, and before you know it, you're ushered into the carriage in the early morning, horses pulling it along with all of House Zabanya to the heart of the confederacy, the nexus in the city where the greatest decisions in Caldrein are made: Tower Vigilance.
Your carriage joins a long procession of other dozens of wagons carrying all of Caldrein's aristocracy towards the predominant structure of Stengard. Confederacy Street is wide, but it's not so wide that so many wagons can pass unimpeded, even with pedestrians making way, and it takes an almost frustratingly long while to navigate through all that traffic to finally reach Tower Vigilance. Like the wide-eyed village girl you are, you actually stick your head out the window at one point, looking at this moving convoy of ornate wagons, within which sit the ladies of noble houses and powerful families, great and small, dressed in their best and here to impress.
It's only after you pull your head back into the wagon that you realize that Elizabeth has clearly rolled her eyes at you at some point, given her look of mildly exasperated amusement, her two sisters are giggling, and the viscountess and her husband are trying to be polite by only barely managing not to smirk, causing you to blush intensely and look awkwardly away.
Whitestone walls form the complex connected to Tower Vigilance, an architectural style that reminds you once again of Faulkren Academy, except this is clearly the much larger and richer cousin, with taller buildings, wider walls, and colorful banners of the confederacy large and small unfurled atop flagpoles, along the ramparts, and from the windows. The guards that wave you through the great gates of the complex are not Caldran mercenaries, but a combination of the garrison at Stengard, and soldiers wearing dozens of different colors offered by just as many noble houses to maintain security. The maids that stand ready to serve all of you when your wagon finally pulls into the beautiful carriage porch, though, all seem to serve Stengard, judging by the matching uniforms, and they bow their heads in unison, which you'd imagine is much more reasonable than curtsying, given how many noble houses they've had to greet thus far.
As the members of House Zabanya disembark from the wagon, it is Viscountess Zabanya that gestures towards you as she speaks to the maids: "This is Neianne, guest to House Zabanya. Will you take her to the parlor?"
The maids bow at this, but to your surprise, it is Elizabeth's voice that lazily cuts in, "I'll do it. I'll join you later." It isn't just you that's surprise; her parents are blinking at her and have this expression that looks like they suspect she's up to something suspicious. But Elizabeth - dressed in a black dress and a white coat, more formal than her usual sundress - pays you no mind as she steps inside the main building of the Tower Vigilance complex, carrying the book she's been reading in the carriage, and - after hurriedly curtsying to your hosts - you scamper in after her.
The interior of the Tower Vigilance complex is a sprawling series of hallways and staircases, almost exactly the way you expect a palace to look like. The building stretches on in a decorative combination of whitestone and marble, both white and black. You pass through sculptures and relics, as well as a long series of paintings depicting past leaders, famous battles, Caldran mercenary victories. Maids bow as you and Elizabeth pass by, and you're greeted with respectful nods by guards at every corner. Sunlight filters in through massive windows, and sometimes these corridors almost seem too bright for you to look at, especially compared to your modest wooden surroundings back home.
But a few twists and turns later, Elizabeth pushes open a set of double oak doors, and you're greeted to the sight of a large parlor already occupied by a large number of guests. These are not, you're quick to realize, members of the noble houses who seem to dominate these political proceedings; there's just something about their bearings and their attire that suggest they're not actually nobility, but guests of importance. Members of powerful merchant families, perhaps, or distinguished Caldran mercenary leaders. The implication that there is another parlor or sitting room for the nobility does not detract from the beauty of this massive room where dozens - if not hundreds - of guests are mingling, talking with each other. You suspect it is in these rooms that massive deals are being brokered, information is being exchanged, and so on. You are not exactly in the presence of nobility - save for Elizabeth, of course - but you still feel overwhelmed, like you're not supposed to be here, occupying the same room as so many of Caldrein's most powerful.
Elizabeth, however, is clearly unconcerned, even as she suddenly shoves the book she's been carrying into your hands. "Hold this for me," she commands. "I'll need it later."
You blink, suddenly concerned. "I-Is something wrong?"
"No, it's what I'll be reading if Council this year turns out to be even more boring than usual. But I don't particularly care for my parents seeing me with it while I'm supposed to socialize with members of the other noble houses and tell them I'm finally here to electrocute them."
And, with that, Elizabeth leaves whence she came, presumably to where all the other noble houses are gathering, and you are thus alone, surrounded by strangers. You look around at this large, grand chamber that you've been left at loose ends in, clutching Elizabeth's book to your chest as if it might sprout wings and fly away without your efforts to keep it in place. Not knowing what else to do, you retreat to a nearby stone bench beside a leafy, potted shrub. Here you perch on the edge, lay the difficult treatise on mana conversion down beside you, fold your hands over your lap and wait, trying to be small and unobtrusive.
For the most part, the other people in the room leave you by yourself, although more than a few spare a glance at the lone dryad in the pretty dress. You occupy yourself by looking at the paintings on the wall from the safety of your bench and admiring the life-sized carving of a warrior-elf nearby. She reminds you a little of Lady Aphelia.
"Pardon me, miss, but would you mind overly much if I sat here?" a small, polite voice asks from beside you.
You only jump a little, turning around to see a meek-looking girl wearing a maid's dress. "C-Certainly!" you say, attempting to scooch over just a little more in spite of the fact that you're already at the very far end of the bench. You wonder, briefly, at one of the staff looking to sit down on the job, until you register that the specifics of the garment differ from those of Tower Vigilance's attendant servants in both cut and style. Similarly, the small livery crest sewn above her heart doesn't look anything like you've seen here, although you can't help but feel it's very faintly familiar.
"Thank you very much," she says, giving you a restrained but entirely sincere smile. All at once, it makes her seem extremely pretty; wide, expressive eyes contrast fetchingly with raven black hair. Her aseri ears - perked up slightly as she smiles - are similarly sleekly dark, the tail that flicks back and forth behind her coming to a bushy, white tip. Unlike Stephanie, however, she's only fractionally taller than you are, if considerably fuller-figured. "I'm here waiting for milady," she tells you, settling herself down with her bag on her lap. It's an almost incongruously bulging, leather satchel that she had been holding in both hands.
"I'm w-waiting for someone as well," you tell her. You hesitate for an awkward moment as the aseri maid begins to quietly root through the bag, either looking for something or performing an impromptu organization session. "I'm Neianne."
"Lilith," she says, shoulders relaxing further as you prove to be friendly. The overwhelming impression she gives you is, somehow, one of spotlessly white tablecloths and thoughtfully brewed tea. She wouldn't, you're suddenly sure, lead a poor, innocent girl to her doom at the hands of a sleepy Elizabeth. Unlike some maids. She glances at your somewhat rigid posture and, perhaps having taken note of the way you were staring around before she sat down, asks, "Is this your first season here in Stengard? I don't mean to assume! I mean, you looked a little lost, and you're a dryad. Not that there's anything wrong with that! But there aren't that many here and I knew you weren't a lady, because you don't look anything like a Charmaine, and, um, not that you have to be a lady to...to..." she trails off, tail suddenly sweeping back and forth across the bench self-consciously. "...Sorry."
"I-It's fine!" you try to reassure her, having been a little unprepared for the torrent of nervous qualifiers. "It is my first time here. I'm a g-guest!"
She relaxes again, possibly encouraged to have found a kindred spirit of sorts in the form of your equally self-conscious bearing. "It was all very exciting for me, the first time I accompanied milady here. You get used to it, though, after a few years." You wonder what circumstances has allowed a maid like her to be invited like you to the confederacy-wide decision-making body of Caldrein. But before you can think to ask, Lilith's tail - slowed but still flicking back and forth across the bench - brushes up against the thick book on the bench beside you, and she glances down at it, frowning as she reads the title. "Do you study magecraft?"
"N-No," you clarify, hastily, "I only kn-know a little bit."
She purses her lips, glancing again at the title and then back down into the depths of her bag, as if contemplating whether to speak further or bite her tongue. The impulse for speech wins out. "I'm not sure," she says, slowly, "if I would recommend Tomwynn if you're just started looking into the subject." Hespith Tomwynn does appear to be the name of the author, penned in on the cover in a cramped hand.
"B-Because it's difficult?" you guess, thinking back to Elizabeth's explanation on this subject.
"No," Lilith decides, shaking her head with a surprising amount of certainty. "I wouldn't presume...please don't think I'm saying anything like that, Miss Neianne. Although, her writing is a bit...um!" She seems to falter and reconsider a few times, shuffling this way and that way in her thoughts. "Anyway. She mostly had some...colorful objections to conventional mana conversation theories. There are some useful observations in her writing, but you need enough background to properly...suss out the problems in order to make much use of it."
"Ah," you say, wondering if it's too late to admit that this isn't even your book to begin with. "Are you a m-mage?" you find yourself asking instead, in the spirit of keeping the friendly conversation going. Magecraft is, at least, obscurely interesting and the prospect of hearing something from a gentler tutor than Elizabeth is not...unappealing, for a change of pace.
"Kind of," she admits, as if to suggest a mere dabbler like herself is unfit for the worth "mage". Even ignoring that you're speaking to a lady's maid, it's slightly surprising; apart from the odd exception like Melanie, aseri aren't famously inclined towards magecraft, often lacking any particular knack for it entirely. You wonder, then, thinking also of Stephanie and her strangely-flaming sword, how much of that is really true and how much of it is stereotyping. You might ask Elizabeth later, when there's not an aseri mage literally sitting beside you. Lilith glances back down at the book, a little more open in her disapproval now. "For example," she says, "she...you're familiar with the theory of matter dissipation?"
With a slight surge of relief - and a bit of gratitude towards Elizabeth - you are with all honesty able to nod, "Y-Yes, a bit."
"Oh, good. Essentially, she didn't believe in it."
"Some s-scholars don't, I thought?"
"Some. Not all of them reputable."
"I h-heard it was thirty percent?"
Lilith seems to give that some thought. "That...depends on how you define recursive aural theorists, I suppose. Either way, though, that's not what Tomwynn believed in. She spends a lot of time explaining all sorts of fringe exceptions or inconsistencies, as if that refutes the entire theory." Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of Elizabeth slipping back into the room. She scans the room, looking for you, ignoring some of the guests near her who bow and curtsy in her direction. As Lilith continues to speak, you begin to feel a looming sense of foreboding. "What she says about healing magecraft is a prime example both of tome-casters assuming expertise in staff magecraft, and how the alternatives to matter dissipation aren't practical and have even more inconsistencies than the theory they're trying to critique."
"...Oh?" you say, voice getting smaller as Elizabeth spots you, sitting on the bench with an aseri maid. She begins to approach, but to your alarm, seems to slow as she comes close enough to make out what Lilith is saying, her head tilting slightly to the side in interest.
"She treats healing magecraft as if it's a contradiction, because she's saying it creates matter directly by filling in wounds or sealing up broken bones," Lilith says.
"Th-That's...wrong?" you guess, looking over her shoulder both to watch Elizabeth approach and trying to nonverbally warn Lilith.
Sadly, the maid in question, presented with a friendly and receptive audience, has become too wrapped up and excitable over her own explanation to notice the cues you're sending her. "Yes, very wrong," she nods her head enthusiastically, leaning into your direction, which causes you to blush as you have a full view of her considerable chest. Her ears are pricked up but not particularly alert, fully engaged as she is with the conversation. "Healing magecraft doesn't work that way; that debate was as good as settled decades before she did her research. Healing magecraft bolsters the body's natural processes. It doesn't directly convert mana into flesh and bone. That's impossible! Instead, it changes the body to be able to heal more effectively. And when you stop casting, the enhancements stop. That's changing matter, and then the changes dissipate."
From behind Lilith, Elizabeth - who has been thus far been listening with what looks like lethargic but amused interest - offers, "The so-called 'indirect principle'."
"Yes, that," Lilith happily concurs, and when she starts to swivel her head around, you half-expect - with a muted sense of horror - the aseri maid to realize just who has been standing behind her, but she only half-turns to Elizabeth to offer, "thank you." Then she turns back to you - you're sure your expression is barely schooled enough to not betray complete bewilderment and anxiety - and continues, "The debate that has raged on, of course, is how indirect principle challenges the consistency of some of the underlying theories of mana conversion, because not indirect changes are maintained or maintained the same way, meaning we lack a unified explanation as to why they're different and inconsistent. In this, we know that our current understanding of the theories on mana conversion are incomplete; this was known when Tomwynn wrote this treatise in 978. But on its own, the treatise was uninterested in seeking new answers so much as it sought to tear down existing theories. The methodology she used was also lacking."
"The Slaine method," Elizabeth again helps clarify.
"Indeed!" Lilith again half-turns to Elizabeth in agreement, but although you're sure she has turned enough to at least catch a glimpse of the tiny elf, again there is a lack of real reaction as she swivels back to you. Does the maid not recognize the lady behind her? You suppose a random maid isn't obligated to know every daughter of Caldrein's noble houses, but it doesn't fill you with any less dread as Elizabeth's smile grows more amused and catlike behind Lilith, even as the latter concludes, "It allowed Tomwynn to do some fairly interesting and thorough experiments, but in a way that ultimately lacked interpretive or explanatory power. They were just sets of data that proved nothing the scholarship didn't already know. More broadly, the theories on mana conversion - while imperfect and incomplete - are still consistent principles that largely match the realities of magecraft. There is an insufficient body of evidence to suggest that these are wrong, just that they require refinement."
There is a lull in the conversation, with Lilith looking very pleased with her insights to a friendly and receptive audience, and you mostly just staring blankly, not sure how to process an explanation that has largely flown over your head or the fact that Lilith still doesn't realize who's behind her. This lasts until Elizabeth opines, "A very interesting assessment of the literature."
Lilith seems, briefly, to swell slightly under the mild praise from the knowledgeable stranger behind her. She turns to face Elizabeth more directly, a humble, grateful smile on her lips. "Oh, thank yo..."
Upon seeing who it is, the maid's smile doesn't vanish so much as it wilts, flattening out almost at the same rate as her ears. Her green eyes similarly enlarge at the same rate until they are as wide as saucers, bright with horrified recognition. It takes a moment of processing Elizabeth's presence before she abruptly shoots up to her feet, taking the submissive posture of a diligent maid; there's no question of whether or not Lilith recognizes the tiny elf standing in front of her.
If there is any corresponding change to Elizabeth's own smile, it's that it gets bigger; her expression, as it often is, remains angelic and kind, but you've long since learned that this is no safety from Elizabeth's sadism. She pointedly ignores the frantic "be nice please" look you're shooting her from behind Lilith, as she continues, "Since you were talking so very adamantly about shortcomings of the Slaine method, I am, of course, interested in your assessment of its interpretive architecture."
"I-I wouldn't know, Lady Zabanya," stammers Lilith, shifting anxiously. "I was...I'm not really a mage."
"You aren't?" blinks Elizabeth in what you're sure is mock surprise. Lilith seems to shrink more and more as the tiny elf continues, "That's too bad. After all, the conventional theories you seem to hold as valid - especially if you consider Ornthalian treatises on the subject - were based off variants of that same methodology. Of course, the nature of the conclusions were different; it's easier to produce results, which other parts of the scholarship were trying to do, compared to explanations. But that's not to say..."
"Zabanya," a voice suddenly cuts in sharply, and you realize that you've been so preoccupied watching this little episode with Elizabeth and Lilith that you never noticed another young noblelady enter the room. In fact, only when the tall elven lady cuts through the crowd and steps in between Elizabeth and Lilith do you realize that you recognize her: Wilhelmina Adelaide Marienberg, your fellow Caldran mercenary apprentice at Faulkren and the best archer among you.
Matching Wilhelmina's cross, unimpressed expression, Elizabeth merely maintains her angelic smile and - almost teasingly - repeats the calling out of family names: "Marienberg."
It's unsurprising that Wilhelmina would be here, and you're not sure why you're so caught off-guard. The lean cut of her stylishly minimalistic attire - bolero, dress shirt, and trousers - accentuates her tall, willowy figure, and when the short Lilith swiftly scampers out of the way of the two elves to stand demurely beside Wilhelmina, it looks like she's making use of that height advantage, towering over the three of you, by semi-hiding behind the daughter of House Marienberg. The elven archer, for her part, mutters to her mage counterpart, "Go bully someone else's maid."
"I'm not bullying her," smiles Elizabeth innocently. "We're simply having a friendly scholarly discussion."
"Yes, milady!" Lilith gives Wilhelmina a smile that's decidedly frayed around the edges. "Lady Elizabeth was just...just...speaking with me about magecraft." There is a slight tremor in Lilith's voice as she says this; in spite of her words, she's staring at Wilhelmina as if pleading to be rescued from a lion.
Wilhelmina frowns as she turns around to look at Lilith, which has the added effect of catching sight of you as you stand and curtsy in the presence of another noblelady. It takes the taller elf a moment to recognize you - the two of you have almost never talked outside Azalea's tea parties, and she doesn't speak much even then - but a look of surprise and confusion crosses her face when she does. "Neianne?"
"L-Lady Marienberg," you bow your head in greeting. It occurs to you rather belatedly that you do, in fact, recognize the crest on Lilith's maid dress; you've seen Wilhelmina wear her house sigil at Faulkren often enough, and you're not entirely sure how you didn't recognize it for what it is immediately. Not knowing what else to say - the situation is awkward as a whole - you add, "I haven't thanked you for s-saving me from that direwolf months ago. D-During the attack."
Wilhelmina blinks. "I did?"
"Yes. You s-shot it from the ramparts while I was knocked over, so I could finish it afterwards."
"...Ah," Wilhelmina nods slowly in a way that all but confirms to you that she does not actually remember the incident. Then she shrugs, "Well, I'm sure you would've done the same for me." A pause, before she awkwardly adds, "It's...good to see you. I...didn't know you were going to be here at Council."
"She's a guest of House Zabanya," Elizabeth offers from her corner of this square.
Wilhelmina's eyes narrow for a moment at Elizabeth, before she casts the same look at you, which suddenly makes you feel very self-conscious. Eventually, Wilhelmina's look softens, but only by a bit. "I...see," she allows. It takes another awkward moment for her to eventually declare, "Well, Council will begin soon." To you, she tries to sound gentle, even if she seems stern all the time. "You'd best find seats. Neianne." Then, in a sharper tone, "Zabanya."
"Marienberg," Elizabeth bids Wilhelmina farewell in mocking imitation of the latter's tone, even as the taller elf is already turning around and leaving.
"Very pleasant meeting you, Miss Neianne!" Lilith says, giving a slight wave in your direction. Her eyes then dart over to Elizabeth, and she fearfully squeaks, with the slightest dip of a curtsy, "...Lady Zabanya." Then she's all but scurrying to catch up to Wilhelmina, maintaining a proper following distance of a few paces behind her lady.
Elizabeth stares after the two of them, waiting until they're safely out of earshot before musing, "Decent head on that one, even though she's even more of a shrinking mouse than you. Her insights are intellectually defensible." You're still deciding how exactly to respond to that when she continues. "I suppose she wasn't just hired for her tits after all."
You feel your face heating. Down the hall, seeing Lilith from behind, you see the maid's ears twitch and her shoulders hunch. Perhaps Elizabeth isn't quite out of aseri earshot.
Sadly, the tiny elf isn't done. "Mind you, it's Marienberg. So she probably was to some extent anyway."
"Wh-What?" you gasp, mortified that you're about to be told something about Lady Wilhelmina's personal tastes that you'd frankly rather not know.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes. "Probably was hired for her tits. I've seen Marienberg reading difficult books before. She always looks like she might hurt herself from the effort. I'd bet you that maid spends her nights using her tongue for more than just squeaking and explaining magecraftal theory."
A year ago, you wouldn't have understood what that means. It's funny what a year at Faulkren - and the company you keep - does to you, in more ways than just becoming more martially accomplished. "Th-That's not true!" you stammer, flushing red. "You sh-shouldn't talk about her like that!"
Elizabeth glances your way, her expression turning suddenly predatory, as if she's found easy prey. "Oh, don't pretend you didn't notice. You saw her up close, the same as me. Closer, all cozied up on that bench together." Elizabeth leans in toward you in sardonic imitation of Lilith's excitable proximity, the effect somewhat lessened by her height and lesser endowment. Somehow, it makes you more flustered coming from her, rather than less.
"Sh-She's...very pretty!" you manage, panic continuing to mount.
"Then why are you blushing, if that's all? You're bright red. Just what sort of obscene thoughts are running through your head, hm? Any fantasies of...tearing her dress off? Especially around the chest?" She glances at the shrub behind you. "Not quite an 'ancient tree', but I see you're finding the nearest equivalent."
"I-I-I..." you take in a deep breath, momentarily overcome. "I'm n-not..." you trail off, giving up, and instead give her an accusatory pout. "M-Mean."
You're too worked up to really consider exactly who you're throwing mild insults at, at this point. Which is just as well, because rather than take offense, Elizabeth throws back her head and gives another of her dainty, pealing-bell laughs. One of her hands reaches up to gently pat you on the head. "I am glad I brought you along," she informs you before turning around and walking towards the door. "Now come on. If I'm going to read the treatise of a hack or fall asleep, I may as well do it in good seats."
The two of you leave the parlor, returning to the confusing maze of corridors. As you follow Elizabeth, however, you suddenly realize - looking out the windows and seeing the most prominent structure of this complex - that you're moving away from the tower for which this complex received its name. "A-Aren't we going to Tower Vigilance?" you ask.
"Council has not met in Tower Vigilance for two centuries," Elizabeth explains without even turning around to look at you, guiding you up a flight of stairs. "For one, even if it's large enough to accommodate all the houses represented at Council, it's far too small to accommodate the several hundred select family members and guests and dignitaries watching the proceedings. Also, it'd be very silly for all of the confederacy's leaders to be killed by a siege catapult bringing down the tower with one good hit, don't you think? No, we meet in the larger Council Chamber. Which, of course, is within a hundred meters of the tower."
It takes a moment for you to realize what Elizabeth means: If the tower should one day collapse during political season, there's still a chance it may fall on the entire political leadership. The thought is unsettling.
After arriving at a higher floor, it only takes a few more turns for Elizabeth to guide you through a set of open oak double doors, and you find yourself on the second-floor gallery of what must be the Council Chamber. As you step onto this mezzanine overlooking the floor below - occupied by seats and tables and the nobility of Caldrein who are still mingling with each other - you suddenly feel irrationally terrified. Here you are, invited to a gathering of Caldrein's most powerful, being in the same room as the Caldrein Countesses, speaking to each other on the floor below. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever imagine that you would one day find yourself in these halls of power. You feel relatively less out-of-place upstairs, which isn't actually saying much. You aren't really sure, of course - there is, statistically, a chance that there's a number of girls like you, commoners dressed up really well for the occasion - but judging by their clothes, their bearings, a strangely deep sense of perfumed cleanliness, it feels like everyone on the gallery is a member of the aristocracy or of great merchant families.
"I'm going to go take a seat," Elizabeth announces, moving past you and navigating the rows of seats that line the gallery. "Join me whenever you want. Or don't." She smirks a little. "I suspect you may find a few friends here."
And certainly, as Elizabeth leaves you alone, stunned at where you are now, you are greeted with a familiar face, albeit from behind. "It's Neianne!" someone singsongs, as if she's just discovered you hiding under a table.
"M-Mia?" you gasp, as a familiar aseri is abruptly in front of you, leaning in slightly too close to speak with you over the buzz of the crowd.
"I don't have a twin sister, so, yes," your fellow apprentice confirms. "You look surprised to see me!"
"Oh, I...a little?" you admit.
She grins at you. "You shouldn't be. The Honettes aren't just good looking, you know. We're pretty important!"
"Ah. L-Like..."
"Not really," she confesses. "But we're rich, and we have a few important noble patrons. My family is here with House Gildenhart this year. It was House Celestia last year, though! All the major merchant families are usually kicking around at these things."
"Th-That makes sense," you say, relieved that she lets you finish the sentence this time.
"Like, the Asters are here too. Melanie's over there," she points to a seat not too far away, and sure enough, the white-haired aseri is bowing her head to a number of other guests, looking somewhat overwhelmed, "but I didn't really get to say hi." She grins again. "Although maybe I shouldn't. Do you know that we're actually really bitter rivals?"
"N-No! I th-thought you liked Melanie."
"I do, but I meant our families." She shrugs inelegantly, the cherry-blossom-colored fabric of her dress rippling prettily. "So mother might not like me being too familiar in public, or whatever. I'll just give her two extra hugs once I see her back at Faulkren!"
"At once?" you ask, imagining the spectacle of that.
"Nope," Mia says, pleasantly, "I'll save them up. Give them out to her when she's least expecting it."
"Wh-Why are you making them sound dangerous?" you ask, warily.
"It's Melanie," Mia explains, as if you're being slow. "She acts like everything that isn't a restrained nod from across the room is mortifyingly embarrassing. You know her!"
"R-Right," you murmur, worried. "Try not to scare her t-too badly?"
Mia grins, a little evilly. "I won't promise any such thing!" Her eyes lock onto someone behind you. "Oh! That's Evelyn! Nice talking to you, Neianne." And with that, she's gone, covering ground almost as fast as she had at Midwinter Feast, when she'd dragged you with her to Lucille's table and abandoned you.
At the very least, though, you now know where Melanie is - not that she's hard to spot, with her uniquely snow-white hair - and so you nervously make your way over to the aseri in question, approaching from behind. "H-Hello, Melanie!" you say, smiling happily upon seeing your friend. "Your dress is really beautiful."
Melanie flushes, hunching in on herself self-consciously, fingers plucking at the fabric of the garment in question. "Th-Thank you," she murmurs. "Y-Yours is as we..." She stops. Blinks. Looks at you sidelong, as if making sure that she's really talking to the dryad she thinks she is, fluffy white ears perked up in stunned surprise. "N-N-Neianne?" she asks, her voice an incredulous whisper to avoid drawing attention to herself with anything louder.
"It's m-me," you confirm.
"S-S-Sorry! I just didn't expect to see you here."
Glancing around, you lean in close enough to whisper up to her, a little despairingly, "I d-didn't expect to be here either. Lady Elizabeth...s-surprised me."
Melanie blinks, confusion - if anything - increasing. "You're here w-with Lady Z-Z-Zabanya?" Abruptly, she glances behind you, as if worried that, perhaps, the smaller elf had been hiding in your shadow, waiting to step out and startle her.
"Sh-She's reading," you explain, pointing in the vague direction of where Elizabeth had found seats.
Melanie visibly relaxes, although there's something strangely guarded about the way she's looking at you now. You can't quite put your finger on the source of her worry. "I'm h-here with House Celestia," Melanie adds.
You nod. "I'm n-not surprised." You know better, by this point, than to spell out how close she may or may not be with certain members of Apaloft's ruling family.
"B-Because of my family," she confirms. It seems easier for everyone's peace of mind if you don't challenge that.
There's a lull between the two of you then. As usual with Melanie, in spite of the circumstances, it's more of a companionable silence than an uncomfortable one. "Have you b-been keeping up with your training?"
Melanie ears droop a little. "Y-Yes. I still c-can't cut it."
You assume she means the wyvern scale. "Y-You can cut other things, though, right?" you ask, encouragingly. "After training at it for so long?"
Melanie looks briefly, inexplicably panicked, before she masters herself, tongue temporarily even more awkward than usual. "Y-Yes! Like...wood. And cloth! I..." She looks a little chagrined, admitting, "I was scolded for ruining the padding on a brand new practice dummy. So I t-try not to use those, anymore."
"I'm sure you'll get it, eventually," you tell her, only a little dishonestly. It sounds like she's been making good progress, even if her admittedly-lofty goal is still far away. "B-Big swords are simpler than magecraft," you offer. "I don't know h-how much progress I'm making there, though."
"M-Magecraft isn't that complicated. If you w-wanted to learn, I'm sure you c-could."
You make a slight sound of distress, before admitting, "Smart g-girls keep trying to explain m-matter dissipation to me."
Melanie nods slowly, looking mildly interested. "I'm n-not as well read as L-Lady Elizabeth, but I could..." she stops, seeing the pleading look in your eyes, and has to cover her mouth to hide a small, giggling laugh. "...M-Maybe another time."
You smile in return, quietly grateful. "I don't m-mean..."
"Wait!" another familiar voice says, from behind Melanie, interrupting. Before she has a chance to turn around, a pair of small hands grips her by the shoulders, and a brunette elf is standing on tiptoes to peer at you past the snow-white screen of Melanie's hair. "It sounded like you!" Lucille chirps. Melanie, predictably, is slowly turning an increasingly vibrant shade of pink.
"H-Hello, Lady Lucille," you say, curtsying a little awkwardly as you watch Lucille belatedly release Melanie's shoulders, and the taller girl shuffle aside to let Lucille pass. You see a few faces in the general crowd exchanging amused glances at the noblewoman's antics; fortunately, they're out of Melanie's line of sight.
"I'm glad to see you again sooner than I expected," she declares, swooping in to give you as much of a hug as the setting permits. Or, perhaps, a bit more of one than that. Over her shoulder, your eyes meet Melanie's, and in that instant, the two of you are kindred spirits in mild self-consciousness.
"M-Me too!" you say, sounding a little flustered from the hug. And you are glad to see her. Particularly, it's good to see that that two additional months have seemingly helped her lose some of the unhappy, subdued quality she'd had for the latter portion of the year at Faulkren. "You look...w-well."
Lucille lowers her voice, tone slightly dry. "You mean you're happy to not be walking in on me in tears again?"
"N-No! I mean y-yes! I, um..." you look at her, noting her amused smile, and you can't help but pout a little. "Everyone t-teases me," you mutter.
"Only because we like you," Lucille says, reassuringly. "Did you enjoy going back to your village to see your family?" She seems genuinely interested to know.
"Y-Yes. It feels n-nice, how...the same it is, there." After a moment, you hesitantly venture, "How was...?"
"Awful!" Lucille replies, incongruously cheerful. Behind her, Melanie visibly winces, hands clasped in front of her as if she doesn't know what to do with them. At your startled stare, Lucille explains, with a tone of self-effacing good humor, "My mother has been furious at me. For, well, you know. 'Disgracing the family name' and all."
"I'm s-sorry," you say, still more than a little taken aback.
"Oh, I'm used to it. It's why I spend so much time out of the house. Which...well, actually, that just makes mother angrier, but I don't know if I've ever seen her happy, so...at any rate, she eventually calmed down enough not to forbid me to come here for the season, like she was threatening at first."
"C-C-Countess Celestia spoke to her on Lady Lucille's b-behalf," Melanie adds, with an air of frantically doing something to improve your perception of the situation. Or your perception of Lucille. Possibly both.
Lucille makes a slightly amused sound. "Melanie is being very sweet, as always. Would you like to know what my aunt actually said?" You're not sure that you do, but she explains anyway, straightening her posture up to approximate something more akin to what you remember from Countess Celestia: "'Honestly, Constance, you know the girl's limits. Let her move on.'"
"O-Oh."
Seeming to notice both your and Melanie's discomfort, Lucille looks a little sheepish. "Sorry! I'm just trying to have a good sense of humor about it." She leans over, and gives Melanie's arm a friendly, affectionate squeeze. "I'm very lucky to have good friends like Melanie, who do their best to cheer me up."
Melanie's demeanor immediately goes from one form of fidgety to another, her face going an even brighter shade of red than yours normally does. You suppose the contrast with her hair makes for a stronger contrast. She mumbles something, too quiet to hear. She doesn't pull away, however.
Lucille, seemingly, did catch it. "Oh, yes, Ashlyn helps too," she admits. "Mostly by rolling her eyes and telling me to stop moping. It's important to hear that, sometimes." She glances back at you, eyeing your clothing. "Speaking of friends...that dress is in a Lindholm style, isn't it? Are you a guest of...House Ravenhill?" It seems a reasonable guess, given that you are squadmates with Sieglinde, and friendlier with her than most are. To your relief, Lucille doesn't seem to outwardly harbour any lingering animosity when she says the name, although there is a certain coolness about her as she mentions Sieglinde's family name.
"N-No," you admit, "I'm here with House Zabanya."
Lucille actually gives a slight start at that, considerably less subdued than Melanie's was. Slowly, Lucille let's her hold on Melanie's arm drop, actually frowning a little. "You're here with Elizabeth?"
While others have been surprised at this news, something about the way Lucille asks the question makes it sound as if you're doing something wrong. It's not a feeling you particularly like. "She i-invited me," you say, fidgeting, one hand plucking idly at the fabric of your dress in unconscious imitation of Melanie's earlier actions. This leads to a moment of quiet between the three of you that's somehow much more uncomfortable than Lucille talking about her family's disappointment. "D-Do you..." you find yourself asking, "...dislike Lady Elizabeth?"
Lucille frowns as if that's a strange question. She glances around, making a token effort to ensure that there's not member of the family under discussion within earshot, before saying, bluntly, "She's a cruel bully. She lords her status and her abilities over others. She's not a nice person."
You're not quite sure if that middle part, at the least, is entirely accurate. The other claims, while hard for you to easily dispute, do seem a little...reductive to you. Or at the very least, you don't like hearing them about a friend. "She's n-nice to me," you say, not meeting Lucille's eyes. "Well...usually," you add. Which is true enough; ruthlessly teased or not, you have spent the past weeks living in luxury, being bought nice things and eating better than you have in your life.
Lucille looks a bit displeased with this answer, but Melanie suddenly interjects, valiantly falling on her proverbial sword for the sake of heading off an argument: "It's g-good to...to...to have fr-friends? Wh-Who..." she trails off, looking between you and Lucille a little helplessly. Lucille sighs, leaning over to give Melanie a quick squeeze of a hug.
"I sh-should let you get on with," you trail off a little helplessly, trying to find a way out of this conversation that doesn't seem too hideously awkward.
"It was nice seeing you," Lucille agrees, shrugging almost regretfully. Beside her, still looking unhappy with how things turned out, Melanie gives you a shy nod.
And thus you are alone again, although after a few minutes, you recognize a brunette in a sea of voices. Granted, black hair is not as distinctive as Melanie's white, but it's hard, you suppose, to miss a member of your own squad, what with the raven hair and pale skin.
You are eagerly moving through the crowd on your way to greet Sieglinde, but before you reach her, you suddenly hear a voice call out, "Ravenhill!"
You jump a little at the accusatory tone, before you quite have a chance to approach your squadmate. The girl who spoke is an elf, of middling height with long, reddish-brown hair. She's standing with an air of quiet triumph, looking up at Sieglinde as if she's won something over on her.
"...Hello," Sieglinde manages, after a long moment of blank staring.
Smugly, the elf in question declares, "It's been a while. Has Faulkren been treating you alright?"
Sieglinde continues to have this impassive expression that nonetheless - at least to you - betrays mild confusion. "I suppose it has, yes."
The elf makes a sighing sound that you suppose is meant to sound wistful but really just comes across as self-congratulatory. "Well, I suppose it's a shame. I would've liked you to join me in Llyneyth. Whatever else, I thought you could've made it." She shrugs. "But I suppose Faulkren isn't so bad."
Sieglinde's expression is blank as she admits, "It's not."
"Well, when we graduate, if you ever want to work with me, do send me a letter." Her smile is far too smug to be entirely genuine. "I'll see how we can accommodate you."
"...Alright," Sieglinde nods blankly.
The other elf looks momentarily put off by Sieglinde's lack of an overt reaction, but it only lasts for a moment; she soon regains that sense of self-assured confidence and superiority, walking off along the length of the gallery to what you assume to be her seat, leaving you a little confused as to what that was all about. But her leaving leaves Sieglinde alone, and thus a moment for you to finally approach your squadmate. With an awkward but relieved smile, you greet, "H-Hi."
Sieglinde swivels her head around, her eyes widening just by a fraction upon seeing you. "Neianne," she murmurs, clearly surprised. The gears in her head turn swiftly, and she nods as she comes to the obvious conclusion. "You were invited, I take it?"
"Yes."
Sieglinde nods, although as her gaze drops down to your dress, her expression shifts subtly into the tiniest of frowns. Like Lucille, she, too, has noticed that the cut of your dress originates from her home region, but she's actually one of the only two ladies from Lindholm who are close to you at Faulkren, meaning it's significantly less difficult for her to figure out just who it is that brought you here. "By Zabanya?" There's something about how she says that name - in this particular context - that doesn't quite sound like upset, but somehow makes you strangely uncomfortable. As if Sieglinde has just learned of something you'd rather she not have.
"Yes," you squeak in a tinier voice.
Sieglinde blinks once more after a moment of thought, and once she does, her expression suddenly shifts in that strange, imperceptible way again. The memory of the morning after the attack on Faulkren - that memory that almost surfaced when Sieglinde's name came up in your conversation with Lucille and Melanie - where Sieglinde's usually impassive expression was exceptionally blank as Lucille accused her of standing by and letting people die. For you, you who thought you really understood Sieglinde, the sudden inability to read her is unsettling. "I see," she allows with uncomfortable neutrality.
You try to shift your attention, change the topic of this conversation. Looking in the direction of the elven lady that was previously talking to Sieglinde, you ask, "Wh-Who was the lady from earlier?"
Sieglinde blinks, following your gaze. "I don't know. I know we've talked before. I just...can't match a name to the face."
"She has a v-very forgettable face," you admit. You feel a little horrible about saying that of anyone, but it's just something you realize is true to you.
The raven-haired elf nods absentmindedly, and for a moment, that seems to be the end of this line of thought. But after a moment, she suddenly remarks, "...Ah. Beatrice Audrey Maellyn."
You look back at the elf who is socializing with some of her other elven compatriots. "Is that her name?"
"First daughter of House Maellyn of Bramberwold, Lindholm," Sieglinde nods in confirmation.
"I don't th-think she likes you very much."
"I don't either," she admits.
For another moment, there is a lull in the conversation. But then there is a din that spreads across the gallery and the rest of the Council Chamber, and you realize that everyone on both floors are suddenly moving to take their seats, that today's session of Council is about to start, that the political season is going to resume, right before your very eyes.
To the side, Sieglinde asks in that level tone, that expressionless look, "Do you want to return to Zabanya? She is your host, after all."
Fidgeting, you find yourself asking, "W-Would you mind if I stayed with you?"
Sieglinde's expression shifts again, and you suddenly realize - after a minute of being cut off from any assessment of Sieglinde's thoughts and emotions - you can read her expressions again. "I...would not mind," she admits, gesturing to the seat next to her. "Please."
The problem with reducing an entire chapter to parts under the assumption that I'd be able to update faster is that...well, the parts get longer. Almost absurdly so. And this is taking a lot of parts. Like, the threadmarks word count tells me that all of 1.20 thus far is 55k words long; this update alone is 10.5k words long. And it's going to be a bit longer; the next one - 1.20.9 - is something where I know what to write but not how to write it. But I expect there to be only two more updates for 1.20, which will (finally) bring an end to Storyarc One, and take us to Neianne's second year at Faulkren.
Yes, it has taken me more than two real-life years to write one in-story year, which is supposed to be only a third of the prologue. I'm not even halfway to the "real" story. Something terrible and wrong has happened with my life.
@Gazetteer forbade me from making a comment about me hating myself and wanting to die. So.
The wagon rumbles along a broad, well-kept road busy with traffic. Most of it flows in the same direction you're headed. Well-dressed ladies in wagons like yours or occasionally on horseback, farmers and merchant carts hauling necessities and luxury goods alike, and seemingly endless travellers on foot, stepping obligingly aside in order to give the vehicles the right of way.
The last two and a half days of your journey - helpfully identified for you by Anya, who seems to have become your self appointed tour guide - sees the road following the slow, muddy expanse of the River Sten. It's wide enough in places that the far shore is rendered distant and toy-like, more water than you've ever seen in one place.
"Oceans are even bigger than that," Anya explains wisely, a gently worldly teacher imparting her hard-won knowledge about the wide world beyond Caldrein's borders to a callow village girl.
Elizabeth, sitting curled up beside you, stretches slightly, making a sound like a dozing cat being roused and cracks one sleepy eye. "She's never been outside of Caldrein," she mutters, smirking slightly at Anya's displeasure.
"I've read books about the sea!" Anya shoots back, annoyed.
"Books about Ornthalian merchant's daughters becoming cabin girls for beautiful pirate queens don't count as being 'about the sea'."
"Elizabeth!" Anya whines, to no evident effect, even as you blush to think of the content implied in such a book. She gets quieter after that.
Without having seen Stengard before, you can only draw on your fuzzy-edged, childhood memories of Arkenvale in imagining what the proverbial heart of Caldrein would be like. A dense sprawl on the edges, perhaps, giving way to orderly, well-paved streets near the city center. In your mind's eye, the buildings in the regional seat of Apaloft still loom larger than life. Instantly, as soon as the de facto capital for the Confederacy becomes more than an undistinguished blur on the horizon, your eyes grow wider and wider the closer you grow, and you remember Lucille's casual remark from that afternoon in her room with Melanie, about how Arkenvale - for however pretty it is - pales in its grandiosity compared to Stengard.
On the first count, at least, you are immediately forced to concede she's right. The Sten curls protectively around the city that bears its name, its natural banks forming the base for a third of Stengard's outer walls. Beyond that, however, the land itself has been painstakingly shaped; you have read at some point in your childhood that centuries ago, laborers dug a great channel so that the River Sten would split on one side of Stengard and reconverge on the other, forming what is functionally an artificial island surrounded by a deep, flowing moat. You can spot several gates and bridges along the channel, as well as numerous docks and jetties set into the Sten, the water as busy with boats and barges as the road.
The walls are smooth and white, similar in color to Faulkren Academy itself, rippling out to cover the entire channel-facing side of the city and most of the riverfront. You can see towers and battlements along its edges, the tiny figures of distant, armed guards manning them. Rising even higher than the walls, though, are the peaked roofs and flat towers of the city's buildings, most made in the same whitestone as the walls, shingled in a myriad of colors. Most prominent of them all, of course, is Tower Vigilance, the hundred-meter spire that dominates any view of the city, marking where the five Caldran countesses meet during political season, and thus the heart of the entire confederacy.
Actually, as Anya explained to you days in advance, "Tower Vigilance" refers not only to the tower itself, but also the sprawling complex connected to it, far larger than the tower itself, but that's admittedly somewhere far in the back of your head as you crane your neck to catch a better view from the window of your carriage.
"You," Elizabeth mutters against your side, as you actually near the walls, "are the world's most obvious villager." She seems to have no compunction about using you as just another surface to curl up against. Her sisters, beyond a few amused looks early on, don't seem to find this behaviour too surprising, so your flushing has substantially died down.
"Y-Your eyes are closed!" you tell her, tone mildly accusatory.
"I can hear you gawking. And pouting now."
"I'm n-not!" you insist, trying to school your features, even as the rest of the Zabanyas in the wagon attempt to disguise their amusement. You can't help but feel like you're being ganged up on, and you vow not to let yourself be too dazzled going forward. This resolve breaks embarrassingly fast.
Theda's Gate looms up larger and larger, oaken doors as thick as you are pulled back to admit the flow or people into the city as it slows to a trickle and funnels across the drawbridge. You imagine, as you pass, that you could fit your entire hand in between the chain links that could pull the bridge up. Stengard is, as you've always read, a truly fortified city, prepared to withstand siege or assault, for all the long centuries in which this hasn't come up. As you pass through the gates - progress slow and laborious, guided by a collection of exhausted looking women in guard livery - a small, unwelcome voice speaks at the back of your head, asking you if, perhaps, you might live to see that change in coming years.
That thought puts a damper on your enthusiasm far more effectively than Elizabeth's teasing, although you do manage to mostly put it out of your mind once you have something to look at other than arching stone and impatient wagon drivers.
It feels almost closer to being in old growth forest than in what you think of as a city, the surrounding buildings rising up so high and so dense that they block out the sun in some places. Yet this is still completely undermined by the sheer weight of people thronging the streets, glimpsed through windows, operating stalls and shops along the roadway. The city has a permanent population of roughly fifty thousand, and that number doubles during the political season, when the aristocracy, their retinues, petitioners, merchants, and even foreign dignitaries all come to Stengard to pursue their own interests. So, too, are the streets crowded with peddlers and cooks trying to hawk their wares, taking advantage of this annual confederacy-wide gathering. It reminds you of Midwinter's Feast in the town of Faulkren, except far larger and more crowded. Humans, elves, and aseri seem almost equally represented here, even if the glimpse of another leafy head is far more rare; yours is not typically a city-dwelling people, and you can't help but imagine how utterly and miserably overwhelmed your parents would be in such a setting. Elana, you're equally sure, would love it.
"The Violets District is a little ways in from the walls," Anya informs you.
"Th-That's where we're going?" you ask, still shamelessly wide-eyed.
"It's where our townhouse is," Diana explains. "Where most of them are. Like...vacation homes, for the political season. It's a little cramped."
You nod. In spite of the size of some of the larger buildings you can see over the rooftops looming over you, you can well imagine that space is at considerably more of a premium here than back in a place like Marloch. Certainly, as the caravan of wagons roll down the brick streets of the Violets District, you take note of the rows of townhouses that, while certainly fancy and elegant-looking, are not actually very wide. Certainly, the yellow-painted townhouse your wagon pulls up to - one that presumably belongs to House Zabanya - does seem to be a mere fraction in size relative to the Zabanya manse back in Marloch.
It does not take much time for the front door of the townhouse to swing open, maids emerging from the building to help the caravan with unpacking. You are stepping out of the wagon with Elizabeth and her family when a well-dressed, middle-aged brunette steps out onto the street, smiling in a way that's warm, in a restrained way, an expression of familiarity marred by the fatigue in her set of shoulders. "You made it," she declares to the members of House Zabanya, and you somehow get the impression that her relief at the presence of the viscountess herself is born from practical considerations almost as much as from affection.
Elizabeth, nose already in her book, lazily steps out of the wagon, walking past the woman as she gives her offhand greeting: "Father." Then she simply walks past, heading through the door presumably to find a more comfortable place to resume her nap.
This is the first confirmation of who, precisely, the brunette is. At first, you can't identify any particular family resemblance between her and her three daughters, who all take so strongly after their mother. But now, looking between the two of them, you pick out a little of Elizabeth in her short stature and almost fragile looking, fine-boned face. She watches her eldest go past with a long-suffering, almost fond expression on her face, before turning her attention back to her lady-wife. "Was the trip alright?" Elizabeth's father asks, accepting a chaste peck on the cheek from the viscountess, which makes you feel a little embarrassed and wondering if you should be anywhere in the vicinity.
"It was," nods Isabella; it was a fairly uneventful trip beyond the conversations you've had with the Zabanyas. "Is Council not in session?"
"Closed briefing with the war pavilion."
The tired smirk on the viscountess' face suggests she's not actually being serious when she asks, "A daring new counteroffensive?"
Elizabeth's father shrugs noncommittally, bearing taking on a more subtly grim contenance. "The girls from House Nornfel looked somber, so it's more likely that the situation is worse than they're letting on. The general assembly reconvenes tomorrow." She pauses as Diana and Anya step out of the carriage, the two daughters exchanging warm hugs with their father - a marked contrast from Elizabeth - before she murmurs, "You girls head on in." Obediently, and with pointedly respectful nods, the two sisters file past, belatedly following Elizabeth. Momentarily uncertain as to whether or not you were included in "you girls" you dither in place, mixing in with the maids unloading the luggage off from the carriage, tentatively watching after them.
The viscountess waits until her daughters have all gone in before asking in a somewhat quieter voice, "Have we had a chance to speak on matters of trade yet? The guilds are being very antsy; Dakota visited twice last week alone."
"I haven't been heard yet, and see no reason to be optimistic. They're not ruling anything out, but any attempt to discuss trade and the supply of silver from Elspar has been co-opted by Countess Cenoryn for more strategic discussions. Countess Athalast is trying to maintain a balance in these deliberations, as is Countess Celestia, but they'll give ground. If Elspar falls, both of us will be next. And, frankly, Countess Cenoryn is on the warpath. I don't see us having much room edgewise."
Viscountess Zabanya frowns. "You're not pressing hard enough."
"I'm pressing plenty. As are the other houses. One of the older Cenoryn daughters - Vivica, I think - got very pointed at one of the Apaloftian baronesses who didn't get the hint. It was somewhat painful to watch Countess Celestia personally intervene." She appears unmoved in the face of her spouse's annoyance. Her green eyes, by happenstance, belatedly fall on you, taking note of a strange dryad standing awkwardly on her doorstep. "Who is this?"
Viscountess Zabanya unbends again, nodding at you politely. "She's Neianne of Caelon. She and Elizabeth are squadmates at Faulkren. Elizabeth invited her from Apaloft as a guest."
"Elizabeth?" The viscountess-consort glances behind her, the direction her eldest daughter was last seen in, before turning her attention back to you. She masters her obvious surprise a moment later. "I...see." Her expression - despite the fatigue - unfurls into something that seems a bit more genuinely warmed than the mastered elegance and grace of her taller wife. "It's my pleasure to meet you. Thank you for training together with my daughter. I am Elizabeth's father, Viscountess-Consort Anastasia Sonya Zabanya." She leans in, pretending to whisper furtively, "But that's long and stuffy, and you've traveled too far for long stuffiness. Just call me Ana."
You try not to giggle as you manage a curtsy. "I-It's an honor to meet you, m-milady. I'm N-Neianne of Caelon." Then you wincingly realize that you've already been introduced as such by Lady Zabanya, a fact that - despite a knowing, amused flicker across her face - Anastasia mercifully does not call attention to.
"We do have a guest room for you even here," she reassures you before turning to the pair of maids still present. "Please have Neianne's things brought up."
The two are already slipping past the nobles speaking in front of the house, beginning to unload luggage from the carts. You dart forward, as a uniformed servant visibly struggles to lift one particular belonging of yours. "O-Oh, I'll take that," you kindly say to the maid in question, taking the heaviest of all your things and - fighting down a feeling of awkwardness in terms of letting the maids handle your things - taking your bag as well before turning for the front door of the townhouse.
And you would've been fine with letting the two nobleladies continue with their discussion - Anastasia is already turning back to her wife - at least until the viscountess-consort catches a glimpse of your belongings in the corner of her eyes, does a double-take, then stares for a long moment.
"...Is..." she blinks, "...that a sword?"
It is unsurprising that you want to go sightseeing in Stengard, not having ever stepped foot - or even laid eyes upon - a city of this size and scale. It is amusing, then, that despite being made to carry your buster sword - again - the two younger Zabanya sisters act as your amused chaperons as you stare and gawk and admire the expansiveness of the confederacy's capital. The streets seem to stretch on forever this way and that, lined with shops that are far beyond your budget and restaurants that offer foods that rival what you've been indulging yourself in at the academy. All over, too, can you find traces of your nation's history, from statues to shrines to relics, installed at strategic locations to maximize pedestrian traffic, to remind all of their esteemed heritage.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, though, you remember what people like Lucille and Wendy have told you, that the prettiest cities have their underbellies. The Zabanya sisters don't take you there or show you, but you are sure that even in Stengard, there are those of lesser means, living in relative poverty in the darker sides of the city.
But eventually, the day comes and goes, and you eventually return to the Zabanya townhouse for another rich and fulfilling meal - one that makes you feel guilty about your weight - and then it's to bed. The next day comes, and before you know it, you're ushered into the carriage in the early morning, horses pulling it along with all of House Zabanya to the heart of the confederacy, the nexus in the city where the greatest decisions in Caldrein are made: Tower Vigilance.
Your carriage joins a long procession of other dozens of wagons carrying all of Caldrein's aristocracy towards the predominant structure of Stengard. Confederacy Street is wide, but it's not so wide that so many wagons can pass unimpeded, even with pedestrians making way, and it takes an almost frustratingly long while to navigate through all that traffic to finally reach Tower Vigilance. Like the wide-eyed village girl you are, you actually stick your head out the window at one point, looking at this moving convoy of ornate wagons, within which sit the ladies of noble houses and powerful families, great and small, dressed in their best and here to impress.
It's only after you pull your head back into the wagon that you realize that Elizabeth has clearly rolled her eyes at you at some point, given her look of mildly exasperated amusement, her two sisters are giggling, and the viscountess and her husband are trying to be polite by only barely managing not to smirk, causing you to blush intensely and look awkwardly away.
Whitestone walls form the complex connected to Tower Vigilance, an architectural style that reminds you once again of Faulkren Academy, except this is clearly the much larger and richer cousin, with taller buildings, wider walls, and colorful banners of the confederacy large and small unfurled atop flagpoles, along the ramparts, and from the windows. The guards that wave you through the great gates of the complex are not Caldran mercenaries, but a combination of the garrison at Stengard, and soldiers wearing dozens of different colors offered by just as many noble houses to maintain security. The maids that stand ready to serve all of you when your wagon finally pulls into the beautiful carriage porch, though, all seem to serve Stengard, judging by the matching uniforms, and they bow their heads in unison, which you'd imagine is much more reasonable than curtsying, given how many noble houses they've had to greet thus far.
As the members of House Zabanya disembark from the wagon, it is Viscountess Zabanya that gestures towards you as she speaks to the maids: "This is Neianne, guest to House Zabanya. Will you take her to the parlor?"
The maids bow at this, but to your surprise, it is Elizabeth's voice that lazily cuts in, "I'll do it. I'll join you later." It isn't just you that's surprise; her parents are blinking at her and have this expression that looks like they suspect she's up to something suspicious. But Elizabeth - dressed in a black dress and a white coat, more formal than her usual sundress - pays you no mind as she steps inside the main building of the Tower Vigilance complex, carrying the book she's been reading in the carriage, and - after hurriedly curtsying to your hosts - you scamper in after her.
The interior of the Tower Vigilance complex is a sprawling series of hallways and staircases, almost exactly the way you expect a palace to look like. The building stretches on in a decorative combination of whitestone and marble, both white and black. You pass through sculptures and relics, as well as a long series of paintings depicting past leaders, famous battles, Caldran mercenary victories. Maids bow as you and Elizabeth pass by, and you're greeted with respectful nods by guards at every corner. Sunlight filters in through massive windows, and sometimes these corridors almost seem too bright for you to look at, especially compared to your modest wooden surroundings back home.
But a few twists and turns later, Elizabeth pushes open a set of double oak doors, and you're greeted to the sight of a large parlor already occupied by a large number of guests. These are not, you're quick to realize, members of the noble houses who seem to dominate these political proceedings; there's just something about their bearings and their attire that suggest they're not actually nobility, but guests of importance. Members of powerful merchant families, perhaps, or distinguished Caldran mercenary leaders. The implication that there is another parlor or sitting room for the nobility does not detract from the beauty of this massive room where dozens - if not hundreds - of guests are mingling, talking with each other. You suspect it is in these rooms that massive deals are being brokered, information is being exchanged, and so on. You are not exactly in the presence of nobility - save for Elizabeth, of course - but you still feel overwhelmed, like you're not supposed to be here, occupying the same room as so many of Caldrein's most powerful.
Elizabeth, however, is clearly unconcerned, even as she suddenly shoves the book she's been carrying into your hands. "Hold this for me," she commands. "I'll need it later."
You blink, suddenly concerned. "I-Is something wrong?"
"No, it's what I'll be reading if Council this year turns out to be even more boring than usual. But I don't particularly care for my parents seeing me with it while I'm supposed to socialize with members of the other noble houses and tell them I'm finally here to electrocute them."
And, with that, Elizabeth leaves whence she came, presumably to where all the other noble houses are gathering, and you are thus alone, surrounded by strangers. You look around at this large, grand chamber that you've been left at loose ends in, clutching Elizabeth's book to your chest as if it might sprout wings and fly away without your efforts to keep it in place. Not knowing what else to do, you retreat to a nearby stone bench beside a leafy, potted shrub. Here you perch on the edge, lay the difficult treatise on mana conversion down beside you, fold your hands over your lap and wait, trying to be small and unobtrusive.
For the most part, the other people in the room leave you by yourself, although more than a few spare a glance at the lone dryad in the pretty dress. You occupy yourself by looking at the paintings on the wall from the safety of your bench and admiring the life-sized carving of a warrior-elf nearby. She reminds you a little of Lady Aphelia.
"Pardon me, miss, but would you mind overly much if I sat here?" a small, polite voice asks from beside you.
You only jump a little, turning around to see a meek-looking girl wearing a maid's dress. "C-Certainly!" you say, attempting to scooch over just a little more in spite of the fact that you're already at the very far end of the bench. You wonder, briefly, at one of the staff looking to sit down on the job, until you register that the specifics of the garment differ from those of Tower Vigilance's attendant servants in both cut and style. Similarly, the small livery crest sewn above her heart doesn't look anything like you've seen here, although you can't help but feel it's very faintly familiar.
"Thank you very much," she says, giving you a restrained but entirely sincere smile. All at once, it makes her seem extremely pretty; wide, expressive eyes contrast fetchingly with raven black hair. Her aseri ears - perked up slightly as she smiles - are similarly sleekly dark, the tail that flicks back and forth behind her coming to a bushy, white tip. Unlike Stephanie, however, she's only fractionally taller than you are, if considerably fuller-figured. "I'm here waiting for milady," she tells you, settling herself down with her bag on her lap. It's an almost incongruously bulging, leather satchel that she had been holding in both hands.
"I'm w-waiting for someone as well," you tell her. You hesitate for an awkward moment as the aseri maid begins to quietly root through the bag, either looking for something or performing an impromptu organization session. "I'm Neianne."
"Lilith," she says, shoulders relaxing further as you prove to be friendly. The overwhelming impression she gives you is, somehow, one of spotlessly white tablecloths and thoughtfully brewed tea. She wouldn't, you're suddenly sure, lead a poor, innocent girl to her doom at the hands of a sleepy Elizabeth. Unlike some maids. She glances at your somewhat rigid posture and, perhaps having taken note of the way you were staring around before she sat down, asks, "Is this your first season here in Stengard? I don't mean to assume! I mean, you looked a little lost, and you're a dryad. Not that there's anything wrong with that! But there aren't that many here and I knew you weren't a lady, because you don't look anything like a Charmaine, and, um, not that you have to be a lady to...to..." she trails off, tail suddenly sweeping back and forth across the bench self-consciously. "...Sorry."
"I-It's fine!" you try to reassure her, having been a little unprepared for the torrent of nervous qualifiers. "It is my first time here. I'm a g-guest!"
She relaxes again, possibly encouraged to have found a kindred spirit of sorts in the form of your equally self-conscious bearing. "It was all very exciting for me, the first time I accompanied milady here. You get used to it, though, after a few years." You wonder what circumstances has allowed a maid like her to be invited like you to the confederacy-wide decision-making body of Caldrein. But before you can think to ask, Lilith's tail - slowed but still flicking back and forth across the bench - brushes up against the thick book on the bench beside you, and she glances down at it, frowning as she reads the title. "Do you study magecraft?"
"N-No," you clarify, hastily, "I only kn-know a little bit."
She purses her lips, glancing again at the title and then back down into the depths of her bag, as if contemplating whether to speak further or bite her tongue. The impulse for speech wins out. "I'm not sure," she says, slowly, "if I would recommend Tomwynn if you're just started looking into the subject." Hespith Tomwynn does appear to be the name of the author, penned in on the cover in a cramped hand.
"B-Because it's difficult?" you guess, thinking back to Elizabeth's explanation on this subject.
"No," Lilith decides, shaking her head with a surprising amount of certainty. "I wouldn't presume...please don't think I'm saying anything like that, Miss Neianne. Although, her writing is a bit...um!" She seems to falter and reconsider a few times, shuffling this way and that way in her thoughts. "Anyway. She mostly had some...colorful objections to conventional mana conversation theories. There are some useful observations in her writing, but you need enough background to properly...suss out the problems in order to make much use of it."
"Ah," you say, wondering if it's too late to admit that this isn't even your book to begin with. "Are you a m-mage?" you find yourself asking instead, in the spirit of keeping the friendly conversation going. Magecraft is, at least, obscurely interesting and the prospect of hearing something from a gentler tutor than Elizabeth is not...unappealing, for a change of pace.
"Kind of," she admits, as if to suggest a mere dabbler like herself is unfit for the worth "mage". Even ignoring that you're speaking to a lady's maid, it's slightly surprising; apart from the odd exception like Melanie, aseri aren't famously inclined towards magecraft, often lacking any particular knack for it entirely. You wonder, then, thinking also of Stephanie and her strangely-flaming sword, how much of that is really true and how much of it is stereotyping. You might ask Elizabeth later, when there's not an aseri mage literally sitting beside you. Lilith glances back down at the book, a little more open in her disapproval now. "For example," she says, "she...you're familiar with the theory of matter dissipation?"
With a slight surge of relief - and a bit of gratitude towards Elizabeth - you are with all honesty able to nod, "Y-Yes, a bit."
"Oh, good. Essentially, she didn't believe in it."
"Some s-scholars don't, I thought?"
"Some. Not all of them reputable."
"I h-heard it was thirty percent?"
Lilith seems to give that some thought. "That...depends on how you define recursive aural theorists, I suppose. Either way, though, that's not what Tomwynn believed in. She spends a lot of time explaining all sorts of fringe exceptions or inconsistencies, as if that refutes the entire theory." Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of Elizabeth slipping back into the room. She scans the room, looking for you, ignoring some of the guests near her who bow and curtsy in her direction. As Lilith continues to speak, you begin to feel a looming sense of foreboding. "What she says about healing magecraft is a prime example both of tome-casters assuming expertise in staff magecraft, and how the alternatives to matter dissipation aren't practical and have even more inconsistencies than the theory they're trying to critique."
"...Oh?" you say, voice getting smaller as Elizabeth spots you, sitting on the bench with an aseri maid. She begins to approach, but to your alarm, seems to slow as she comes close enough to make out what Lilith is saying, her head tilting slightly to the side in interest.
"She treats healing magecraft as if it's a contradiction, because she's saying it creates matter directly by filling in wounds or sealing up broken bones," Lilith says.
"Th-That's...wrong?" you guess, looking over her shoulder both to watch Elizabeth approach and trying to nonverbally warn Lilith.
Sadly, the maid in question, presented with a friendly and receptive audience, has become too wrapped up and excitable over her own explanation to notice the cues you're sending her. "Yes, very wrong," she nods her head enthusiastically, leaning into your direction, which causes you to blush as you have a full view of her considerable chest. Her ears are pricked up but not particularly alert, fully engaged as she is with the conversation. "Healing magecraft doesn't work that way; that debate was as good as settled decades before she did her research. Healing magecraft bolsters the body's natural processes. It doesn't directly convert mana into flesh and bone. That's impossible! Instead, it changes the body to be able to heal more effectively. And when you stop casting, the enhancements stop. That's changing matter, and then the changes dissipate."
From behind Lilith, Elizabeth - who has been thus far been listening with what looks like lethargic but amused interest - offers, "The so-called 'indirect principle'."
"Yes, that," Lilith happily concurs, and when she starts to swivel her head around, you half-expect - with a muted sense of horror - the aseri maid to realize just who has been standing behind her, but she only half-turns to Elizabeth to offer, "thank you." Then she turns back to you - you're sure your expression is barely schooled enough to not betray complete bewilderment and anxiety - and continues, "The debate that has raged on, of course, is how indirect principle challenges the consistency of some of the underlying theories of mana conversion, because not indirect changes are maintained or maintained the same way, meaning we lack a unified explanation as to why they're different and inconsistent. In this, we know that our current understanding of the theories on mana conversion are incomplete; this was known when Tomwynn wrote this treatise in 978. But on its own, the treatise was uninterested in seeking new answers so much as it sought to tear down existing theories. The methodology she used was also lacking."
"The Slaine method," Elizabeth again helps clarify.
"Indeed!" Lilith again half-turns to Elizabeth in agreement, but although you're sure she has turned enough to at least catch a glimpse of the tiny elf, again there is a lack of real reaction as she swivels back to you. Does the maid not recognize the lady behind her? You suppose a random maid isn't obligated to know every daughter of Caldrein's noble houses, but it doesn't fill you with any less dread as Elizabeth's smile grows more amused and catlike behind Lilith, even as the latter concludes, "It allowed Tomwynn to do some fairly interesting and thorough experiments, but in a way that ultimately lacked interpretive or explanatory power. They were just sets of data that proved nothing the scholarship didn't already know. More broadly, the theories on mana conversion - while imperfect and incomplete - are still consistent principles that largely match the realities of magecraft. There is an insufficient body of evidence to suggest that these are wrong, just that they require refinement."
There is a lull in the conversation, with Lilith looking very pleased with her insights to a friendly and receptive audience, and you mostly just staring blankly, not sure how to process an explanation that has largely flown over your head or the fact that Lilith still doesn't realize who's behind her. This lasts until Elizabeth opines, "A very interesting assessment of the literature."
Lilith seems, briefly, to swell slightly under the mild praise from the knowledgeable stranger behind her. She turns to face Elizabeth more directly, a humble, grateful smile on her lips. "Oh, thank yo..."
Upon seeing who it is, the maid's smile doesn't vanish so much as it wilts, flattening out almost at the same rate as her ears. Her green eyes similarly enlarge at the same rate until they are as wide as saucers, bright with horrified recognition. It takes a moment of processing Elizabeth's presence before she abruptly shoots up to her feet, taking the submissive posture of a diligent maid; there's no question of whether or not Lilith recognizes the tiny elf standing in front of her.
If there is any corresponding change to Elizabeth's own smile, it's that it gets bigger; her expression, as it often is, remains angelic and kind, but you've long since learned that this is no safety from Elizabeth's sadism. She pointedly ignores the frantic "be nice please" look you're shooting her from behind Lilith, as she continues, "Since you were talking so very adamantly about shortcomings of the Slaine method, I am, of course, interested in your assessment of its interpretive architecture."
"I-I wouldn't know, Lady Zabanya," stammers Lilith, shifting anxiously. "I was...I'm not really a mage."
"You aren't?" blinks Elizabeth in what you're sure is mock surprise. Lilith seems to shrink more and more as the tiny elf continues, "That's too bad. After all, the conventional theories you seem to hold as valid - especially if you consider Ornthalian treatises on the subject - were based off variants of that same methodology. Of course, the nature of the conclusions were different; it's easier to produce results, which other parts of the scholarship were trying to do, compared to explanations. But that's not to say..."
"Zabanya," a voice suddenly cuts in sharply, and you realize that you've been so preoccupied watching this little episode with Elizabeth and Lilith that you never noticed another young noblelady enter the room. In fact, only when the tall elven lady cuts through the crowd and steps in between Elizabeth and Lilith do you realize that you recognize her: Wilhelmina Adelaide Marienberg, your fellow Caldran mercenary apprentice at Faulkren and the best archer among you.
Matching Wilhelmina's cross, unimpressed expression, Elizabeth merely maintains her angelic smile and - almost teasingly - repeats the calling out of family names: "Marienberg."
It's unsurprising that Wilhelmina would be here, and you're not sure why you're so caught off-guard. The lean cut of her stylishly minimalistic attire - bolero, dress shirt, and trousers - accentuates her tall, willowy figure, and when the short Lilith swiftly scampers out of the way of the two elves to stand demurely beside Wilhelmina, it looks like she's making use of that height advantage, towering over the three of you, by semi-hiding behind the daughter of House Marienberg. The elven archer, for her part, mutters to her mage counterpart, "Go bully someone else's maid."
"I'm not bullying her," smiles Elizabeth innocently. "We're simply having a friendly scholarly discussion."
"Yes, milady!" Lilith gives Wilhelmina a smile that's decidedly frayed around the edges. "Lady Elizabeth was just...just...speaking with me about magecraft." There is a slight tremor in Lilith's voice as she says this; in spite of her words, she's staring at Wilhelmina as if pleading to be rescued from a lion.
Wilhelmina frowns as she turns around to look at Lilith, which has the added effect of catching sight of you as you stand and curtsy in the presence of another noblelady. It takes the taller elf a moment to recognize you - the two of you have almost never talked outside Azalea's tea parties, and she doesn't speak much even then - but a look of surprise and confusion crosses her face when she does. "Neianne?"
"L-Lady Marienberg," you bow your head in greeting. It occurs to you rather belatedly that you do, in fact, recognize the crest on Lilith's maid dress; you've seen Wilhelmina wear her house sigil at Faulkren often enough, and you're not entirely sure how you didn't recognize it for what it is immediately. Not knowing what else to say - the situation is awkward as a whole - you add, "I haven't thanked you for s-saving me from that direwolf months ago. D-During the attack."
Wilhelmina blinks. "I did?"
"Yes. You s-shot it from the ramparts while I was knocked over, so I could finish it afterwards."
"...Ah," Wilhelmina nods slowly in a way that all but confirms to you that she does not actually remember the incident. Then she shrugs, "Well, I'm sure you would've done the same for me." A pause, before she awkwardly adds, "It's...good to see you. I...didn't know you were going to be here at Council."
"She's a guest of House Zabanya," Elizabeth offers from her corner of this square.
Wilhelmina's eyes narrow for a moment at Elizabeth, before she casts the same look at you, which suddenly makes you feel very self-conscious. Eventually, Wilhelmina's look softens, but only by a bit. "I...see," she allows. It takes another awkward moment for her to eventually declare, "Well, Council will begin soon." To you, she tries to sound gentle, even if she seems stern all the time. "You'd best find seats. Neianne." Then, in a sharper tone, "Zabanya."
"Marienberg," Elizabeth bids Wilhelmina farewell in mocking imitation of the latter's tone, even as the taller elf is already turning around and leaving.
"Very pleasant meeting you, Miss Neianne!" Lilith says, giving a slight wave in your direction. Her eyes then dart over to Elizabeth, and she fearfully squeaks, with the slightest dip of a curtsy, "...Lady Zabanya." Then she's all but scurrying to catch up to Wilhelmina, maintaining a proper following distance of a few paces behind her lady.
Elizabeth stares after the two of them, waiting until they're safely out of earshot before musing, "Decent head on that one, even though she's even more of a shrinking mouse than you. Her insights are intellectually defensible." You're still deciding how exactly to respond to that when she continues. "I suppose she wasn't just hired for her tits after all."
You feel your face heating. Down the hall, seeing Lilith from behind, you see the maid's ears twitch and her shoulders hunch. Perhaps Elizabeth isn't quite out of aseri earshot.
Sadly, the tiny elf isn't done. "Mind you, it's Marienberg. So she probably was to some extent anyway."
"Wh-What?" you gasp, mortified that you're about to be told something about Lady Wilhelmina's personal tastes that you'd frankly rather not know.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes. "Probably was hired for her tits. I've seen Marienberg reading difficult books before. She always looks like she might hurt herself from the effort. I'd bet you that maid spends her nights using her tongue for more than just squeaking and explaining magecraftal theory."
A year ago, you wouldn't have understood what that means. It's funny what a year at Faulkren - and the company you keep - does to you, in more ways than just becoming more martially accomplished. "Th-That's not true!" you stammer, flushing red. "You sh-shouldn't talk about her like that!"
Elizabeth glances your way, her expression turning suddenly predatory, as if she's found easy prey. "Oh, don't pretend you didn't notice. You saw her up close, the same as me. Closer, all cozied up on that bench together." Elizabeth leans in toward you in sardonic imitation of Lilith's excitable proximity, the effect somewhat lessened by her height and lesser endowment. Somehow, it makes you more flustered coming from her, rather than less.
"Sh-She's...very pretty!" you manage, panic continuing to mount.
"Then why are you blushing, if that's all? You're bright red. Just what sort of obscene thoughts are running through your head, hm? Any fantasies of...tearing her dress off? Especially around the chest?" She glances at the shrub behind you. "Not quite an 'ancient tree', but I see you're finding the nearest equivalent."
"I-I-I..." you take in a deep breath, momentarily overcome. "I'm n-not..." you trail off, giving up, and instead give her an accusatory pout. "M-Mean."
You're too worked up to really consider exactly who you're throwing mild insults at, at this point. Which is just as well, because rather than take offense, Elizabeth throws back her head and gives another of her dainty, pealing-bell laughs. One of her hands reaches up to gently pat you on the head. "I am glad I brought you along," she informs you before turning around and walking towards the door. "Now come on. If I'm going to read the treatise of a hack or fall asleep, I may as well do it in good seats."
The two of you leave the parlor, returning to the confusing maze of corridors. As you follow Elizabeth, however, you suddenly realize - looking out the windows and seeing the most prominent structure of this complex - that you're moving away from the tower for which this complex received its name. "A-Aren't we going to Tower Vigilance?" you ask.
"Council has not met in Tower Vigilance for two centuries," Elizabeth explains without even turning around to look at you, guiding you up a flight of stairs. "For one, even if it's large enough to accommodate all the houses represented at Council, it's far too small to accommodate the several hundred select family members and guests and dignitaries watching the proceedings. Also, it'd be very silly for all of the confederacy's leaders to be killed by a siege catapult bringing down the tower with one good hit, don't you think? No, we meet in the larger Council Chamber. Which, of course, is within a hundred meters of the tower."
It takes a moment for you to realize what Elizabeth means: If the tower should one day collapse during political season, there's still a chance it may fall on the entire political leadership. The thought is unsettling.
After arriving at a higher floor, it only takes a few more turns for Elizabeth to guide you through a set of open oak double doors, and you find yourself on the second-floor gallery of what must be the Council Chamber. As you step onto this mezzanine overlooking the floor below - occupied by seats and tables and the nobility of Caldrein who are still mingling with each other - you suddenly feel irrationally terrified. Here you are, invited to a gathering of Caldrein's most powerful, being in the same room as the Caldrein Countesses, speaking to each other on the floor below. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever imagine that you would one day find yourself in these halls of power. You feel relatively less out-of-place upstairs, which isn't actually saying much. You aren't really sure, of course - there is, statistically, a chance that there's a number of girls like you, commoners dressed up really well for the occasion - but judging by their clothes, their bearings, a strangely deep sense of perfumed cleanliness, it feels like everyone on the gallery is a member of the aristocracy or of great merchant families.
"I'm going to go take a seat," Elizabeth announces, moving past you and navigating the rows of seats that line the gallery. "Join me whenever you want. Or don't." She smirks a little. "I suspect you may find a few friends here."
And certainly, as Elizabeth leaves you alone, stunned at where you are now, you are greeted with a familiar face, albeit from behind. "It's Neianne!" someone singsongs, as if she's just discovered you hiding under a table.
"M-Mia?" you gasp, as a familiar aseri is abruptly in front of you, leaning in slightly too close to speak with you over the buzz of the crowd.
"I don't have a twin sister, so, yes," your fellow apprentice confirms. "You look surprised to see me!"
"Oh, I...a little?" you admit.
She grins at you. "You shouldn't be. The Honettes aren't just good looking, you know. We're pretty important!"
"Ah. L-Like..."
"Not really," she confesses. "But we're rich, and we have a few important noble patrons. My family is here with House Gildenhart this year. It was House Celestia last year, though! All the major merchant families are usually kicking around at these things."
"Th-That makes sense," you say, relieved that she lets you finish the sentence this time.
"Like, the Asters are here too. Melanie's over there," she points to a seat not too far away, and sure enough, the white-haired aseri is bowing her head to a number of other guests, looking somewhat overwhelmed, "but I didn't really get to say hi." She grins again. "Although maybe I shouldn't. Do you know that we're actually really bitter rivals?"
"N-No! I th-thought you liked Melanie."
"I do, but I meant our families." She shrugs inelegantly, the cherry-blossom-colored fabric of her dress rippling prettily. "So mother might not like me being too familiar in public, or whatever. I'll just give her two extra hugs once I see her back at Faulkren!"
"At once?" you ask, imagining the spectacle of that.
"Nope," Mia says, pleasantly, "I'll save them up. Give them out to her when she's least expecting it."
"Wh-Why are you making them sound dangerous?" you ask, warily.
"It's Melanie," Mia explains, as if you're being slow. "She acts like everything that isn't a restrained nod from across the room is mortifyingly embarrassing. You know her!"
"R-Right," you murmur, worried. "Try not to scare her t-too badly?"
Mia grins, a little evilly. "I won't promise any such thing!" Her eyes lock onto someone behind you. "Oh! That's Evelyn! Nice talking to you, Neianne." And with that, she's gone, covering ground almost as fast as she had at Midwinter Feast, when she'd dragged you with her to Lucille's table and abandoned you.
At the very least, though, you now know where Melanie is - not that she's hard to spot, with her uniquely snow-white hair - and so you nervously make your way over to the aseri in question, approaching from behind. "H-Hello, Melanie!" you say, smiling happily upon seeing your friend. "Your dress is really beautiful."
Melanie flushes, hunching in on herself self-consciously, fingers plucking at the fabric of the garment in question. "Th-Thank you," she murmurs. "Y-Yours is as we..." She stops. Blinks. Looks at you sidelong, as if making sure that she's really talking to the dryad she thinks she is, fluffy white ears perked up in stunned surprise. "N-N-Neianne?" she asks, her voice an incredulous whisper to avoid drawing attention to herself with anything louder.
"It's m-me," you confirm.
"S-S-Sorry! I just didn't expect to see you here."
Glancing around, you lean in close enough to whisper up to her, a little despairingly, "I d-didn't expect to be here either. Lady Elizabeth...s-surprised me."
Melanie blinks, confusion - if anything - increasing. "You're here w-with Lady Z-Z-Zabanya?" Abruptly, she glances behind you, as if worried that, perhaps, the smaller elf had been hiding in your shadow, waiting to step out and startle her.
"Sh-She's reading," you explain, pointing in the vague direction of where Elizabeth had found seats.
Melanie visibly relaxes, although there's something strangely guarded about the way she's looking at you now. You can't quite put your finger on the source of her worry. "I'm h-here with House Celestia," Melanie adds.
You nod. "I'm n-not surprised." You know better, by this point, than to spell out how close she may or may not be with certain members of Apaloft's ruling family.
"B-Because of my family," she confirms. It seems easier for everyone's peace of mind if you don't challenge that.
There's a lull between the two of you then. As usual with Melanie, in spite of the circumstances, it's more of a companionable silence than an uncomfortable one. "Have you b-been keeping up with your training?"
Melanie ears droop a little. "Y-Yes. I still c-can't cut it."
You assume she means the wyvern scale. "Y-You can cut other things, though, right?" you ask, encouragingly. "After training at it for so long?"
Melanie looks briefly, inexplicably panicked, before she masters herself, tongue temporarily even more awkward than usual. "Y-Yes! Like...wood. And cloth! I..." She looks a little chagrined, admitting, "I was scolded for ruining the padding on a brand new practice dummy. So I t-try not to use those, anymore."
"I'm sure you'll get it, eventually," you tell her, only a little dishonestly. It sounds like she's been making good progress, even if her admittedly-lofty goal is still far away. "B-Big swords are simpler than magecraft," you offer. "I don't know h-how much progress I'm making there, though."
"M-Magecraft isn't that complicated. If you w-wanted to learn, I'm sure you c-could."
You make a slight sound of distress, before admitting, "Smart g-girls keep trying to explain m-matter dissipation to me."
Melanie nods slowly, looking mildly interested. "I'm n-not as well read as L-Lady Elizabeth, but I could..." she stops, seeing the pleading look in your eyes, and has to cover her mouth to hide a small, giggling laugh. "...M-Maybe another time."
You smile in return, quietly grateful. "I don't m-mean..."
"Wait!" another familiar voice says, from behind Melanie, interrupting. Before she has a chance to turn around, a pair of small hands grips her by the shoulders, and a brunette elf is standing on tiptoes to peer at you past the snow-white screen of Melanie's hair. "It sounded like you!" Lucille chirps. Melanie, predictably, is slowly turning an increasingly vibrant shade of pink.
"H-Hello, Lady Lucille," you say, curtsying a little awkwardly as you watch Lucille belatedly release Melanie's shoulders, and the taller girl shuffle aside to let Lucille pass. You see a few faces in the general crowd exchanging amused glances at the noblewoman's antics; fortunately, they're out of Melanie's line of sight.
"I'm glad to see you again sooner than I expected," she declares, swooping in to give you as much of a hug as the setting permits. Or, perhaps, a bit more of one than that. Over her shoulder, your eyes meet Melanie's, and in that instant, the two of you are kindred spirits in mild self-consciousness.
"M-Me too!" you say, sounding a little flustered from the hug. And you are glad to see her. Particularly, it's good to see that that two additional months have seemingly helped her lose some of the unhappy, subdued quality she'd had for the latter portion of the year at Faulkren. "You look...w-well."
Lucille lowers her voice, tone slightly dry. "You mean you're happy to not be walking in on me in tears again?"
"N-No! I mean y-yes! I, um..." you look at her, noting her amused smile, and you can't help but pout a little. "Everyone t-teases me," you mutter.
"Only because we like you," Lucille says, reassuringly. "Did you enjoy going back to your village to see your family?" She seems genuinely interested to know.
"Y-Yes. It feels n-nice, how...the same it is, there." After a moment, you hesitantly venture, "How was...?"
"Awful!" Lucille replies, incongruously cheerful. Behind her, Melanie visibly winces, hands clasped in front of her as if she doesn't know what to do with them. At your startled stare, Lucille explains, with a tone of self-effacing good humor, "My mother has been furious at me. For, well, you know. 'Disgracing the family name' and all."
"I'm s-sorry," you say, still more than a little taken aback.
"Oh, I'm used to it. It's why I spend so much time out of the house. Which...well, actually, that just makes mother angrier, but I don't know if I've ever seen her happy, so...at any rate, she eventually calmed down enough not to forbid me to come here for the season, like she was threatening at first."
"C-C-Countess Celestia spoke to her on Lady Lucille's b-behalf," Melanie adds, with an air of frantically doing something to improve your perception of the situation. Or your perception of Lucille. Possibly both.
Lucille makes a slightly amused sound. "Melanie is being very sweet, as always. Would you like to know what my aunt actually said?" You're not sure that you do, but she explains anyway, straightening her posture up to approximate something more akin to what you remember from Countess Celestia: "'Honestly, Constance, you know the girl's limits. Let her move on.'"
"O-Oh."
Seeming to notice both your and Melanie's discomfort, Lucille looks a little sheepish. "Sorry! I'm just trying to have a good sense of humor about it." She leans over, and gives Melanie's arm a friendly, affectionate squeeze. "I'm very lucky to have good friends like Melanie, who do their best to cheer me up."
Melanie's demeanor immediately goes from one form of fidgety to another, her face going an even brighter shade of red than yours normally does. You suppose the contrast with her hair makes for a stronger contrast. She mumbles something, too quiet to hear. She doesn't pull away, however.
Lucille, seemingly, did catch it. "Oh, yes, Ashlyn helps too," she admits. "Mostly by rolling her eyes and telling me to stop moping. It's important to hear that, sometimes." She glances back at you, eyeing your clothing. "Speaking of friends...that dress is in a Lindholm style, isn't it? Are you a guest of...House Ravenhill?" It seems a reasonable guess, given that you are squadmates with Sieglinde, and friendlier with her than most are. To your relief, Lucille doesn't seem to outwardly harbour any lingering animosity when she says the name, although there is a certain coolness about her as she mentions Sieglinde's family name.
"N-No," you admit, "I'm here with House Zabanya."
Lucille actually gives a slight start at that, considerably less subdued than Melanie's was. Slowly, Lucille let's her hold on Melanie's arm drop, actually frowning a little. "You're here with Elizabeth?"
While others have been surprised at this news, something about the way Lucille asks the question makes it sound as if you're doing something wrong. It's not a feeling you particularly like. "She i-invited me," you say, fidgeting, one hand plucking idly at the fabric of your dress in unconscious imitation of Melanie's earlier actions. This leads to a moment of quiet between the three of you that's somehow much more uncomfortable than Lucille talking about her family's disappointment. "D-Do you..." you find yourself asking, "...dislike Lady Elizabeth?"
Lucille frowns as if that's a strange question. She glances around, making a token effort to ensure that there's not member of the family under discussion within earshot, before saying, bluntly, "She's a cruel bully. She lords her status and her abilities over others. She's not a nice person."
You're not quite sure if that middle part, at the least, is entirely accurate. The other claims, while hard for you to easily dispute, do seem a little...reductive to you. Or at the very least, you don't like hearing them about a friend. "She's n-nice to me," you say, not meeting Lucille's eyes. "Well...usually," you add. Which is true enough; ruthlessly teased or not, you have spent the past weeks living in luxury, being bought nice things and eating better than you have in your life.
Lucille looks a bit displeased with this answer, but Melanie suddenly interjects, valiantly falling on her proverbial sword for the sake of heading off an argument: "It's g-good to...to...to have fr-friends? Wh-Who..." she trails off, looking between you and Lucille a little helplessly. Lucille sighs, leaning over to give Melanie a quick squeeze of a hug.
"I sh-should let you get on with," you trail off a little helplessly, trying to find a way out of this conversation that doesn't seem too hideously awkward.
"It was nice seeing you," Lucille agrees, shrugging almost regretfully. Beside her, still looking unhappy with how things turned out, Melanie gives you a shy nod.
And thus you are alone again, although after a few minutes, you recognize a brunette in a sea of voices. Granted, black hair is not as distinctive as Melanie's white, but it's hard, you suppose, to miss a member of your own squad, what with the raven hair and pale skin.
You are eagerly moving through the crowd on your way to greet Sieglinde, but before you reach her, you suddenly hear a voice call out, "Ravenhill!"
You jump a little at the accusatory tone, before you quite have a chance to approach your squadmate. The girl who spoke is an elf, of middling height with long, reddish-brown hair. She's standing with an air of quiet triumph, looking up at Sieglinde as if she's won something over on her.
"...Hello," Sieglinde manages, after a long moment of blank staring.
Smugly, the elf in question declares, "It's been a while. Has Faulkren been treating you alright?"
Sieglinde continues to have this impassive expression that nonetheless - at least to you - betrays mild confusion. "I suppose it has, yes."
The elf makes a sighing sound that you suppose is meant to sound wistful but really just comes across as self-congratulatory. "Well, I suppose it's a shame. I would've liked you to join me in Llyneyth. Whatever else, I thought you could've made it." She shrugs. "But I suppose Faulkren isn't so bad."
Sieglinde's expression is blank as she admits, "It's not."
"Well, when we graduate, if you ever want to work with me, do send me a letter." Her smile is far too smug to be entirely genuine. "I'll see how we can accommodate you."
"...Alright," Sieglinde nods blankly.
The other elf looks momentarily put off by Sieglinde's lack of an overt reaction, but it only lasts for a moment; she soon regains that sense of self-assured confidence and superiority, walking off along the length of the gallery to what you assume to be her seat, leaving you a little confused as to what that was all about. But her leaving leaves Sieglinde alone, and thus a moment for you to finally approach your squadmate. With an awkward but relieved smile, you greet, "H-Hi."
Sieglinde swivels her head around, her eyes widening just by a fraction upon seeing you. "Neianne," she murmurs, clearly surprised. The gears in her head turn swiftly, and she nods as she comes to the obvious conclusion. "You were invited, I take it?"
"Yes."
Sieglinde nods, although as her gaze drops down to your dress, her expression shifts subtly into the tiniest of frowns. Like Lucille, she, too, has noticed that the cut of your dress originates from her home region, but she's actually one of the only two ladies from Lindholm who are close to you at Faulkren, meaning it's significantly less difficult for her to figure out just who it is that brought you here. "By Zabanya?" There's something about how she says that name - in this particular context - that doesn't quite sound like upset, but somehow makes you strangely uncomfortable. As if Sieglinde has just learned of something you'd rather she not have.
"Yes," you squeak in a tinier voice.
Sieglinde blinks once more after a moment of thought, and once she does, her expression suddenly shifts in that strange, imperceptible way again. The memory of the morning after the attack on Faulkren - that memory that almost surfaced when Sieglinde's name came up in your conversation with Lucille and Melanie - where Sieglinde's usually impassive expression was exceptionally blank as Lucille accused her of standing by and letting people die. For you, you who thought you really understood Sieglinde, the sudden inability to read her is unsettling. "I see," she allows with uncomfortable neutrality.
You try to shift your attention, change the topic of this conversation. Looking in the direction of the elven lady that was previously talking to Sieglinde, you ask, "Wh-Who was the lady from earlier?"
Sieglinde blinks, following your gaze. "I don't know. I know we've talked before. I just...can't match a name to the face."
"She has a v-very forgettable face," you admit. You feel a little horrible about saying that of anyone, but it's just something you realize is true to you.
The raven-haired elf nods absentmindedly, and for a moment, that seems to be the end of this line of thought. But after a moment, she suddenly remarks, "...Ah. Beatrice Audrey Maellyn."
You look back at the elf who is socializing with some of her other elven compatriots. "Is that her name?"
"First daughter of House Maellyn of Bramberwold, Lindholm," Sieglinde nods in confirmation.
"I don't th-think she likes you very much."
"I don't either," she admits.
For another moment, there is a lull in the conversation. But then there is a din that spreads across the gallery and the rest of the Council Chamber, and you realize that everyone on both floors are suddenly moving to take their seats, that today's session of Council is about to start, that the political season is going to resume, right before your very eyes.
To the side, Sieglinde asks in that level tone, that expressionless look, "Do you want to return to Zabanya? She is your host, after all."
Fidgeting, you find yourself asking, "W-Would you mind if I stayed with you?"
Sieglinde's expression shifts again, and you suddenly realize - after a minute of being cut off from any assessment of Sieglinde's thoughts and emotions - you can read her expressions again. "I...would not mind," she admits, gesturing to the seat next to her. "Please."
The problem with reducing an entire chapter to parts under the assumption that I'd be able to update faster is that...well, the parts get longer. Almost absurdly so. And this is taking a lot of parts. Like, the threadmarks word count tells me that all of 1.20 thus far is 55k words long; this update alone is 10.5k words long. And it's going to be a bit longer; the next one - 1.20.9 - is something where I know what to write but not how to write it. But I expect there to be only two more updates for 1.20, which will (finally) bring an end to Storyarc One, and take us to Neianne's second year at Faulkren.
Yes, it has taken me more than two real-life years to write one in-story year, which is supposed to be only a third of the prologue. I'm not even halfway to the "real" story. Something terrible and wrong has happened with my life.
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
- Location
- United Kingdom
If it helps, I'm enjoying the story/quest a lot so far.
Like, I know another quest which was meant to be a flash quest and is now over 1 million words, so I'd say even if it's turned out differently than you'd expected it still seems to be working? Do you enjoy what you've written so far?
Mother Nyx
Mother of Elpis
- Location
- The Kei Klub
- Pronouns
- She/Her
For a second there... did Sieg get upset with us because we were with Elizabeth?
Nervos Belli
Don't think this means you've won!
- Location
- Murica
I think it was more pausing and reassessing Elizabeth's interest in us.
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Hard to say. The woes of trying to be bffs with a person whose emotional displays range from "stony stare" to "slight twitch of the lip".
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Mother Nyx
Mother of Elpis
- Location
- The Kei Klub
- Pronouns
- She/Her
And our interest in Lisa as well?
I mean, you're right but, Neianne is getting pretty good at reading her. Pretty sure at the beginning of this quest we wouldn't have been able to notice that shift in her mood at all. Nei just needs to get better.
I refuse for my OTP4 for break before it form. D:
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
At the very least, we can surmise that Neianne has gotten good at reading Sieglinde's passive moods but is still unable to read her when she's actually trying not to let things show. So it's probable that she doesn't want Neianne to know what she's thinking there. The why is a lot less certain and probably needs some investigation.