Fluid - 40

The discussion with Litthor quickly turns to the history of the original development of the region's power structure. Covering the highlights of the Andúnë expansion and which family successfully expanded where. The tendency for many of the Andúnë to first go into who reports to who and their historical rights is worrying. I’m sure they see it as essential that the blame or credit go to the right person. Are more faction power plays fed by who chalks up the wins here?

Their apparent focus on who is in charge and not what has to be done to fix things raises my concerns. Does it make them unable over their long lifespans to change course, stuck in the rut of inertia and past decisions, risking admitting being wrong if they change course?

The history lesson doesn’t drag on too long, but it gives me lots to think about, with no significant battles called out when their borders contract. It seems like the constant attrition from the humanoids and monsters of the north is wearing away at their numbers. However, Litthor was closed-mouthed about the number of regiments under the realm’s command, not even a hint slipped out. Why on the east coast and not against the Taurë? Are there different threats out west, or is the lack of Andúnë mental flexibility hurting them in other ways? I need to learn more about military strategy and tactics. The team-level tactics I know aren’t enough to determine if there are issues in their strategic defence.

Aerneth returns to the dining hall while the discussion is still ongoing. Most of the remaining delegations are with her, and I wonder if I should have listened in on whatever conversation went on.

“Gailneth, might I request you to return all of us?” asks Aerneth, glancing at Litthor and Maition, but her gaze skips Ellother.

Litthor leans forward and lifts his glass to take another sip, his gaze intent on his assistant, nominally his negotiator, standing in line behind Aerneth. Though his gaze on them is cold, it’s a shallow theme that barely coats the surface, and I wonder who the act is for. “Gail has offered to show me Duskstone tomorrow.”

“And I have business here for the school,” states Maition, and he gives her an equally false lopsided smile. “Enjoy your trip home, my former mother.”

The wards set them at the location Maition had provided, and I wonder how long before they learn I dropped someone within the wards. Surprisingly, no one called me on it when I requested the image from Maition.

Aerneth nods politely before addressing me again. “I’ll find out how the other royal couples came to be uninformed. I was told they didn’t believe the messenger, but clearly that wasn’t the case.”

At her admission of an issue, I smile at her. “A case of someone having told you on behalf of someone else that the other royals didn’t believe the messenger?”

“Indeed, and I’ll ensure their majesties likewise know,” admits Aerneth.

“If you’d let me know when arrangements are complete for a visit from all three nations, Aerneth,” I request. “Though don’t come to the village—I’ll open gates for people to come here directly.”

“Thank you, Gail,” says Aerneth.

The hall is nearly empty, with only five of us left sitting at the table. I change the wards’ control on the front door and stand.

“Litthor, Maition, Mallach, the front door will allow you to come and go. Given even I messed up with the village; you might wish to discuss and coordinate your visits with Yngvarr and Alfarr. I’ll bid you a good night,” I say.

They bid me a good night ‌and I head for my bower, wondering what schemes Aerneth and the others have gone off to implement. There isn’t any leverage I can see them gaining directed at me, but I still advise Calinion about their return.

I’m just settling down for reverie when I get informed by Sarah that she’ll show them to the small dining room in the morning.

“Care to come to talk to me for a few minutes?”

Sarah appears in the bower shortly after I propose the question.

“Need a bedtime story, your Majesty?” teases Sarah.

“Aunt Sarah, you’re so mean to me,” I laugh.

Laughing, she prods one of the nearby shrubs into turning into a chair and settles down near me. “What’s up, Gail?”

Tilting my head toward the hall, I grimace for effect. “Aerneth’s little staged retreat.”

“Staged?” enquires Sarah, with a perfectly blank expression.

“Do I have to drag your opinion out of you?”

“I’m fairly certain she at least saw through your little game of letting them counter each other,” advises Sarah. “Thought you would have picked that up listening to their songs.”

Poking out my tongue, I give an exaggerated sigh. “I’m trying not to rely on one tool, so I wasn’t leaning into Resonance to gauge their behaviour but trying to stretch my Perception Skill. I caught the fakeness in Litthor’s irritation with his assistant’s departure even without it, but he was almost within arm’s reach.”

“There was lots of political horse-trading while you’ve been away,” informs Sarah. “I imagine after you called Tarlanc on his bullshit, it caused a few people to realise that you’re close to actively disliking them.”

“I’m more disappointed than anything,” I object.

Sarah’s smug smirk cuts me off. “They’re very sensitive to the disfavour of those higher up the food chain. They can see the openness you provide to those you like and how you’ve practically cut off everyone else. I think the tipping point was when you showed you weren’t relying upon them to gather information.”

“I’ve got an evolved scout Class; why would I rely on one information source? Even if they get representatives of the three courts together, I’ll still go spy on them.”

“I shouldn’t have shared all those spy movies with you,” laughs Sarah.

“The Isil kingdom hasn’t shrunk and the Taurë have expanded. Do you think the rigidness of Andúnë society is to blame for their current struggles? Are they siloed into these rigid constraints and not seeing a wider view?”

“Is that why you were probing Maition about the artificers?”

Thinking about that conversation has my nose wrinkling again until I remember his reference to Sarah’s skill as an Artificer. “Yes, I’m trying to get him to broaden his perspective and see what he’s ignoring. He wants to study magic, yet he’s cut himself off from many options. Are you going to tell them you’ve got multiple lifetimes of memories as an Artificer to draw on?”

“If they don’t know about Dragon bloodline memories, I’m not educating them, especially not about my version of that trait,” states Sarah.

“I promise I’ll keep it under wraps,” I sigh. “I didn’t expect to want to punch them in the nose when Yngvarr told me a delegation was coming.”

“Why steal that company of Royal Guard?” asks Sarah. “A diplomatic punch in the nose?”

“I wanted some highly trained individuals. Some things Nanoĸ has said has me believing the training isn’t always decent in the Adventurers’ Guild. I intend to spread them around training at different locations. While there, they can gather information on how the local branches are doing. I hope they’ll take back different attitudes instead of their dismissive lack of concern.”

“Adventurers aren’t always the best examples of humanity,” cautions Sarah.

“Yeah, I know that. I just have to look at Phile’s former lover for an example of that,” I remind her. “However, there is something about people willing to risk their lives to improve their situation—or that of their families. The drive to improve themselves instead of just accepting their lot in life.”

“Trying to get them to change. It seems your upbringing is showing,” teases Sarah.

When I poke my tongue out, Sarah cackles away like a loon, but listening to her amusement eases some of the tension dealing with the Andúnë has brought.

“Nepotism is blocking capable individuals from advancing. Not being able to interrupt someone with a higher social standing when they’re making an arse of themselves and you,” I snort. “I’ll admit that I’m not comfortable with how they are right now, despite the nice themes in some of them. Not evil, but so very rigid. Is Amdirlain going to be alright?”

My question doesn’t catch Sarah off-guard, but her smile broadens. “She’s channelling her anger instead of suppressing it. Mentally, she is far healthier now than at any point since her early teenage years, I’d say.”

“I’m worried I won’t be a good enough player for the harp to respond,” I admit, and Sarah’s smile fades somewhat. “I owe her my life, and I worry about the danger she’s in, planar locked as she is now.”

“Amdirlain doesn’t think you owe her anything,” states Sarah.

Leaning forward, I clasp Sarah’s hand, “Well, she can be stubborn about things, but I know I wouldn’t have the life I’m leaving now without her. I did notice you answered from Amdirlain’s perspective.”

“You deserved better than your last life provided you,” says Sarah. “Hopefully, your life never attunes you to those memories.”

“Do you know why I’m afraid of polished shiny steps? I mean, it’s irrational. I can go up them okay, but descending them makes my heart race.”

Sarah’s laughter this time was grim and sharp. “You fell down a flight of stairs like that and broke your neck in the fall.”

“Really? Well, that sucks,” I grumble, shuddering when my mind superimposes the Guildhall’s steps into the mental image.

“You killed an arsehole in the process and got the rest of your family out from under his abuse,” offered Sarah. “Your trip sent him down the stairs ahead of you; you’d been rushing to catch him.”

Giving a helpless shrug, I try for a smile. “That makes it worthwhile.”

“He wasn’t worth your life; you were worth far more,” says Sarah, and she gives me a long hug before she disappears.

My reverie isn’t as restful as I would have preferred, having entered it with my thoughts filled with rigid attitudes and bright stairs. When I wake, it’s with a restlessness that stirs across my skin and a craving to improve something today. Harp practice at least is one constant that I can tell I’m improving, even if I can’t improve the situation for others. Hours of scales move into lighter tunes, lifting my mood, mixing pieces of springtime celebrations I’ve heard from dozens of worlds.

My mother’s—formally Aunt Amdirlain’s—divine portfolio includes new beginnings and choices, but even that has expanded over the years. Many see her as a source of change, which often wraps her up as a springtime Deity. Ironically, change can be both a blessing and a curse, but the curse-breaking abilities of her worshipers are often the first draw card to those needing help. Those not in favour of change usually keep their arguments to themselves after blighted lands sprout again.

The gathering at the morning meal is tiny, even in the small dining hall, and I make a note to ask the team if they’d like to join us—for however long the quiet lasts. I keep the conversation to small talk until everyone finishes up.

“Litthor, I’ll head to Duskstone after breakfast if you want to come along.”

The offer stops Litthor in surprise, and his refilled cup almost sloshes its contents down his front, but he recovers in time to avoid more than a few drops. The table’s enchantments clear them away before they have time to dry.

Litthor settles the cup back to the table, dabbing at the already dry spot with his free hand. “You had mentioned going to Duskstone last night, and I appreciate your invitation. Is there anyone in particular there I should seek introductions to?”

Ellother motioned for attention. “There were a few new teams in the annex yesterday, and they brought back quite a haul after you left. Did you want to take the materials along to the auction house?”

“If you’ll get the storage container after breakfast, you can come along and take care of that while I show Litthor where Moradin’s Hall is located?”

The suggestion gains a calm nod from Ellother, but Litthor frowns in confusion. “Show me?”

“I’m not introducing you and confusing the dwarves into believing I support your position,” I explain. “The Andúnë people dug this hole; you need to stop digging and find how to repair it. I’m happy to point out a few things, but I don’t know if they’re related to your long-standing issues.”

“Since you have experience with the dwarves, I’d appreciate your thoughts,” says Litthor.

“Dwarven ranks are all determined by merit. They care more about an individual’s accomplishments than their bloodline. Though individuals are proud of their ancestors, they don’t rest on their laurels but try to match them, though not always in the same field.”

“Is that why you were frowning last night?” asks Litthor.

“Among other reasons, your situation is concerning,” I admit, taking a sip of tea as I consider what else to share. “Never ask a Dwarf to come to meet you unless they’ve given you honorary status in their clan. You can send them a message but ensure you make it clear it's a request to meet, not a demand, and that you're only seeking an agreeable time to come to them. The safest approach is always to turn up, speak in person to them or an assistant, and if the discussion is going to take too much time, agree on when you can return.”

Ellother nods. “I wondered why you didn’t seek an inn and ask for the auctioneer to see you at Duskstone.”

The thought of playing things that way makes me want to roll my eyes.

Even as I fight the urge, Ellother’s words get the slightest twitch from Litthor. “Why would you not have gotten a room where you can host them?”

“Because it’s an insult,” I say.

“Gail went to the auction hall and asked if Master Dunlan Gildenshield was present,” advises Ellother.

It’s clear Litthor still doesn’t understand, and when he goes to ask another question, I head him off, hoping he’ll understand with more details. “Now, sending a message to ask for an available time doesn’t stop the Dwarf from coming to see you if they decide it’s suitable. There is a difference, as summoning them to you says you think you’re in charge of them, or even their clan or temple if they’ve got a high enough rank.”

There are some variations to that, but none apply to outsiders.

Litthor paused at that, and I caught a trace of concern. “That rings a bell. I might have to return home to check some journals.”

“Never demand a Dwarf introduce themselves to you. Always offer your name or the name of your companions if you’ve entered a dwarven holding, as every Dwarf outranks you.”

“Why do they see it that way?” asks Maition.

“Have you contributed to their clan or kept the holding running?” I ask, and Maition and Litthor both blink. “If you assist a holding enough, they grant you honorary membership, which sets the issue aside—then you have to learn the clan and holding etiquette. Even then, you still introduce your guests to any local Dwarf since the guests have no rank unless it’s earned,” I continue, trying to come up with other big no-nos.

Maition smiles smugly. “Does your family hold any rank within Duskstone?”

“A few of my aunts do, but that’s because they kept up the work that my aunt Am started,” I offer. “I’ve got a bit from helping some mining teams.”

“Your aunts are?” asks Litthor.

“I adopted them, so that won’t help you figure out my parentage,” I tease.

“The three Anar you mentioned being back in the realm: yourself, Julia, and your aunt Am. Do I have them correct?” enquires Maition.

“There are three of us,” I agree, hoping my expression gives nothing away. “If you help determine who arranged for the Isil and Taurë courts to be excluded from the delegation coming here, I might share more.”

“When are you heading to Duskstone?” asks Litthor, cutting in before Maition can ask another question.

Quickly reviewing my list of errands, there is one I should handle first. “I was going to visit Hestia’s Temple this morning, then go afterwards.”

“Could I accompany you?” asks Litthor, and he smiles when I don’t catch my jaw dropping in time. “The Priestess is one of the village elders, is she not?”

“Correct. Do you have hunting leathers or something with you?” I ask.

“I do, but I fear they might still come across as too fancy for the village,” replies Litthor.

A short song has a set of clothing appear on the table.

“I was thinking about the dwarves as well. They prefer practical clothing. These are enchanted to adjust,” I advise him, and his brows lift. “If you go change, I’ll meet you at the front door.”

Maition almost chokes on that declaration.

Litthor’s calm quickly restores itself and after collecting the clothing, he departs.

“You can duplicate any enchantment?” enquires Maition.

“Only the ones I’ve heard,” I admit, and the smile I give him causes his gaze to narrow in suspicion.

“Not going to insist I change clothing as well?” asks Maition.

It’s tempting to tease him about how he looked down on artificers last night. “Oh, you’re on your own. The High Crafter will react better if Litthor isn’t wearing fancy clothing, so it’s not just to reassure Irene,” I explain, and turn towards Mallach, a thought bringing out a smile. “Mallach, would you care to come along to the village and Duskstone as well?”

“I fear I likely have little to offer in either the village or your ultimate destination,” demurs Mallach.

“I didn’t say that I’d be waiting in Duskstone while Litthor and Ellother worked,” I counter. “If you want to come along, you’ll need to ensure you bring your blade.”

A grin lights up Mallach’s expression. “Hunting, is it?”

“You might even get some standing with some dwarves to help your trade alliance,” I add, and his excitement becomes palpable.

Maition looks like he wants to ask to come along, but I let my smile harden unnaturally, and he stays quiet.

“I’m so not taking you near a Dwarf. You make one wrong comment about crafters, and your people will never open trade relationships again—dwarves revere artificers.”

Creating another set of clothing, I slide them across the table to Mallach, who also departs to prepare. Bidding Sarah and Maition good morning, I lead Ellother towards the Demi-Plane entrance.

Mallach arrives before Litthor. When Litthor joins us, I have some fun, and the wards eject us before he can ask about our expanded party. The Temple proper is empty, but I hear Irene in the library across the way. Motioning towards its doors, I lead the way. The soft noise of the door opening draws Irene’s attention from her reading.

“Mallach and Litthor, I’d like to introduce you to Priestess Irene. Irene, this is Mallach and Litthor. They were part of the group that stressed the village out, so don’t go too easy on them,” I motion to each ‌as I introduce everyone.

Irene looks between them before fixing her gaze on me. “What do I owe the honour of your company this morning, Gail? I can’t imagine you’ve brought them to discuss your idea.”

“As I mentioned, there isn’t a rush to put that in place, though the inn might benefit. How did everything go with Tasenka’s family?”

The question has Irene looking at me curiously, but I’m left to wonder at the cause of her surprise. “Her lover hasn’t fled the village yet, and I understand he was still among the living after eating with her family last night.”

“Both sound like excellent outcomes for now,” I say and jump straight to my plan for the day. “Do you have your fighting gear handy, Irene?”

“What’s wrong?” asks Irene, starting from her seat.

I give a reassuring smile to calm her.

“Nothing, but you have two new classes and haven’t progressed them. So I thought I’d help you with that. Have you ever travelled to the Elemental Plane of Earth?” I ask.

“I’ve only read about it,” admits Irene, motioning to a shelf nearby.

I nod, taking in the dozens of books that hold faint traces of her song. “Would you like to learn more about the planes first-hand?”

“I’ll go prepare. I won’t keep you long,” claps Irene and rushes for the door.

“Is it a habit for you to introduce companions to others?” asks Litthor before the door has even finished shutting behind Irene.

“Lords, you should both keep something in mind. You don’t yet have standing in my eyes, and some of you doubt ever will, given the conceit they’ve displayed,” I say. “You act for the good of your political power and influence. I’ve yet to see evidence of it being for the good of your kingdom.”

Litthor goes to protest, and I shake my head. “Consider your justification for calling your realm’s King an usurper. You justify your hold on authority by a charter provided around five hundred thousand years ago. Has your people’s situation not changed over all that time? Yet you say you won’t renounce the ‘right’ of command over the border garrisons. Who does that aid? The people, or you?”

Throughout my deliberately scathing lecture, Litthor’s jawline tightens, but his tone is calm.

“Then why take me to Duskstone at all?”

“To give you a chance to heal a wound between kingdoms. Your region is nearest to Stoneheart, isn’t it?” I say, and his gaze widens like I’ve kicked him somewhere delicate.

“Yes.”

“Did your family ever bother to learn dwarven customs?” I ask, and he winces again. “How many chances has your family let slip past? Did you and your ancestors make things worse with prideful commands issued to others? Today is your opportunity to prove you have your people’s interests at heart and that you’re not just a pretender to true leadership.”

“What do you know of leadership?” demands Litthor. “You’ve no one looking towards you, and your aunt is here to do your bidding.”

It’s not where I’d intended the conversation to go, but I’ve gotten under his skin to break him from his straitjacket.

“It means doing what you’re afraid of when it puts others who depend on you first,” I retort. “Not putting your pride or inherited claims of authority before their well-being.”

“Again, what do you know of the weight of leadership?” asks Litthor, his tone almost dismissive. “You’re just acting as you desire, aren’t you? Playing factions off against each other and scolding when you feel like it from your high horse of idealism. I deal in the real world.”

A quick song wraps a sound barrier around us, and since I’ve already told others my age, I line it up as a weapon to break his calm anger.

“It’s not leadership, but betrayal that trapped nearly eight million Lómë in the Abyss. I’m the one that can retrieve the key to annulling that agreement and freeing those that have held out against corruption. Is that enough for a weight on someone’s shoulders? You think I’m here for fun? If my search fails, the Lómë’s only hope is a blind search for wherever a Demon Lady has sealed the royal tower away.”

“By Titania,” breathes Litthor, and he swallows as if searching for words, and I get in first.

“I’m twenty years old and working on freeing them. What are you working towards besides keeping a grip on inherited power?”

Litthor’s jaw drops, and he’s still trying to find words when Mallach speaks up. “What can I do to help free the Lómë?”

“I’m glad one of you wants to help someone else,” I say, and hardening my gaze at Litthor, I focus on a point through him—a technique my father instructs people to use with punching through something and one I know turns my stare cold. “Now, do you understand what work your distracting games slow? When did you last provide significant help to someone outside your family’s political alliances without expecting gain? Does it help the Andúnë people that their leadership is fighting over who controls a shrinking kingdom?”

Revealing my age is a risk, but how much more shock therapy do I have to administer?

“You’re a child?” Litthor finally gasps.

It seems, still more.

“I’m not an Andúnë, I’d suggest not judging me according to how fast your people mature. I’ve been learning since I woke up in my mother’s womb.”

Litthor opens his mouth to argue when Thea teleports between us.

“Just ignore them, Gail; they’re not worth your time. He doesn’t know how fast a Celestial child can grow up.”

“I put a sound barrier up,” I say, curious about what she overheard.

“He’s mentally loud. I was listening to his thoughts,” explained Thea. “Irene’s excited. Are you taking her off to strengthen her?”

“Some time spent fighting earth elementals should supply a lot of experience into her classes,” I explain, and Thea bobs happily.

“I’ll take care of the Temple while she’s gone,” Thea confidently declares.

Litthor goes to say something more, and Thea lunges toward him, nearly bumping into his face.

“Gail isn’t a child for you to order around. I could send you home, Elf,” growls Thea. “Your parade scared lots of villagers, and I’m not happy. I’m so very tempted to regain hands so I can drag you around to everyone to apologise.”

Gently touching the back of her shell, I set aside my frustration and softened my voice against her anger. “Don’t waste your transformation on this, Thea.”

“He thinks they need to take you back to one of their cities for your safekeeping,” cracks Thea, her voice snapping like a whip. “Weighing up the pros and cons of different sites, and which faction would benefit. Titania’s celestials would have your head, moron.”

“Thank you for being protective, Thea, but this is a matter for mortals to handle. As I’m not of Hestia’s nor Titania’s faith, I need to protect myself,” I say. They were words I’d intended more for Thea than Titania, but at least Titania takes heed of them, and her sharpened attention unfocusing. “You can’t hold someone’s thoughts against them unless they act on it.”

“Finding out someone I thought was centuries old—at least—is only twenty, is shocking,” grumbles Litthor. “I’ll try to still my impulse to send you somewhere secure.”

“If I wanted to be safe, I’d still be home with my parents. I have safeguards to ensure I don’t stay dead—or imprisoned.”

My addition draws a wince from Litthor, and then both look shocked as Thea lets out an evil laugh. “Imagine your father rampaging through their kingdom trying to find you?”

“That isn’t one of my safeguards. Please don’t suggest it to my father. He might think taking on an army to be a good training idea,” I say, trying to head Thea off, and she laughs harder.

While she’s amusing herself, I inform Nanoĸ and Ipy that whoever isn’t running the training today might want to come to Hestia’s Temple for a trip.

“I’ll wait here for Irene. Thea, why don’t you introduce them to a few nearby villagers, and they can apologise in person?” I ask.

“No, I wouldn’t inflict them on anyone here,” counters Thea. “I recognise the self-centred pridefulness from certain fallen Greek gods.”

When Litthor inhales sharply, Thea laughs scornfully again

The mocking tone this time cuts off his protests, and she thankfully stops.