#ailoda langmar
Text
pro patria, chapters 1-7
I don’t actually expect people to read this, but I want it over here for completeness’s sake, so—the Guild Wars 2 fic!
This one is ... different, apart from being for a canon that I think maybe three of my friends are interested in, because instead of writing a one-shot in my format of seven sections of seven sentences each, I've written an entire 70k+ fic that way. Each chapter is precisely 49 sentences long, which makes for a lot of very short chapters, so I'm bunching them up into groups of (of course!) seven.
It’s business as usual, however, in having copious footnotes (these ones assume everyone’s unfamiliar with the canon story).
title: pro patria (1-7/?)
stuff that happens: a young Ascalonian woman grows from a sheltered aristocrat, to a hero rushing into danger to help a nearby village, to the investigator of a series of mysterious abductions and thefts tied to the Ministry itself.
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: PC (mesmer / human / noble origin / missing sister [Ascalonian]), Lord Faren, Minister Ailoda, Deborah, Countess Anise, Logan Thackeray; PC & Ailoda, PC & Deborah, PC & Anise, PC & Faren
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ONE
1
I always thought of myself as Ascalonian first, and Krytan second.
Both of my parents were Ascalonian—my mother came from a family of Rurikton refugees fallen on good times, my father from Ebonhawke, and I was born there, myself.
Mother had resigned from the Ministry over some quarrel with Minister Caudecus, and hammered in her protest by uprooting the entire family for an extended holiday with my aunt Elwin in Ebonhawke. This was long before the Rurikton gate got fixed on Ebonhawke, so in the off phases, people generally took “going to visit family in Ebonhawke” as a euphemism for something. But Mother being Mother, she headed through Lion’s Arch to the Black Citadel of all places, carved her way through only the gods knew what to the gates of Ebonhawke, turned herself over to the Vanguard, and waited for Aunt Elwin to show up and get them released.
She was seven months pregnant with me by the time she arrived, Father and five-year-old Deborah in tow. And two months later, she delivered me there, Father and Aunt Elwin at her side, and Charr siege engines in her ears.
2
Father always wanted to go back to Kryta, for Deborah’s sake and mine. And during the times that the Rurikton gate got switched to Ebonhawke, when our kin in Divinity’s Reach rushed supplies through, requests for Mother’s return to the Ministry came with them.
She only said, “We need soldiers, not supplies—yes, I know centaurs are attacking them, but —”
“We need to go home,” said Father.
A Charr attack shook her resolve more than he did: one that briefly broke through the walls while Deborah was out walking with Aunt Elwin. But it was Aunt Elwin who convinced Mother that she could do more to help our people in the Ministry than as one more staff against the Charr legions. She accepted the latest offer from the Ministry, this time to serve as representative of the Salma District itself, and we headed—home, to a place I’d never seen.
3
My father was a Fairchild, a descendant—if collateral—of Duke Barradin himself, while my mother was only a Langmar, and a Langmar of mixed heritage, no less. But Langmar meant nearly as much as Fairchild in Rurikton, where the family had owned a mansion for generations.
When we first arrived, I’d never seen anything like it, for Aunt Elwin’s house in struggling Ebonhawke couldn’t begin to compare to the splendid gardens and shining marble of a mansion in Divinity’s Reach. Even Deborah, her eleven-year-old dignity often stronger than any other feeling, couldn’t help staring around with wide eyes.
Mother, meanwhile, gained a still greater mansion in the Salma District upon receiving her appointment as representative, but she wanted us safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry. Deborah and I grew up quietly in Langmar Manor, educated with other Ascalonian nobles by Ascalonian tutors, familiar with every corner of Rurikton and very little beyond it. Deborah chafed at the confinement, but I was a little girl, content enough to spend my days playing and studying with Yolanda, Corone, and Faren, new and lifelong friends.
4
Deborah joined the Seraph the day she turned twenty.
“I don’t understand,” I said blankly.
“We call ourselves Ascalonians,” she told me, “and that means more than tracing our family trees. You don’t remember Ebonhawke, but those are real Ascalonians, fighting for what they love—like our ancestors fought for what they loved—but we’re happy to boast of their names without doing anything. Captain Thackeray could just sit back and enjoy everything he gets for being Gwen Thackeray’s heir, but he isn’t, and I won’t either. Ascalon is lost, even if Rurikton and the Settlement and Ebonhawke will never admit it, but as long as Kryta stands, we have something to fight for.”
Deborah as a Seraph, solving crimes, keeping order, and skirmishing with the occasional bandit raid, wasn’t half so chilling a prospect as Deborah fighting legions of Charr, so I didn’t say what I thought—as long as Ebonhawke stands, we have Ascalon to fight for.
5
Deborah’s departure left the whole family scattered: my mother in Salma, my father dead, my aunt and cousins in Ebonhawke, my sister stationed all the way down in Claypool, and some remote relations and me in Rurikton. Mother, still grieving Father and anxious over Debs, decided that at fifteen, I was old enough to come live with her in her Ministry mansion.
I’d felt lonely and restless in Langmar Manor, but I still received the news with very little short of horror.
“You’re going the next district over, not across the world,” said Yolanda.
“I’ll take a house in Manor Hill too,” Faren said recklessly, “and we’ll have amazing parties.”
Faren being Faren, he actually did, aided by his father’s relief at him showing interest in something beyond Rurikton high society—even if that thing was only Salma high society.
My mother kissed me when we arrived, and with a smile, told Faren, “It’s a pleasure to know you’ll be keeping my girl company, and of course, just to see you—you’re looking so well!”
He preened.
6
We spent those early weeks exploring Salma, curious and cheerful despite ourselves, suppressing giggles as we followed a dour guide about the district.
“Orr was destroyed,” the guide was saying, “Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire; only Kryta is left, and that by a narrow margin.”
“Ascalon was ravaged by the Searing,” I said sharply, all laughter gone.
Nobody would call Faren a great wit, but when it came to conversation and society, his instincts were impeccable.
“You must have gotten the order confused, good sir—the Searing came first, the Foefire when everything was already wrecked—but a simple mistake, I’m sure—you were saying something about Kryta?”
Biting back the first words that came to my lips, I forced myself to smile and say, “Sorry, we’re Ascalonian.”
“I guessed,” said the guide.
7
I suppose I was a callow, coddled creature in those days, spoiled if not malicious—and though three years of even more luxury in Salma didn’t change that, a single letter did.
To Minister Ailoda Langmar,
I regret to inform you of the loss of Falcon Company in a centaur raid. Your daughter, Sergeant Deborah Fairchild, died honourably in battle.
With my deepest condolences to you and your family,
Captain J. Tervelan of the Seraph (Queensdale)
As Mother staggered backwards, I caught her, and somehow afterwards, that was always the clearest memory: her weight in my arms, the letter falling out of her hand, fluttering downwards until it reached the floor, nothing visible but the seal of the Seraph.
Until then, I’d been little more than an irritable butterfly, but with Mother shattered, I found myself willingly shouldering the work of mourning: the formal letters and heartbroken notes, the refusal of Deborah’s pension, the visits from friends and allies and enemies—I was warm and grateful to the Mashewes and Baroness Jasmina; coldly civil to that ass Zamon, whose commiseration fell little short of gloating; brave and dignified to Corone and his friend Edmonds; grieved but composed with Faren and Yolanda. Like a creature of a thousand faces, I sometimes thought in exhausted moments: not at all a proper Ascalonian hero, more Anise than Deborah—but it was the only way I knew to be strong.
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1) Ascalonian first: the PC from the first game was a resident of the human kingdom of Ascalon when the Charr, a species of giant cat people who lived in Ascalon a thousand years earlier, orchestrated a massive magical attack that killed thousands of Ascalonian civilians and devastated the landscape. Surviving Ascalonians were afterwards mostly killed or enslaved, except a few groups that escaped. The king then went mad and turned himself and the last survivors into vengeful ghosts.
2) and Krytan second: in GW1, the PC helps Prince Rurik of Ascalon lead a group of Ascalonian refugees into the neighbouring kingdom of Kryta. Some Ascalonians establish a settlement there while others live in the cities; generations later, this has resulted in a minority population of Krytan Ascalonians within broader Krytan culture, which the GW2 PC can belong to (though it has no impact on gameplay, which is what inspired the fic). In-game, Ascalonians are fiercely proud of their heritage.
3) Rurikton refugees: Rurikton, named after the Rurik in #2 (who was killed in the journey to Kryta), is the Ascalonian district of the Krytan capital, Divinity’s Reach.
4) Ebonhawke: a stronghold in the furthest reaches Ascalon built by elite Ascalonian soldiers and the civilians they fought to protect. It fell just outside of the king’s curse and has managed to survive the onslaughts of the Charr for 250 years.
5) I was born there [Ebonhawke]: there is no evidence for the PC being born outside Divinity's Reach, so this is probably one of the creakiest elements as far as canon goes. DR is canonically the PC’s home, and they strongly suggest they’ve never seen anything else. I made her very young when she arrived to finagle it, but it’s mostly there because I’m interested in the dynamic between Ebonhawke Ascalonians and Kryta Ascalonians, so I wanted to give her a foot in both worlds.
6) Minister Caudecus: a deeply corrupt Krytan minister who shows up in various storylines.
7) my aunt Elwin: Elwin Fairchild is a noblewoman of Ebonhawke in the game, a proud Ascalonian ambivalent over Krytan involvement in Ebonhawke’s affairs.
8) Rurikton gate: Asura gates are magic/technological portals created by a species of small, floppy-eared, ethically questionable scientists and researchers. They have a gate in Rurikton that will instantly transport you to the one in Ebonhawke, but it seems that it’s only recently been permanently fixed on Ebonhawke.
9) Lion’s Arch: the former capital of Kryta; after a cataclysm caused by giant eldritch dragons, the original Lion’s Arch was sunk and the city rebuilt into an independent city-state, while Divinity’s Reach became the new capital.
10) The Black Citadel: the capital of Charr-controlled Ascalon, built on top of the former human capital (and human remains, according to one Charr).
11) turned herself over to the Vanguard: the Ebon Vanguard defends and seems to largely control Ebonhawke.
12) five-year-old Deborah: we don’t know the exact age gap between Deborah and the PC, but Deborah seems to be older.
13) the Salma District: the PC will always live in Salma, regardless of origin, even though the city has sharp class and ethnic divisions and you can belong to one of the minority populations.
14) Duke Barradin himself: Duke Barradin was the heir to the previous royal family in GW1, but loyal to the elected king, Adelbern. His daughter was engaged to Adelbern’s son Rurik, but both were killed, so he has no direct descendants. However, the PC’s friend Faren is explicitly descended from royalty, the noble PC is implied to be so, and the Duke of Ebonhawke is descended from Ascalonian kings in particular, so it seems likely that their progenitor was some relation of Barradin’s.
15) only a Langmar: Captain Langmar led the elite Ascalonian soldiers that ultimately founded Ebonhawke, though she died in the process. There’s no sign that she had anything like an aristocratic background, but we’re told that class hierarchy in Rurikton is rooted in descent from Searing-era heroes, as Langmar was.
16) mixed heritage: GW2 Ascalonians, especially in Kryta, are a lot less homogeneous than in GW1. We see NPCs of all sorts of RL ethnicities identifying as Ascalonian or strongly implied to be Ascalonian. OTOH, Ebonhawke Ascalonians are implied to regard Krytan Ascalonians as "less" Ascalonian than they are, and there's a remark about Logan Thackeray’s beige heartthrob status being partly because he’s pure Ascalonian. The NPC I appropriated as their mother is a minister with default Krytan design, but who is talking with a Krytan who tells her to get over the Searing.
17) safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry: per #13, Salma is canonically the PC’s home and I’m stretching canon. The game is pretty emphatic that Ascalonians live in Rurikton or the Ascalon Settlement, and since there are nobles and mansions in Rurikton, it can’t even be a matter of “but the noble ones are up on Manor Hill.” The real explanation is that the choice of ethnicity is purely cosmetic and not considered any further, but that’s boring, and we’re never told that the PC has always lived in Salma.
18) Yolanda, Corone, and Faren: Faren is a shallow flibbertigibbet, but he seems to genuinely care for the PC; Yolanda and Corone are two of the friendliest guests at the party he throws for you.
19) the Seraph: the Seraph are a cross between soldiers and police in Kryta, principally involved in fighting off centaur and bandit attacks.
20) Captain Thackeray: Logan Thackeray, the Seraph commander of Divinity’s Reach and ultimate mentor/friend to the PC. He’s the descendant of Gwen Thackeray from GW1/GW: Eye of the North, who was the BEST CHARACTER IN GUILD WARS enslaved by the Charr as a child, but escaped to fight them for the rest of her life between succeeding Captain Langmar, finding love, and establishing Ebonhawke. She’s an iconic hero to Ascalonians.
21) Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire: you don’t get a chance to correct the Salma Guide, but otherwise these are his exact words. The Foefire was the mad king Adelbern’s final curse that turned him and the last survivors into ghosts; the game tends to emphasize this rather than the Searing + brutal invasion that led to it. (It’s particularly glaring in this case, as you personally see Ascalon ravaged by the Searing in GW1 and spend a good deal of time fighting there, years before the Foefire.)
22) Minister Ailoda Langmar: the Krytan-Ascalonian minister I mentioned above is simply "Minister Ailoda," with no other name given. There's no sign of any connection to the PC, but eh, game mechanics.
23) the Mashewes...Jasmina...that ass Zamon...Corone and his friend Edmonds: Lady Mashewe is a pleasant acquaintance who says her mother prayed for the PC; Jasmina's a noblewoman avoiding Faren; Zamon and the PC insult each other; Edmonds talks to the PC with Corone.
24) Anise: Anise is the charming, enigmatic, and powerful mesmer leader of the queen’s personal guard, the Shining Blade.
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TWO
1
My sister’s gravestone read:
Deborah Fairchild
Daughter of Kryta and Ascalon
Died serving her country with honour, faith, and courage.
No body rested beneath the stone; neither the Seraph nor Mother’s Ministry guards ever managed to recover the missing corpses. I never saw a ghost, never heard the merest whisper of her spirit. The grave was the nearest approximation we had, but I often felt drawn to it, dry-eyed and somber. A day rarely passed when I spoke her name, and a day rarely passed when I did not think of her, memories jumbled up with horror at what that missing body must mean.
When Debs joined the Seraph, she spoke of Logan Thackeray, of Ebonhawke, of the ancestral heroes whose names brought us respect and luxury—not of Mother, Aunt Elwin, certainly not me. Yet I could not help feeling that somehow, had I done something different, been someone different, she would never have left us.
2
For a year, I played my part in what increasingly seemed a theatre of grief: three months’ withdrawal into mourning, gradual emergence into a solemn, reserved public life over the next six months, and another quarter-year to return to my old habits of gaiety and grudges—yet little altered for me, at court or during my weekly vigils at the grave.
Not, at least, until one of the latter was interrupted by a familiar voice, saying:
“Indulgence doesn’t suit you, darling.”
“Anise?” I exclaimed, too surprised for offence; Countess Anise was a longtime friend of our family—only the Six knew how long—but I rarely saw her away from court, much less in the guarded seclusion of the Langmar cemetery.
“All those faces of yours,” said Anise, her drawl indistinguishable from every other time I’d heard her, “and you’re squandering them on self-pity and an empty coffin.”
“She wanted to be a real Ascalonian,” I blurted out—I, who hadn’t confided in my mother or my aunt or my friends, and somehow I couldn’t help but babble on, “a hero fighting for her home and her cause, and now—now she’s just like them, a martyr and a defiled corpse somewhere—”
“You’re getting hysterical,” Anise said, not unkindly, and added, “Is martyrdom what it means to be Ascalonian, now?”
I’d always liked Anise, a clever lady mesmer like my namesake, but alive and undefeated; I respected her uncharted skills and enjoyed her inscrutable charm, but until that moment, I never realized: she was Ascalonian, too.
3
Teach me, I found myself begging Anise, though I myself didn’t quite know what I meant—maneuvering in the court, or chaos magic, or defending another person, or outwitting potential threats, or generating clones, or simply surviving in prosperity—perhaps I did not mean anything in particular. I couldn’t be Deborah, and in my heart I didn’t want to be Deborah, a soldier locked into hierarchies and orders and thrown into small doomed skirmishes. In any case, I hadn’t Deborah’s resilience, or Captain Thackeray’s unwavering loyalty, or his foremother Gwen’s relentless courage—but if I did not envision myself as equal to Anise, hers were footsteps I could see myself following, regardless of the particulars.
Even as I pleaded with her, I expected little from a woman at once detached and preoccupied—and thought little of what had driven her to intercede in the first place.
But Anise, taking the request on its face, smiled.
“Chaos for a devotee of Kormir? Delightful—I’ll expect you at moonrise.”
4
My life reformed itself over that next year. Mother, relieved to see me interested in something of substance, readily relinquished me to Anise’s patronage; Anise herself proved an exacting but gracious mentor, dispensing advice, demands, criticism, and praise in equal measure; and my friends found me more and more myself. Small concerns crept back into my mind: the superiority of silk over velvet, Barradin wine over Eldvin ale, Gwen Thackeray over Queen Salma.
Greater ones, of course, drew my attention as well: the downfall of the Meades, one of the oldest Ascalonian houses in Kryta, and consequent disappearance of our childhood friend Kasmeer Meade; the desperation of the war in my birthplace and heightened Krytan aid; the murder of an Ascalonian minister.
I miss Debs every day, I wrote to my aunt, but I know I have to make something of my own life, in my own way. I’ve been thinking of returning to Ebonhawke to help, since Anise says I am ‘highly proficient’ as an aetherist. I haven’t left Divinity’s Reach in years, though, so before I try myself against the Charr, I’m planning on making my way around Queensdale—at least Shaemoor.
5
To the world, my story began the day I stepped through Dwayna’s Gate into Shaemoor.
The world is wrong, of course; my life didn’t begin with centaurs clubbing a frightened man the instant that I set foot in Shaemoor, with stalls and cottages roaring into flame, with a boy as blond as Debs huddled in a corner, with the blood and brains and screams of that day. It didn’t begin with the barely-heard orders from Corporal Beirne—with the indistinct impulse that had me running forward rather than back, urging strangers towards the inn, catching the boy up in my arms, consoling a woman over the slaughter of her dog as I dragged her with my free hand—with the furious spells tumbling from my mouth, focused through the weak wooden sceptre in my hand.
I was someone before I became the hero of Shaemoor. I was myself, with my own history, my own concerns, my own people … the man, that man slaughtered before my eyes, was Ascalonian, and the boy too. If they had not been, perhaps the instinct of the moment would not have flung me into the horror as if I’d been tempered by the Searing, instead of sheltered in Divinity’s Reach. Or perhaps it ran deeper than that, and I would have turned onto that path had the man been Zamon, or an Asura, or even a Charr—but still, it was the turn, not the beginning.
6
Something did begin at Shaemoor, however: my association with Logan Thackeray. I’d met him before, socially, but only just—and in perfect honesty, knew him more as the butt of Anise’s wit than anything else. But I respected him from what I’d heard of his service to Divinity’s Reach, and for his determination to follow his ancestress’s footsteps and not just her name. In the midst of all that panic and death, it seemed only natural to rush to his aid when I heard that he was being overwhelmed.
I had no sword, like Logan, or Deborah; I struck from among magical decoys, twisting chaos about our enemies from each direction—but it was something, and an hour from leaving the city for the first time, I was at Logan’s side, blasting aether at a massive earth elemental and the many smaller ones.
He didn’t know me from Kormir, or at least from Kasmeer, but I knew we were a Langmar and a Thackeray again, thrown into another desperate fight, and there were worse ways to die.
But we didn’t die; we lived and we triumphed, and by the time that I awoke in the care of a priestess of Dwayna, every Seraph from Logan on down knew who I was.
7
All my life, I had been Minister Ailoda’s other girl or the lady Elwin’s niece or Sergeant Fairchild’s sister or a Langmar, you know, on the mother’s side—or, now and then, merely my lady. I rarely heard my own name outside my little circle of Ascalonian nobles.
I also rarely heard it in the immediate wake of Shaemoor. But now I wasn’t a satellite about greater relations, extensions of my mother or aunt or sister or heroic ancestors. I was the hero, myself, even as I wandered about Shaemoor in a daze. I didn’t do much: fought off little wyrms and harpies, found missing herds, gathered apples.
Yet there was no my lady there, much less So-and-so’s relation: only the hero of Shaemoor.
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1) clever lady mesmer like my namesake: the PC's name isn't explicitly stated in this section, but those familiar with the original Guild Wars: Prophecies can probably figure it out from this reference.
2) Chaos for a devotee of Kormir?: all human characters choose a patron god/goddess, and the choice of god and the choice of profession are completely independent. But Kormir, goddess of order and truth, is a rather odd choice for a chaos magic-using mesmer.
3) the murder of an Ascalonian minister: Minister Brios, the representative for the Ascalonian Settlement, is poisoned in Divinity's Reach before a meeting with Anise. There are very few Ascalonian ministers, so the murder of one of them seems likely to be particularly troubling to Ascalonians.
4) before I try myself against the Charr: you can get to Ebonhawke straight from the starting zone of Divinity’s Reach, but Ebonhawke is in a level 30+ zone.
5) a boy as blond as Debs: Deborah will be blonde if you choose to be Ascalonian.
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THREE
1
These days, I knew better than to let myself get consumed by grief. Still, as I flung spells at spiders, giant worms, bandits, centaurs, anything, I couldn’t help but wish that Deborah could see me now.
At the garrison, I snatched up a rusty sword and poured magic through it with every swing at a centaur; what would she think? Me, fighting with a sword? Maybe not the way she or the other Seraph did, but still! She wouldn’t believe it.
She’d be proud, I thought—wouldn’t she?
2
I’d barely passed beyond Shaemoor when I heard from Faren: positively hasty, for him. His pet raven delivered a gushing note that, in the space of a few sentences, managed to tease me about my injuries, urge me to talk him up to my healer, and summon me to a party—at my own house.
I could only laugh; ridiculous as he often was, I loved him dearly, and always had. Even as children, we’d been friends and companions, but after Kasmeer vanished and Deborah died, we found ourselves inseparable. We were among the last of that quiet, secure little Ascalonian world in which we’d grown up at Rurikton—certainly the closest.
Deborah’s death had changed me, driven me beyond the walls of Rurikton and Manor Hill, beyond letters and parties and court gossip. But I remained Faren’s friend, as I would always be.
3
Many people, I think, assumed Faren and I were lovers; in fact, to our own bemusement, nothing could be further from the truth. When we were seventeen, he said,
“I don’t understand it. You’re pretty—I’m gorgeous—but I really think I��d throw up.”
I might have been offended had I not felt exactly the same.
“Inbreeding, I expect,” I told him.
Faren brightened. “Grandmama was a Fairchild.”
4
Faren waited ahead of the party—a sacrifice, in the world of Faren—to greet me with his most grandiose bow.
“The hero of Shaemoor returns!”
I shook my head, but I grinned despite myself. It turned out that my servants had gleefully conspired with him, and when I entered the courtyard, I found it full of strangers and friends alike, along with food, gossip, and a wizard.
I’d enjoyed exploring Queensdale, pushing myself to further and further limits; it was good to know that I could enjoy simpler pleasures, too, although it didn’t extend to the dog fights and bear baiting that a cousin of Faren’s called for.
“Not in my home,” I snapped, “and if you want to stay, don’t mention that again.”
When I heard someone say my name, I seized the chance to turn away—only to find myself facing my mother’s most hated rival.
5
“Minister Zamon.”
“You’ve done well for yourself,” Zamon said acidly. “All it takes for a noble to be a hero is a bit of swordplay, a few bottles of cheap brandy, and an inflated sense of self-importance.”
He had said much the same of Deborah’s swift rise among the Seraph; she’d never responded, holding herself above partisan squabbles.
“Then you’re almost a hero already, my lord,” I replied, smiling. “All you lack is the brandy and swordplay.”
I was not Deborah.
6
Even my old friends seemed to see the hero of Shaemoor more than anything else. Corone, brought up with Faren and Kasmeer and me, and now a respected warrior, regarded me as if he’d never seen me before, and said he’d be honoured to fight beside me. Yolanda hailed me as a heroine—before chiding me for associating so much with Faren, “that rascal!”
In his imagination, maybe.
Fending off her interrogation about Logan Thackeray, I’d never been happier to see Faren bounce towards me. And the moment that I muttered something about being tired, he assured me that he was done with the party as well, and headed off to make our excuses to the servants.
I was ignoring Yolanda’s meaningful stare when I heard him scream.
7
Corone got his wish sooner than either of us could have imagined. We easily trounced the bandits who swept into the party, but it didn’t matter: Faren was already gone.
With Corone and Edmonds protecting the guests, I ran out of Manor Hill and into the district plaza, desperately trying to catch any sign of Faren, or even the bandits; they’d have to have some way to recognize each other, wouldn’t they? But there was nothing, just ordinary people carrying on with ordinary business, merchants calling out sales, the old tour guide talking to a woman with a red handkerchief about her neck … with that over her mouth, she’d look just like the bandits who had abducted Faren—
“Madam?” said someone near us, and then “ma'am!” as I blasted the bandit with a bolt of aether.
I fought at least half a dozen across the district, tracking them one by one to a house at the opposite end of Salma.
At the sight of me, bandits poured out of the house, but I didn’t care: they’d learn what it meant to cross a daughter of Ascalon.
FOUR
1
After Shaemoor, the bandits were nothing. They kept jumping out of their safehouse one by one—idiocy—and flailed at my clones, even their supposed leader.
“Soon, you’ll beg me for death!” he shouted.
I laughed, and blew up the clones. He went down like a basket of eggs.
But I never laughed for long. I’d yet to see Faren, and images of bandits beating him, tormenting him, cutting his throat, flickered before me, each as vivid as every spell I cast.
2
Inside the bandits’ safehouse, I raced upstairs, barely wasting attention on the few guards left inside. Fear and victory kept my blood rushing fast: I didn’t even think about Anise’s lessons, but my feet landed exactly as she’d taught me, my body slipped away from each attack, and every spell hit its mark.
Beyond them, I could just see Faren. He seemed alive, thank the gods, but stretched out in magical chains that turned my anger and fear to raw fury. I fought through a haze of rage, but one that illuminated rather than blinded—everything seemed crisp and bright and clear, more than ever before. When the last of them collapsed, I scrambled the rest of the way up the stairs, and tried to clear my head.
“Um,” said Faren, “a little help here?”
3
When I broke the chains, relief flooding through me, he gave a hoarse laugh.
“Am I pleased to see you!” he exclaimed, then grinned and added, “though if you wanted me to leave the party, a simple ‘Begone, freeloader!’ would have sufficed.”
Captivity or no, Faren clearly remained Faren.
“I’ll make a note of that,” I said dryly, and asked after any information he might have picked up on what the devil was going on. But he knew only that they operated out of a house in Shaemoor, where they’d meant to lock him up, and that in recent months, they’d turned more brazen, bloodthirsty, and focused on rebellion against the crown.
“I can't save you and leave the others to rot,” I decided, and managed to smile at him. “Bad form, you know.”
4
Faren, looking determined (for him), said, “Count me in—I may not be a centaur-killing berserker like you, but I can take care of myself.”
I’d believe that when I saw it. On the way to the bandits' den, I said,
“Glad to have you with me, but do me a favour? Stay close”—I poked him with my sceptre—“and that way, we can protect each other.”
Faren shrugged that off, which didn’t comfort me, but he actually managed himself well enough; he didn’t even get blood on his clothes as we fought our way into the concealed and guarded caves, nor when we rescued all the prisoners caged inside, so it counted as a success as far as he was concerned.
“If you know any fair maidens, be sure to tell them who rescued you,” he said, and added with a grin, “the dashing Lord Faren … and his friend!”
5
The mission did count as a success for me, too; one of the captives had filched papers about a plot in Divinity’s Reach. We escorted him and the others out, taking down the remaining bandits with impatience (me) and glee (Faren).
“We showed them what Ascalonians are made of!” he said triumphantly, and I straightened right up.
“That’s right.”
When Logan Thackeray arrived to help, Faren swaggered up and said, “My friend and I defeated these delinquents with panache and aplomb; you're just in time to celebrate our victory.”
“I’m … amazed,” said Captain Thackeray.
I knew the feeling.
6
“Then again,” he said, favouring me with a respectful nod, “I should have known that the hero of Shaemoor wouldn’t let your kidnapping go unanswered.”
I remembered Shaemoor, fighting alongside Captain Thackeray with my stick of a sceptre just like Gwen and Langmar once had, all those years ago, and tried not to think too much of it; we’d barely met, outside of a few social occasions he clearly didn’t remember. But I also thought of Faren struggling in his chains, and danger spreading to the home that was supposed to keep us safe, and that we were all Ascalonians together.
“No one hurts my friends without answering to me,” I said firmly.
I handed over the papers we’d acquired, but to my surprise, it was Faren(!) who proved most useful; he noticed the quality of the paper, and even knew of the papermaker I could track down to identify it.
I promised, “I'll get the information you need, without anyone realizing the Seraph are aware of the traitor in the city.”
“Be careful,” said Captain Thackeray.
7
Although he warned me, I didn’t realize so many skale existed in the world as I wiped out on that trip—luckily, I found a new sceptre on the way, so I managed to keep them at a distance, and my clothes remained as pristine as Faren’s.
When I arrived, I found the paper maker he’d mentioned; Fursarai was a small, prissy man, an impression not helped by his quite beautiful waistcoat, but it didn’t stop him from shouting at a departing Norn about getting his supplies back to the city.
“You there—you look like you can handle yourself in a fight!” he announced, gaze fixed on something in my direction; I glanced over my shoulder, but none of the Seraph seemed to be behind me, nor anyone else. He gabbled something about the garrison and cowardly guards at the empty air—unless—unless "you there" was supposed to mean me?
What a boor: but unfortunately, a boor who could direct me to Faren’s attackers. Friendship had its sacrifices.
I looked at my silk sleeves, and sighed.
FIVE
1
“What do you cost?” Cin Fursarai demanded, and now I preferred to believe he wanted a replacement for that Norn. It was flattering, I suppose, that he looked at me—a young noblewoman in silk, wool, and fine leather, carrying only a sceptre and a small sword—and thought I looked like someone who could fight.
“I’m not a mercenary,” I said, and added: “I'm here to ask for help identifying the craftsmanship of a piece of handmade paper.”
Fursarai sniffed. “If you found quality paper in Divinity’s Reach, I can assure you, I made it.”
By sheer force of will, I didn’t roll my eyes—I had a conspiracy to unearth, never mind how irritating this little prig was—and instead requested his help, only for him to sniff again and go on about how he had no loyalty to the crown, because he happened to live in Lion’s Arch.
He had red hair and dressed in high Rurikton fashion; he had to be Ascalonian, descendant of refugees saved by Kryta’s rulers, yet—yet—
2
It didn’t matter. It didn’t, not right now—and anyway, our fashions had spread far and wide, Lion’s Arch had long ago drowned its history, and true Ascalonian identity meant more than ancestry, whatever they might say in Rurikton. Deborah had taught me that much; if he didn’t care about it, then I wouldn’t, either.
Easier said than done, though.
“I need this information as soon as possible,” I told him.
“But why should I trust you?” he retorted. “Who are you, anyway?”
3
I lifted my chin, and for all I might tell myself, I felt as if the pride of generations clustered about me, even with my foremothers’ spirits hopefully at peace in the Hall of Echoes. I had not forgotten what I came from.
All those Langmars, the children and children’s children of Gwen Thackeray’s great captain. The Krytans they’d married now and then, abandoning an easy heritage to transplant themselves into Rurikton, absorbed into Ascalonian life and identity.
The Fairchilds in Ebonhawke, kin of the last kings, of the duke who still haunted Ascalon and his martyred daughter. They’d fought a long defeat, on and on, yet managed to keep a last corner of human Ascalon alive; my aunt still worked to keep Ebonhawke standing while this man sneered over paper.
“I am Lady Althea Fairchild of Divinity’s Reach and Ebonhawke,” I said.
4
Fursarai eyed me suspiciously. “Well, which one?”
Despite myself, my defiance flickered. I would always be Ascalonian above all else, yet I would always serve the queen, too, and set myself against the enemies of Kryta. I belonged to Ebonhawke, my father’s land, my birthplace and my pride; I belonged to Divinity’s Reach, the only home I knew, where my mother’s people had lived and fought for generations. Anise always called me a creature of two faces, and I supposed I was.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
5
He grunted. “Explains why you don’t stink like the rest, anyway.”
“Thank you,” I replied dryly.
After a minute of meditation (not helped by Fursarai’s string of complaints), we headed out. I was just about ready to kill him myself by the time we got to the Shaemoor garrison; he’d have easily died without me fighting skale and centaurs and one exceptionally large spider by sceptre and sword, but he made not the slightest attempt to defend himself, just cowering against his bull and yelping the entire way there.
That was before I had to take down three centaur catapults and Lyssa knew how many centaurs, with maybe two Seraph backing me up.
Naturally, his gratitude upon entering the garrison amounted to checking his supplies three times, turning to me, and pronouncing:
“I feel like I was run over by a herd of marauding dolyaks!”
6
Irritation aside, he did supply the information I needed, admitting that he sold his paper to Minister Zamon.
Zamon, the man who’d all but gloated at my mother when Deborah died, purely—I thought then—because of malice at the suffering of a rival. And then, not long ago: the man who’d sneered at my defense of Shaemoor.
“He has excellent taste,” Fursarai said, his glance clearly implying that I didn’t. As if he’d know. I silently decided that I’d never buy anything from him, even if I had to go to Lion’s Arch myself to find another papermaker.
I smiled and said, “Don’t leave Divinity’s Reach.”
7
I found Captain Thackeray in the Seraph Headquarters, deep in a discussion with Anise, of all people, but his head snapped up when he caught sight of me.
“Do you have any news?”
“Fursarai admitted he made the paper for Minister Zamon,” I said, suppressing any signs of satisfaction. Well, mostly; Anise cast an amused look in my direction.
“Setting up citizens to be robbed and brutalized?” exclaimed Captain Thackeray. “That's out-and-out treason.”
Why, so it was.
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1) The Fairchilds in Ebonhawke, kin of ... the duke who still haunted Ascalon and his martyred daughter: i.e., Duke Barradin, while his daughter, Lady Althea—this Althea’s namesake—was burned alive by the Charr.
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SIX
1
“But where are my manners?” said Captain Thackeray, whom I’d never seen with so much as a wrinkle in his surcoat or a hair out of place. “Allow me to introduce you to Countess Anise, Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade.”
Bemused, I nodded at my mentor of years, while Anise bowed with a faint, ironic smile. Disregarding the matter of manners, she said smoothly,
“Minister Wi’s hosting a party tonight; it’ll be a good opportunity to eavesdrop on ministers, their allies, and enemies.”
Captain Thackeray couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree, but clearly wanted to; he proposed a (perfectly legal) raid on Zamon’s house instead, and worse still, left the choice to me, insisting that he couldn’t give me orders—even though he clearly had no idea who I was.
In fact, I wasn’t even sure he’d realized I had a name.
2
Naturally, I consulted with Anise—Thackeray or no Thackeray, she was my guide and teacher.
“Personally,” she said in her light voice, “I prefer convivial, face-to-face situations. Then again, cloak-and-dagger skulduggery is always fun.”
I laughed. “The way you describe it, it all sounds so charming; I’ll have to think it over.”
I didn’t, actually. Minister Wi lived in Rurikton, and Faren was my best friend; if I knew anything, it was Rurikton parties.
3
“Minister Wi’s party,” I announced. “I’ll see what I can learn.”
“Are you sure?” said Captain Thackeray, though with a distinct note of resignation. “You can’t break into Zamon’s place if you attend Minister Wi’s party.”
“I’m sure,” I told him. “Minister Wi’s party it is.”
He sighed.
4
“Your fellow nobles seem to have a knack for making my life interesting,” Captain Thackeray told me, clearly putting the best face on it. “Let’s see if we can’t return the favour.”
“We nobles, Captain Thackeray?” I said, amused; everyone knew about his relationship to Gwen—and his relationship to Queen Jennah, too. “A step down from royalty making your life interesting, I’m sure.”
To my surprise, he flinched. Some lover’s spat, perhaps; I decided it was none of my business, and turned to Anise, who promised to meet me at the party—because it wouldn’t do to make us share the spotlight during our entrance.
Of course.
5
I listened to a few complaints and registered some unsolved crimes after Anise left, then headed out. At least, I meant to, but on my way to the door out of Seraph Headquarters, I caught sight of an open book—a register.
“That lists the names of all Seraph soldiers for the last two decades,” an officer told me proudly.
I glanced over my shoulder, undoubtedly looking as suspect as a priest of Grenth on Wintersday, but nobody seemed to be paying attention; the officer had drifted over to settle a dispute over a farm, Captain Thackeray was talking to a lieutenant, and everybody else looked up to their ears in work.
I opened the book, scolding myself for being foolish, giving into a pointless sentimentality that would achieve nothing, recover no corpse for a grave—but still, I turned the pages, searching for the name I would know.
I felt like a spy, flipping through pages, for all that the registry was open to the public and I had every right to look—and then, there it was, near the head of its page.
Sgt Deborah Fairchild; missing in action, assumed dead.
6
“Are you looking for someone?” said Captain Thackeray.
I nearly jumped straight into the air; as it was, I flinched as violently as he had.
“No, sir,” I said, and realized—Debs would have said no, sir in the exact same tone, would have stood in this very room as I did now, would know it all better than I did. What would she have thought, if she’d known that one day I would be investigating crimes for the Seraph, reporting to Captain Thackeray himself?
She’d never pressed me to be anything I wasn’t, never seemed to love me less for being the thoughtless, frivolous creature I was then, but I couldn’t help but imagine she’d have been proud. Imagine how this whole thing might have gone if she’d been alive—maybe we’d be investigating Zamon together, or—
“Good luck, Captain Thackeray,” I said, and walked out.
7
By happy coincidence, I already had an invitation, of sorts. My mother’s said Minister Ailoda Langmar and one other.
“You want to go?” said Mother, looking startled. “I would have thought you’d be busy slaying monsters or saving people or whatever else you do these days.”
I frowned, unsure how to take this; it might have been pride, if not for her studiously neutral tone—did she think all this unimportant, or regrettable, or beneath us? Or was it fear, with Deborah dead on Seraph business?
For a wild moment, I longed to tell her, cling to her and admit that I was frightened and angry as well as resolved, to confide in someone who would always see Althea first and the hero of Shaemoor second.
“I need to keep an eye on Faren,” I said.
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1) his relationship to Queen Jennah: Jennah is the Queen of Kryta, and a beautiful young woman; it’s widely rumoured that she and Logan are having an affair. The last time royalty made his life especially interesting was when he deserted his dragon-hunting guild, Destiny's Edge, out of love for Jennah.
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SEVEN
1
I headed back to Rurikton for the party, though a good while before it was set to begin. I hadn’t been home for a while—months, though it felt like longer—and I wanted to get my bearings.
I strolled past the familiar stone gryphons, a light calm settling over me. It deepened as I made my way down the streets, passing refugees and servants who gave slight bows: respectful, no more. Clusters of nobles nodded familiarly at me. I stopped by local traders, most of whom I knew by name.
One bookseller had a pair of rare books on Ascalonian history, one of which I’d wanted for ages; I purchased them on the spot, and after these weeks of fighting and investigating and rescuing, it was a pleasure to let it all slide for a moment, and decide that today was already a success.
2
I personally carried my books to Langmar Manor, since I’d forgotten to bring any servants, and didn’t feel very much inclined to send for one now. Oddly enough, I had gotten used to managing on my own.
The walk from the district square was a short and easy one in any case; I strolled down the streets, encountering nothing worse than a few seditious posters I tore down, and a man complaining about Captain Thackeray to an unsympathetic friend.
“You know, just because your wife’s taken a shine to Logan Thackeray doesn’t make him a bad guy—he’s cursed.”
At the first man’s scoff, the friend added,
“Cursed with good looks and true Ascalonian blood! It’s not his fault that every woman fawns over him.”
Not every woman, I thought.
3
The people of Rurikton had always mingled at the Maiden’s Whisper as well as Rurikton at large, so I attracted no particular curiosity when I strolled into the tavern. Several other lords and ladies stood near the entrance, smiling and lifting their glasses towards me as I passed, while everyone else simply continued their own conversations—despite the Norn inexplicably towering at the side of the room.
“I like that Minister Caudecus,” one girl announced.
“To Queen Jennah!” someone just out of sight said, echoed by a dozen toasts to the queen, Divinity’s Reach, Captain Thackeray, and assorted ministers.
Across the hall, a man bellowed drunkenly, “Show me a woman who can wrestle a bear, and I’ll show you a keeper!”
“If the Charr think they can come here,” said a woman, her voice clear and pleasant, “me and my meat cleaver will tell them otherwise.”
I smiled; despite everything, it really was good to be home.
4
I spent the last few hours before the party skulking around Rurikton, but found nothing beyond a particularly incompetent group of adventurers and ordinary conversation on the street. Returning to the inn, I searched for a relatively secluded place, found it in a library, and closed my eyes, peering through those of a near-invisible clone as she drifted through Minister Wi’s manor.
She wasn’t caught, but turned up nothing except preparations for the party. I was sure there had to be something we’d missed, but apparently not. Well, Zamon might be acting in secrecy. Might.
I resigned myself to the inevitable: I would only discover what I needed to know at the party, and I would have no preparation beyond what I already knew.
5
When I arrived at the manor in person, the place was positively oozing Ministry guards, for no particular reason. Anise slanted them a glance that betrayed nothing, then eyed my finery with nearly smug approval.
“This will be delightful,” she said, apparently no more inclined than usual to bother with such minutia as greetings and farewells. “Having the hero of Shaemoor on my arm will make tongues wag.”
Even though it was just Anise, I flushed. So much for separate entrances—but it was like Anise to enjoy disrupting plans, even her own.
“Thank you for letting me join you this evening, Countess,” I said, because it was like me, too.
6
“Mingle,” she said. “Speak to everyone—you never know who’ll say something they regret later.”
It was an encouraging thought.
“Second,” said Anise, “don’t limit your conversation to nobility; servants and guards see everything.”
“Understood,” I replied, adding, “I suppose it goes without saying that I should be discreet?”
“You catch on fast,” she told me, and touched her finger to the end of my nose, eliciting a startled laugh. “Go and charm the masses.”
7
“You know where to find me if you need me, pet,” Anise concluded, while I still tried to wrap my mind and dignity around the fact that she’d bopped my nose.
But at the moment, I found her at my side, setting my hand on her arm and marching forward in her tall boots. She actually smiled when I matched my steps to hers, even if I could hardly match the total assurance of her stride and her drawl—but she smiled more at the sudden hush that fell over the grand room when we entered.
“The Countess Anise,” the servant at the door announced, and after a suitably dramatic pause, continued, “and the hero of Shaemoor!”
Virtually everyone in this room had known me from childhood, but they all bowed anyway, as if my mother herself stood in my place, rather than the other way around; she’d abruptly developed a cold when she heard Zamon would be there.
Zamon himself was nowhere to be seen.
Interesting.
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1) Cursed with good looks and true Ascalonian blood: this (and much of the dialogue here) is part of the ambient dialogue near the inn.
#anghraine's gaming#anghraine's fic#ascalonian grudgefic#ascalonian grudgeblog#althea fairchild#ailoda langmar#countess anise#marius corone#deborah fairchild#edmund fairchild#elwin fairchild#lord faren#julius zamon#logan thackeray#captain tervelan#guild wars 2#pro patria#footnotes ahoy!
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pro patria, chapters 43-49
This section is the seventh cluster of seven chapters a piece, and each of those has seven sections, and each of those has seven sentences. (I draw the line at seven words a sentence :P)
“I can’t say you look well, but you do look alive!”
I smacked the side of Faren’s head.
“What?” he said. “Alive is the thing, isn’t it?”
title: pro patria (43-49/?)
stuff that happens: Deborah and Althea get a taste of normal life, and make plans for the future.
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Deborah Fairchild, Logan Thackeray; Queen Jennah, Ailoda Langmar, others; Althea & Deborah, Althea & Logan
chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35, 36-42
-
1
“Mother told me what happened at Shaemoor,” Deborah said slowly. “That’s why so many people just call you ‘hero’?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Half of them don’t know my name. Even Logan didn’t until Faren got kidnapped and—”
She burst out laughing. “Faren got what?”
2
As we walked on, I caught her up on Faren’s abduction, our discovery and defeat of the bandit ring, my consequent involvement in Anise and Logan’s investigation, and of course, Zamon’s trial.
“I underestimated Faren,” she said, laughing again. “I think. But you, in trial by combat?”
“It wasn’t as strange as it sounds,” I told her. “Logan all but begged me to let him help fight Zamon, so I mostly hid behind him and confused everyone with clones while he did the work.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s how he would describe it,” said Deborah.
3
“Probably not,” I admitted, but left it at that; I wasn’t sure I had leave to discuss Anise’s suspicion—now almost a certainty—about Minister Caudecus’s role in both plots. To my relief, Deborah immediately moved on to my discovery of Tervelan’s betrayal, her eyes narrowing when she heard that he was still alive.
“Who can see him?” she pressed.
“No one,” I said. Without hesitation, I added, “Logan’s orders.”
Deborah looked disappointed, as well she might, but she settled back into her earlier interrogatory interest.
“Well—I don’t imagine I’m going to get much past Captain Thackeray,” she replied, “and I do owe him.”
4
“We both do,” I said, believing it with all my heart.
“For looking after you, I mean,” said Deborah, wrapping her arm the rest of the way around mine. “In his way.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I imagine not,” she said, amused, or at least pretending to it. “But he’s had your back. I won’t forget it.”
5
“I won’t, either,” I assured her.
“I always respected him for his service,” she went on. “It’s just a little different, knowing he took you under his wing when I couldn’t be there.”
I almost denied it, but I couldn’t help but think of how, not that long ago, he and I had been nothing but the distantly heroic captain of Divinity’s Reach and a random noblewoman. Somehow in the months since, we’d gone from Captain Thackeray and the hero of Shaemoor, cooperating when our paths crossed once more, to Logan and Althea, to make our ancestors proud, little sister.
“I don’t know if it’s that,” I said honestly, “but he didn’t have to trust me, and he did. Now everything’s different.”
6
Deborah nodded solemnly, but I didn’t see her earlier melancholy in it.
“I did wonder how you ended up as his right hand,” she said. “Now I understand.”
“I’m not—”
Her head tilted. “No? Should I say personal agent?”
7
“Sidekick, maybe,” I said.
Honestly, I had no idea how to describe what I did for Logan—and Anise, and the crown. In any case, Deborah let the matter pass with a tentative hope that she’d like her new commander as much as she did Logan, and from there, it was an easy step to discussing the Falcons and her own future; predictably, she had no intention of leaving the Seraph.
She looked half-defiant, but I just smiled at her and said,
“I wouldn’t expect anything else out of you, Debs.”
She glanced away from me, then turned back so abruptly that I had barely a moment’s warning before she wrapped her arms tightly about me, her chin digging into my shoulder. It was uncomfortable, but I didn’t care.
“I am proud of you,” said my sister.
FORTY-FOUR
1
Deborah started to keep more normal hours after that, and I assumed the other Falcons did, as well. At any rate, Logan came by to see her the next day.
“Sergeant Fairchild,” he said pleasantly.
She scrambled up, disregarding the long skirts she always wore at home. “Captain Thackeray, sir.”
It was a little odd to see him now—for one, under our own roof, and for another, without the heavy armour that almost always weighed down his frame. Even as he ordered Deborah at ease, he seemed practically like a normal person.
2
“Oh—hello, Althea,” he added, nodding casually in my direction.
I didn’t bother getting up. “Hello.”
Sitting down with evident discomfort, he redirected his attention to Deborah and said, “Sergeant, I hope you’re feeling better.”
“As much as I can be,” said Deborah, honest as ever.
“I’ll be upfront with you. I came to ask if you meant to stay with the Seraph, or wished for honourable discharge,” Logan said, clearly choosing his words with care. “It would be understandable if you—”
3
“No,” she broke in. “I joined the Seraph to fight for my people, and my people are still suffering and in danger. Kryta needs all her soldiers. When do I go back on duty, sir?”
Even sitting down, even in her (frankly rather ugly) ruffled gown, she exuded dignity. I’d been tearful and honoured when she told me she was proud of me, but I couldn’t believe she was anywhere near so proud as I was of her.
Logan gave an approving nod.
4
“It will be some time, I warn you,” he said. “Bringing back Falcon Company will take a certain amount of re-organization, and you’re all on medical leave until we’re satisfied with your health, in any case. But this helps direct our plans. Thank you, lieutenant.”
Deborah stared at him. Without so much as a twitch in his expression, Logan turned to me, while I hid a smile.
“Speaking of good health, you’ll be glad to hear that the queen’s continues to be excellent.”
5
“I am,” I said sincerely. I liked Jennah, and I liked her reign still more; nothing would happen to her if I could do anything about it.
We passed over a few polite nothings, though only briefly, Logan being Logan. With a cordial farewell and brisk shake of our hands, he left in the best spirits I’d ever seen him in.
Deborah slumped back onto her chair, her expression bemused. “I—”
“Congratulations, lieutenant,” I told her.
6
Two days later, the Screaming Falcons put on full armour and marched through the upper courtyard to the palace, while heralds formally proclaimed their arrival to cheering crowds. In the palace, the queen rose from her throne to greet them, declaring them all heroes of Kryta, and delivering honours.
I saw it all from the throne room, because Queen Jennah—Queen Jennah—insisted upon my presence there.
“You’re the hero of Shaemoor,” Logan had reminded me the day before, giving a short laugh at the look on my face. “And you did bring them home.”
“We did,” I grumbled, but in reality, I was flattered and proud to stand beside Anise in my finest gown, watching the queen praise my sister.
Altogether, it was everything I could have wished for Deborah’s homecoming: all glory and pomp, and real feeling woven through.
7
Deborah herself received it with grace and dignity. I … well, despite myself, I was damp-eyed—even before the queen summoned Logan and me forwards.
We exchanged an uneasy glance and knelt before her.
“As we honour Falcon Company,” she said, “we must also honour those who liberated them—Captain Logan Thackeray of Divinity’s Reach and Lady Althea Fairchild, hero of Shaemoor!”
Though I’d spent my life in the public eye, I scarcely knew where to look as we rose to our feet; the applause rang in my ears, my cheeks flushed, something seemed to flash before my eyes. It was not altogether agreeable.
Yet it was lovely, all the same.
FORTY-FIVE
1
After the queen’s reception, Deborah determinedly set about a full recovery. She went to bed and arose like clockwork, she ate heartier meals than ever before, and she joined me in my practice sessions, though I strictly limited her activities to the dictates of the Seraph physicians.
Once they assured me that more strenuous exercise would be good for her, I gave into her demand for light duels—which, to our mutual dismay, I readily won. She wasn’t as easily fooled by the clones as most people, but somewhere along the line, I’d become faster and stronger, and my magic more precise. Deborah scowled and kept working at the utmost limits of the healers’ permissions, crowing the first time that she knocked me down; after that, I started putting up a real fight.
All the while, the survival of the last few Falcons became widespread knowledge, and many of our old friends and acquaintances started showing up to see Deborah, driven by affection or curiosity or, most often, both.
The first was almost inevitable.
2
“I can’t say you look well, but you do look alive!”
I smacked the side of Faren’s head.
“What?” he said. “Alive is the thing, isn’t it?” He turned to my sister. “I’m very glad you’re not dead, Deborah.”
“Thank you,” said Deborah.
3
Her tone was dry, but she’d known Faren since he was six; when he reached his hand out, she shook it with the casual friendliness she’d always directed at him. He grinned, kissed her cheek, and flung himself into my chair.
With great earnestness, he said, “I could give you the name of a really fine hairdresser, if—”
“Faren,” I hissed.
He tossed his own hair, glossy as ever. “I, uh, I was talking to you, obviously. Whatever you’re doing with yourself now, it’s left your hair in a wretched condition—that will never do!”
4
“She’s been solving mysteries and rescuing people,” said Deborah, but Faren dismissed the hint with a wave of his hand, just missing an antique Ascalonian vase beside him.
“That is all fine and good,” he said as I moved the vase, “but there’s no need to do it unfashionably!”
“I am a very fashionable adventurer, thank you,” I told him. “I’m just growing out my hair so it stops blocking my vision.”
“How … practical,” said Faren, in a tone of deep disappointment.
Debs laughed, the sound impossibly welcome. “One of you has to be.”
5
Faren did not look at all convinced.
“And how have you been?” she asked.
He lit up. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m still in absolutely splendid good looks and health. You did notice, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Deborah assured him. “You haven’t changed at all.”
6
To Faren’s even greater joy, she asked him for the name of the hairdresser, after all—probably just to indulge him, though she claimed it was for her next public appearance.
“You’re going to be personally received by the queen again?” he said, eyes rounding. “I never have been, and I’m her”—he counted—“third cousin.”
“You didn’t get captured and enslaved in a plot to end her rule,” said Deborah. “Anyway, we need to get new uniforms and—”
He squeaked. “New uniforms?”
7
“You’re staying with the Seraph?”
“Of course,” said Deborah, as if she hadn’t put off telling our mother for two weeks. Well, Mother had been busy with the chaos at the Ministry, but now that Faren knew, Debs wouldn’t be able to avoid that particular conversation.
“I suppose,” he sputtered, “but—but—surely you’ve done enough?”
“No,” she said simply.
“But—”
She smiled, more than a little triumphant, and said, “You’re looking at Lieutenant Fairchild now.”
FORTY-SIX
1
“That does have a nice ring to it,” Faren said thoughtfully. Of course he did.
“We’re still on leave until we’re declared fit and the captains re-form the company,” Deborah told him, “but I’ll be back in uniform and on duty as soon as possible. There’s a lot to fight out there.”
Faren frowned. The expression, combined with his fluffy cravat and bright blue cape, looked ludicrous, but he’d never crease his skin without cause.
“You sound like Althea,” he said.
2
I started and opened my mouth to protest, but before I could, Faren sprang to his feet and declared, with a dramatic sweep of his cloak, that a certain young woman (I had no idea who) would be missing him.
We had to cover our mouths for a second. I told him, “You’d better not keep her waiting.”
“Indeed not!” he said, but surprised us both by sweeping Deborah into a hug. “Darling, I really am quite happy you’re alive.” He released her and fluttered his hand at us. “Until later, ladies!”
3
Once the servants closed the door behind him, I looked over at Debs.
“He means well,” I said.
“He’s a sweetheart,” said Deborah, laughing. “And he really fought a cave full of bandits with you?”
Remembering his complaints about bandits dirtying his waistcoat, I said,
“After a fashion.”
4
Setting Faren aside, I asked her when she’d tell Mother about the Seraph. Deborah winced, but to her credit, dropped a hint about her new uniform that evening.
Mother set down her fork with a decided clink. “Your … uniform?”
Deborah studied her goblet with intense interest.
“Oh, right,” I said, putting on my best blank face, “the old one is gone, and you probably wouldn’t fit it now, anyway.”
Mother, ignoring this, just stared at my sister.
5
After a long moment, she said, “You’re re-joining the Seraph?”
“I never left,” said Deborah, lifting her eyes to look levelly at her.
“After—when you—sweetheart, you’ve done enough, you—”
“It’s not about enough,” Deborah interrupted. “It’s about what Kryta needs. Our family has what it has because our ancestors were willing to die for their people. Yours did die for them.”
6
“That was another time,” Mother said weakly. She looked as if she already knew she’d lost.
“A time when Kryta was stronger,” retorted Deborah. “And we’re Fairchilds as well as Langmars—Papa’s family has been fighting in Ascalon for centuries. I can’t sit here in silk, doing nothing, while my cousins and my aunt face down Charr every day, and my sister fights at Logan Thackeray’s side.”
Mother darted an almost panicked glance at me. “It doesn’t have to be nothing, Deborah.”
7
“I understand better than you think,” she went on. “I spent years facing down the Charr, because I couldn’t see how much more I could do for Kryta and Ebonhawke in Divinity’s Reach.”
“Can you imagine me in the Ministry?” Deborah asked, and I stifled a laugh.
Mother cried out, “I almost got you killed!”
My sister and I looked at each other, biting our lips. Then Deborah said,
“I don’t have children, and I don’t have a lover or a spouse. What I have is our family, and our duty.”
FORTY-SEVEN
1
The argument, if not the disagreement, ended there. The three of us talked normally over the next few days—or what passed for normally at this point, avoiding any reference to Deborah’s return to the Seraph, except when one deputized me to speak to the other.
I didn’t change either’s mind, and I didn’t really try. But my sister, at least, seemed to understand that our mother feared losing her all over again, all the more with me in danger as well, while Mother could see the ethic that drove Deborah so inexorably to military life. I couldn’t ask for more from them than that, and I didn’t think they could ask more from each other.
Personally, I shared both Deborah’s convictions and Mother’s concerns, though I avoided speaking about either. Debs absolutely belonged with the Seraph—and I’d just have to return to developing my map of Kessex Hills as soon as she got posted there.
2
In the meanwhile, Deborah was welcomed by every old friend or near acquaintance in Divinity’s Reach. They came singly, they came in groups, they sent notes and presents; and by the time Lady Mashewe gasped and started crying into her shoulder, poor Debs looked entirely wrung-out.
Whenever possible, I shepherded her towards my own childhood friends, who—though not her friends for good reason—could be trusted to confine themselves to ordinary courtesies.
“It’s good to see you looking so well, Lady Deborah,” said Yolanda, wafting jasmine as she kissed Deborah’s cheek.
“Thank you,” Deborah replied, eyeing her with caution.
“And Althea, darling! I saw you at court with Captain Thackeray.”
3
“I’m often there,” I said. “I’ve become a sort of assistant to him and Countess Anise.”
“Isn’t he dashing?” said Yolanda, fanning herself.
“I’ve never thought about it,” I told her honestly.
Corone, restored to his native good humour with the end of the robberies, heaved a disappointed sigh. “Never thought about it? Althea, Althea.”
4
Beside me, Deborah relaxed, and I silently blessed my friends, however distant our lives might be now.
“Captain Thackeray has been very good to my sister,” she said.
Yolanda and Corone exchanged a meaningful glance.
“Is that so?” said Yolanda, and she seized my hands. “You must tell me everything.”
Baffled, I blinked at her, and then at Corone. “Everything about what?”
5
“Thackeray, of course,” he said eagerly. Turning to Deborah, he added, “They fought together at Zamon’s trial, you know—it was thrilling to see, absolutely thrilling.”
Deborah looked as puzzled as I felt; then, struck by some illumination that had entirely bypassed me, she grinned. “Oh, I’m sure it was.”
“I don’t know what you want to hear,” I told them. “Everyone knows him.”
“But not like you do, I’m certain,” said Yolanda.
6
She gave a light little giggle.
“I suppose not,” I said. “But there’s not much I can say that’s not already public knowledge—he’s straightforward, loyal, very serious. Very devoted to Kryta.”
“To Kryta, eh?” said Corone.
I wasn’t about to mention Jennah.
“Yes,” I told them firmly.
7
Inexplicably, both of them laughed; Deborah was still smiling.
“Althea,” my traitorous sister said, her voice trembling, “I think you’re … ah, missing something.”
No, really?
“Well, I am absolutely delighted for you,” Yolanda told me.
I stared at her.
If I had no idea how a sighting of Logan at a place he often frequented had led to this particular burst of curiosity, then I had absolutely no clue why it should make anyone happy for me, except that I happened to have been there at the time, and was a close ally.
Perhaps she meant my friendship with him more generally; his celebrity might make that worthy of gossip and congratulations—but it still seemed odd that they’d make such a point of it.
FORTY-EIGHT
1
“Thank you,” I said in utter confusion.
My friends looked all the more thrilled. Debs just snickered.
“You’ve made quite the catch,” said Yolanda cheerfully.
My thoughts scraped to a halt. They couldn’t mean—surely not—
“Logan?”
2
“Is that what you call him?” Yolanda fanned herself again. “What a story, darling.”
“It’s not everyone who wins a man’s heart over centaur carcasses,” said Corone, smiling.
“I didn’t—we’re not—” I knew I sounded both inarticulate and unconvincing, but this was infinitely worse than the speculations about me and Faren. Logan Thackeray, of all people!
3
Deborah, at last, came to my rescue.
“They’re not lovers,” she said succinctly, which she might have mentioned earlier.
Yolanda and Corone both looked disappointed.
“You’re not?” they said at once.
“Gods, no,” I replied, and shuddered. “Logan’s a—an ally to me, a mentor. Nothing like that.”
4
Yolanda slanted me a sly glance. “Is that what Captain Thackeray thinks?”
“Captain Thackeray,” I said, “thinks I’m a trustworthy protégée and a friend. I’m honoured, but that’s all I am.”
“He’s been a sort of brother to her,” said Deborah, a stalwart defender when she chose to be. “And a good one. I’m very grateful.”
5
Yolanda gave a melancholy sigh.
“Ah, I see,” said Corone. His expression cleared into sympathy. “Thackeray had the brother, I know, but I don’t think any sisters.”
“He has one now, you mean,” said Yolanda, brightening up. “And in our Althea! How utterly charming, dear.”
6
I opened my mouth to head this particular detour off, but after another glance at their faces, gave up. They were Yolanda and Corone; they’d always find something to chatter about, all the more when it concerned their own connections. Better this than the other.
Hopefully that particular rumour was confined to Yolanda’s and Corone’s own hurried imaginations—but, considering the gossip that always swirled about Logan, that struck me as unlikely. Of course people would whisper about any woman he spent any significant amount of time with, which meant Jennah, Anise, and—me!
Gods, what if Logan himself heard? I’d die.
7
“I—well—”
“Something like that,” said Deborah.
I almost squirmed under their fascinated regard. Yolanda, I quickly guessed, would expect nearly as good information from a surrogate sister as from a romantic partner.
“Surely, then,” she said, “you’d know—”
“We usually talk of Seraph matters,” I said, “most of it I can’t repeat without permission, he never speaks of the queen except in his professional capacity, and I’m pretty sure his only lover is Divinity’s Reach.”
Deborah grinned, her grip on my arm loose and easy, her eyes crinkling up.
In an instant, I forgave them everything.
FORTY-NINE
1
Between the skill of the Seraph physicians, the power of the local priestesses and priests of Dwayna, and the Screaming Falcons’ own determination, Deborah and her fellow survivors were cleared for service within the fortnight. A few days more saw Falcon Company in full working order; the Seraph had been shuffling supplies and troops in the meanwhile to re-form the company.
Privately, Logan told me that they’d had more Seraph volunteer for the transition than they could possibly assign to Falcon Company, despite the dangers of the post.
“That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” I asked.
“It’s raised morale,” said Logan. “Recruitment is up, too.”
“That’s a yes, then.”
2
He replied, “Morale won’t save us from the dragons”—I nearly rolled my eyes—“but it’s good, yes.”
“Centaurs first, dragons later,” I said lightly. Before he could lecture me, I hurried on, “What about Tervelan?”
“He’ll have a proper trial,” said Logan, looking as disgusted as I felt, “but it doesn’t matter. The attack on us alone is enough to keep him behind bars for the rest of his godsforsaken life.”
I nodded. “Deborah wanted to pay him a visit.”
3
“I’ll bet she did,” he said. “What did you do?”
“Blamed you,” I replied promptly, leaning against the wall—we stood in one of the many labyrinthine halls of Seraph Headquarters, one currently locked on both sides—to peer up at him. “I love my sister, but I wasn’t about to set her loose on one of our only witnesses.”
Logan looked unsurprised. “I don’t mind taking responsibility, then.”
“I imagined you wouldn’t.”
4
“Speaking of Falcon Company,” he said, “now that they’re leaving, do you plan to remain in Divinity’s Reach? Or—”
“No,” I replied, and suppressed the urge to look away. It was nothing to be ashamed of, for Kormir’s sake. “I’m going to Kessex Hills.”
“Kessex!” exclaimed Logan. “What for?”
5
I hesitated, then forged ahead.
“I make maps,” I told him. “Or refine them, depending on what there is to work with—but I personally travel to every place I have on a map, and make sure it’s as detailed and accurate as possible. Then I send each map off to the Tyrian Explorers Society: they’re trying to to put together a high-quality map of all Tyria, and I thought … well, I can do my part.”
Logan blinked, seeming scarcely to know what to make of this.
“You’re going to travel through the entirety of Kessex Hills to make a map?”
“Well,” I admitted, “I thought I might keep an eye on the Falcons while I’m there.”
6
He gave a short laugh. “That sounds more like you. So, about these maps—do you make multiple copies? If you’re going that far afield, something like that might be useful to the Seraph.”
“It wouldn’t be a problem,” I said, though of course duplicating something that large and that detailed would be a… not inconsiderable task. But it was small enough given everything the Seraph did for Kryta—and everything that Logan specifically had done. “I’ll pass them on as soon as I return to Divinity’s Reach.”
7
“Thank you.” He paused. “While you’re not a Seraph, so I can’t give you orders—”
I laughed out loud. “Logan, you're almost the only person I do take orders from.”
“All right,” said Logan, with one of his faint smiles, “then I’ll expect you to stay in contact, and return if summoned.”
“I will,” I promised.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
1) the Tyrian Explorers’ Society: an organization that, in-game, sends you congratulations/thanks when you finish exploring a zone.
#ascalonian grudgeblog#anghraine's gaming#anghraine's fic#ascalonian grudgefic#althea fairchild#deborah fairchild#logan thackeray#queen jennah#ailoda langmar#lord faren#baroness yolanda#baron corone#guild wars 2#pro patria
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pro patria, chapters 85-91
I knew the danger of the Risen. I’d killed hordes of them. But until that moment, I hadn’t truly grasped the power of Zhaitan, the totality of the threat posed by the dragons. I just—I hadn’t understood.
Looking at him now, I did. I would never forget this, as long as I lived.
title: pro patria (85-91/?)
stuff that happens: Althea, Logan, Ihan, and Anise confront Kellach and deal with the aftermath, and Althea goes home.
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Logan Thackeray, Agent Ihan; Corporal Kellach, Countess Anise, Ailoda Langmar; Althea & Logan, Althea & Ihan
chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35, 36-42, 43-49, 50-56, 57-63, 64-70, 71-77, 78-84
-
EIGHTY-FIVE
1
The doors to the throne room swung open, and a man with deep red hair and pale, sickly skin staggered through. He still wore the armour of a Seraph, though his surcoat was stained with grime and only the Six knew what else.
Logan’s face went blank, which I thought might be his idea of acting, while Ihan, Anise, the illusion behind us on the throne, and I all stared.
“Your Majesty!” Kellach cried, and to my very real astonishment, he fell to his knees.
But it brought him a little closer. I held myself ready.
In clear anguish, he croaked out, “My beloved queen.”
2
He’d brought anguish to a lot more people than himself, but nevertheless, his tormented face chilled me. If not for my knowledge otherwise, I would have thought him like Logan.
For one terrible moment, my imagination superimposed the mottling of his flesh on Logan’s, the absolute horror in his expression. I drew a sharp breath, though Kellach didn’t so much as glance in my direction.
“Jennah,” he gasped out. “You—you have to listen. I won’t hurt you!”
3
I’d believe that when I saw it. But I paid close attention nonetheless.
“I … I just need your blood,” he said, and added desperately, “It will save Kryta!”
Blessed Dwayna. He wasn’t thinking only of his own corruption; he’d followed the logic to its proper conclusion—if Jennah’s blood could heal him, it could heal the others who’d fallen under Zhaitan’s corruption. Perhaps all of them, if it were true.
But it wasn’t.
4
This poor man, though.
“Corporal Kellach!” I snapped out. “Drop your weapons and surrender. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“No,” said Kellach, shuddering, his eyes still fixed on the false Jennah; she looked so much like the real one, down to her thoughtful gaze, that even I would never have guessed the difference. “I need her blood! Royal blood.”
5
Damn Alastia Crow.
“Don’t you understand?” whispered Kellach, frantic hope in his face. “It can cure the corruption. Make us all free!”
Were she not already dead, I would have begged Grenth to strike her down. Kellach, at any rate, had gotten a better vengeance than he knew.
Better, perhaps, than he’d ever be capable of knowing.
6
“It’s not true,” I said, forcing my voice into smooth, steady tones, as soothing as I could manage, even while my stomach clenched. “Alastia Crow lied to you, Kellach. She did this just to endanger the queen.”
His head shook wildly. “No! No, you’re wrong! There has to be a way!”
7
“Tell me!” he screamed.
I knew the danger of the Risen. I’d killed hordes of them. But until that moment, I hadn’t truly grasped the power of Zhaitan, the totality of the threat posed by the dragons. I just—I hadn’t understood.
Looking at him now, I did. I would never forget this, as long as I lived.
EIGHTY-SIX
1
Logan shook himself out of our collective horror to say, “Kellach. Put away your weapons.”
“No,” Kellach whispered, his face going still more bloodless. His gaze flickered around the throne room, his eyes frantically searching each of our faces. In a rougher voice, he insisted, “This can’t be true!”
“Kellach—”
“I’ll kill you all!”
2
He lunged forward, sword drawn, and through some magic I didn’t care to understand, four large Risen materialized behind him.
“For the queen!” shouted Logan, rushing forward to slash at the undead brutes.
Ihan and Anise didn’t waste their breath on battle cries; the former darted about, stabbing anyone within reach, while the latter fired aether from three different personas, faster and more powerfully than I could dream of. I had no idea which was the real Anise, while I felt very certain that she knew where I really stood among my own clones.
“Grenth take you!” howled Kellach, beating wildly on Logan’s shield.
Logan knocked him away with a jerk of his shield hand and neatly decapitated the undead nearest him. Ihan sliced open the spine of another, and chaos magic flashed all around.
3
“I won’t … I won’t give in,” Kellach panted, and I honestly didn’t know whether he spoke to Logan or Zhaitan.
Either way, he was doomed. But his breathing grew more ragged, even though he hadn’t taken much damage, and when I held up my sword to block any attacks and drew closer, I could see that his eyes were no longer wild, but pale and staring, except when he blinked rapidly now and then.
“Must kill,” he mumbled, steps growing still more uncoordinated. “Need … blood.”
My companions had the undead under control; I focused all my will on the magic coursing through my sceptre, intensified the flow of it to all I could bear, and pointed it straight at Kellach.
This is for you.
4
My magic lashed out at him.
Anise seemed to follow my line of thought, or hers took the same route. Her magic spilled into mine, the deep purple of our joined power throwing his face into unearthly shadow.
Perhaps her strength, so much greater than mine, did the rest of the work. Perhaps Ihan’s dagger found its target, or the blue fire flickering about Logan burned some vulnerable flesh in all that armour, or perhaps all our attacks combined into one deadly whole. However it happened, Kellach collapsed to his knees once more.
Then, his vacant expression growing desperate one last time, he crumpled the rest of the way to the ground.
5
Kellach’s body sprawled at Logan’s feet. Dismembered undead lay all around him—around us. It made for a revolting scene, and a terrible one.
Nobody spoke. Nobody relaxed our guard; for all we knew, the apparent death might be a trick, or some new and poorly understood development of the corruption. Logan methodically cut the straps of Kellach’s armour, kicked off the plates of it, and drove his sword through Kellach’s chest.
He bled, sluggishly, but gave no other response.
6
As if released from a curse, we all drew breaths together, the sound so natural and ordinary that it brought some semblance of order to the grotesque scene.
“Burn the corpse and scatter the remains,” Anise said, earning a respectful nod from Ihan.
Logan flinched.
“We don’t want him to suffer any more,” I told him.
“I know.”
He exhaled, then squared his shoulders, knelt down, and reached out a hand, not quite touching Kellach’s body.
The flames of his magic burst out.
7
Logan’s fire ignited Kellach’s clothes first, then flashed over his skin, then engulfed his lifelessly writhing body, the smell of burning flesh filling my nostrils. I couldn’t do Logan’s grisly work for him, and I knew that nothing I might say would help, but I stayed near, near enough to feel the heat of the flames on my own skin. Even Ihan and Anise kept nearly as close; we were all in this together.
I only left him once, after Kellach’s corpse and the assorted remnants of the undead had been burned to ash. We needed a broom.
Ihan and I swept the ashes into four separate pouches, and each of us took one to dispose of as we saw fit.
And that was my initiation into the Order of Whispers.
EIGHTY-SEVEN
1
Once we were done, Logan held out his hands, still encased in bright gauntlets, and stared down at them.
“Poor Kellach,” I said, wholeheartedly meaning it. “His mistakes were rooted in his love for queen and country.”
“So many mistakes,” he said, dropping his hands, “made for all the right reasons.”
“Exactly.” I glanced around, checking for signs of what had occurred, but the throne room seemed pristine once more. Its very cleanliness unsettled me; Kellach might have never existed.
2
Logan still looked stricken. “The queen could have been killed by someone who loved her. Even—I mean, it really makes you think.”
I bet it did. Not unsympathetic, I touched his vambrace.
“It’s all right, Logan. The queen is safe,” I assured him.
3
“Focus on the future, and Kryta will stay safe, too.”
Logan nodded, but seemed scarcely aware of it.
Meanwhile, Ihan fastened his portion of the remains on his belt, to all appearances unperturbed. Then he grinned at me.
“Well done, Initiate! You showed tremendous cunning and nerve. I’m proud you’re a member of the Order of Whispers.”
4
Mixed in with the remnants of horror, I felt a trace of gratification at that. Though not often lacking in pride, I hadn’t ever imagined feeling so over this. I’d fought competently enough, and kept my nerve throughout, but I hadn’t expected Ihan to care. Surely he would expect no less?
“Thank you,” I said.
This seemed to satisfy him. “Now, for the rest of your initiation.”
5
I swallowed.
“Go to Lion’s Arch a week from today,” continued Ihan. “There, you’ll be contacted by an apple merchant.”
A what?
“Meet with him to get your first formal assignment.”
My first assignment! Anticipation sparked in my chest.
6
“I look forward to it,” I said honestly, and thought of Kellach’s face, the creeping power of Zhaitan. “It’s time to be part of a bigger world.”
Ihan smiled again, and said nothing more, instead striding over to watch Anise unweave her spell, perhaps hoping to learn something from the process. I returned my attention to Logan, who was looking at his hands again.
“Logan, are you all right?” I asked. “You seem rattled.”
Not that he didn’t have reason to be.
7
“I’m glad Jennah’s safe,” he said slowly, “but I realize now that her safety is temporary. Everything is temporary, unless the dragons can be stopped.”
True, but I didn’t blame him. I’d only just grasped it myself.
“The dragons can’t be defeated by one people,” said Logan, lifting his eyes, “or even one nation. There has to be another way.”
That’s what the Orders were for—weren’t they?
EIGHTY-EIGHT
1
Logan’s brows drew together even as he hung his head a little.
“Do you think we can overcome our mistakes, my friend?” he asked. “Make up for the things we’ve done?”
I didn’t know what mistake he meant, but I knew it wouldn’t shake my friendship. I gave a firm nod.
“I know we can, Logan.” Offering a smile, I added, “Mistakes make us human.”
2
“It’s rising up again that makes us heroes.”
I believed that with all my heart. Wasn’t that the story of our people? We’d been weakened by our pointless war with Kryta, vulnerable to the Charr, but we’d risen up again in Lion’s Arch and Divinity’s Reach. Then, while Adelbern wiped out what little remained of human Ascalon after the Searing, Ebonhawke rose in the south under Logan’s own foremother.
Logan straightened up. “You’re right.”
3
He didn’t quite return my smile, but the lines of his face smoothed out.
“I’ve been too focused on keeping the queen safe.” He drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I love being at her side! But maybe that’s not where I can best defend her—or Kryta.”
I honestly would never have imagined him saying that. Perhaps he wasn’t wrong.
4
No, he definitely wasn’t wrong. But from Logan, he might as well have said the sky was purple and the Charr our friends.
“An old friend named Caithe asked me to meet her in Lion’s Arch next week,” said Logan, leaping by some inexplicable train of thought. “I think I’ll take her up on that.”
I really had no idea what that had to do with anything, but I was all for friendship. I smiled up at him again.
“I think that’s an excellent idea—I’ll see you in Lion’s Arch!”
5
He told me a little more about Caithe before we parted; she was a sylvari who had been a scout in his old guild, Destiny’s Edge. She’d never accepted the dissolution of the guild. When I asked Logan if he trusted her, he vacillated, before saying that she didn’t understand that the guild was gone forever.
“Why does she want to meet you in Lion’s Arch and not in Divinity’s Reach?” I asked, though I could imagine that sylvari might not care for their reception in our home city.
“Lion’s Arch is where it all began,” said Logan. “She likely wants to use a familiar place to dredge up sentimental feelings.”
Well, that took some nerve, at any rate.
6
I respected nerve.
“She’s stubborn,” added Logan.
I respected stubbornness, too.
“What does Caithe want?” I asked.
“It’s likely she’s discovered something new about the dragons,” Logan said, and sighed, but he did look intrigued. “If I can convince her to tell me, it might benefit Kryta—and the queen.”
Well, I could imagine why the guild had broken up.
7
“Caithe wanted to meet you in Lion’s Arch,” I said, thinking of my own forthcoming journey. “Anywhere in particular?”
Only afterwards did it occur to me that he might not want me present during the actual meeting—likely a fraught one.
“The Trader’s Forum,” Logan said easily. “It’s where we first formed Destiny’s Edge.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I promised, to his evident relief. “Travel safely.”
EIGHTY-NINE
1
We lingered even after that, talking a little of the queen and Logan’s feelings for her. He praised Lyssa for Jennah’s survival, and though we ourselves had carried out the plan, I could believe that Lyssa had aided my magic—both Anise’s and mine. She might not speak to us any more, but she was there, nonetheless. I assured Logan that the gods would watch over us all, and on that note, we parted.
Once Logan left, undoubtedly to find Jennah, Ihan walked back over to me.
“Your wits are sharp as knives, Initiate,” he said. “The Preceptors were right about you.”
2
The what?
“Who are the Preceptors?” I asked.
Ihan, with a nod at Anise, placed his hand at my back and gently led me towards the doors out of the throne room. “The Master of Whispers leads the order, but his identity is a secret. Three Preceptors carry out his directives.”
When I asked who they were, he told me that their names were Halvora, Valenze, and Doern, and that I’d meet them soon. I certainly didn’t recognize the names.
3
“They were right about me,” I said slowly. “Do you mean that they knew about me before I was appointed Advocate of the Crown?”
“Of course.”
“And they liked me?” I said, a little incredulous that the flailing hero of Shaemoor would appeal to an organization of spies and manipulators.
Ihan inclined his head.
“What did you all even know?” At his expression, I paused. “Oh, you can’t tell me.”
4
“Not all, certainly,” said Ihan. “What would you like to hear?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
He shrugged. “You were born in Ebonhawke in the year 1304, the second daughter of Lord Edmund Fairchild and the former and future minister Ailoda Langmar. Your ancestry is approximately three-quarters Ascalonian and one-quarter Krytan. In 1310, your family removed to the Rurikton district of Divinity’s Reach, where you were brought up and educated as both an Ascalonian and a subject of Kryta.”
5
It was all true , but—
“You performed well academically,” he continued, “but did little with your talents until the apparent death of your sister in 1323, when you took over the bulk of your family’s affairs for a year. As a natural mesmer, you afterwards began training in chaos magic under Countess Anise, and proved gifted, which aided you when you unexpectedly rushed to the aid of the village of Shaemoor early this year.”
“Well, yes,” I said, “though I’m not sure—”
“You further developed your skills as you investigated a political plot that culminated in a trial by combat and established your close alliance with Logan Thackeray. When not involved in politics, you began performing selfless acts of service around Queensdale and later, Kessex Hills.”
“It’s not quite what it sounds like,” I said.
6
“Many of them quite minor,” added Ihan, “but some requiring a great deal of effort on your part, such as a large-scale attack on a massive creature of the Underworld. You proceeded to investigate the questionable ambush that led to your sister’s supposed death in battle, helped Thackeray apprehend the captain who betrayed Lieutenant Fairchild’s company, and discovered the survivors. At that point, you returned to your hobby of refining maps for the Tyrian Explorers Society, until you were recalled to serve as Advocate.”
“Well, if that’s not everything, I’m not sure what else there is to know,” I said.
“You tend to befriend people unlike yourself,” he answered; I suspected he meant Faren. “You also tend to rely—in both society and battle—on a strong talent for mimicry and for concealing your own thoughts and actions until opportunity arises, when you act quickly and decisively. Both of these qualities interested the Order.”
7
“I suppose I’m an odd creature by way of a hero,” I admitted.
“We have long had our eyes on you,” said Ihan, which I took as yes.
“And there’s more?”
“You possess qualities which I imagine you are not yourself aware of,” he told me. “Qualities and predilections, I should say, which are not all beneficial. Those, you must discover and conquer. Be warned, though: based on our knowledge of you, this first task will test you and your loyalties in ways you do not imagine—and is intended to do so.”
NINETY
1
Well, that sounded menacing. It was probably meant to, too. Hadn’t I already passed my initiation?
Just not a custom-tailored initiation, I guessed.
“I’m very loyal,” I protested.
“Yes,” said Ihan, his face giving away nothing. “We know.”
2
I set that aside, since I couldn’t do anything about it.
“What’s the next step, now that I’m a member of the Order of Whispers?” I asked.
As we stepped out of the hall of the palace into the daylight, Ihan squinted at the sky and said,
“The Preceptors arranged a contact for you in Lion’s Arch. His job will be to mentor you in our modus operandi.”
Already suspicious, I said, “Who will be my mentor?”
“That’s need-to-know information, Initiate,” said Ihan, steering us towards the Salma District. I had no doubts but that he knew exactly where I lived, and probably where I slept, too.
3
“Don’t worry,” he added. “He’ll contact you when you reach Lion’s Arch.”
All right. An apple merchant would contact me in Lion’s Arch, when I would receive a task that would test my loyalties in ways I couldn’t imagine. That sounded fine. Perfectly fine.
“I’m eager to hear from him,” I said.
4
Before he left me at the gates to the Salma District, Ihan told me to take notes on Logan’s meeting with Caithe; the Order kept detailed information on the members of Logan’s old guild. Destiny’s Edge must have been something.
I wondered if this was my test—choosing to betray Logan’s trust for the Order, or the other way around. But I didn’t see Logan’s trust and the Order’s demand for information as quite contradictory, at least not yet. For all I knew, Logan didn’t care one way or another if the Order knew about Caithe, which they clearly did already, and he was all for helping the orders of Tyria fight the dragons, anyway.
I’d see what happened, and make my choice then.
“I look forward to a long career in the Order,” I said.
5
“That’s a week from now, of course,” said Ihan, glancing down at me. It wasn’t all that far down; if I could get used to anything, it would be not straining to look up at Logan. Maybe my contact would be on the smaller side, too, or a sylvari.
Then again, they might be a Norn.
“What do you plan to do in the meanwhile?” he asked.
I thought about it, though I already knew the answer.
6
“I’m going to Ebonhawke,” I said, setting my jaw. “I want to see it again before—”
Before the Order swallows me up, I almost said. Well, not almost, but I thought it.
“—I get too busy.”
“Ah,” said Ihan. “Yes, it’s natural to be curious about what you come from.”
7
“We have a base of operations there,” he added, “so we’ll stay in touch.”
“Good,” I said, though I’d go anyway, unless expressly forbidden. “I’m thinking about going to the Ascalon Settlement afterwards; I always meant to see it, but I wasn’t capable of the journey.”
“It’s a challenging one,” said Ihan. “Even for you.”
I had no intention of getting myself killed out of curiosity, even curiosity that sprang from my connection to my people and my birthplace.
“I’ll take care.”
NINETY-ONE
1
Thankfully, Ihan assented to the second plan as well as the first. In fact, he said,
“Then you’d better take this.”
He dug around in his apparently bottomless bag; it gleamed with pale yellowish light every time he opened it up, and after a few moments, he pulled out a beautiful bronze sceptre, red-jeweled at its base, gradually widening to a little mechanism of some sort, and topped by a group of different-sized circles. The circles all glowed with the same light as that filling the bag, little bolts of lightning crackling across them.
I caught my breath as Ihan held it out to me.
My fingers did not quite tremble when I took it in my hand. Even without casting a spell, I could feel its strength.
2
The sheer quantity of aether I could pour through this sceptre—I’d never touched a weapon so fine. I lifted astonished eyes to Ihan’s.
“Thank you,” I said unsteadily. “I … thank you. I didn’t expect it.”
“I’m aware,” said Ihan, his mouth quirking. “But I’d rather not see a promising initiate immediately killed by pirates.”
3
“Then why are you letting me go?”
The sceptre hummed pleasantly under my fingers, and I couldn’t quite bring myself to sheathe it with my other weapons.
“If you can’t survive Gendarran Fields,” said Ihan, “then you won’t survive the Order. But properly armed, you have the wit and the strength to survive everything on the way to the settlement. And it’s good to test your skills and sharpen them before entering into a new phase of your career.”
I looked down at the sceptre, then up at him, then back at the sceptre.
“I see.”
4
“Good luck, Althea Fairchild,” Ihan told me, extending his hand.
I reached out with my free hand, and took his in a firm grip, shaking it. I couldn’t help wondering if I’d ever do it again, see him again, or if this first mentor—of sorts—would simply vanish into the shadows. I might never know if he lived or died.
If the gods willed it, though, I would. Maybe our paths would cross someday.
I said, “Good luck, Ihan.”
5
With that, he walked over to a nearby crowd and joined it. When the crowd dispersed, he was gone.
I took a deep breath, then turned back to the gate and walked into Salma, where everything was comfortable and familiar. Kormir knew when I’d be back for any significant length of time, and I could hardly tell my mother that I’d joined a continent-spanning organization of spies and assassins. As I made my way to the manor, it felt half-unreal, but for the pouch of ashes at my waist.
I shivered. Poor Kellach—and poor Logan.
6
My mother, of course, didn’t like the idea of me going back to Ebonhawke. But then, she didn’t like the idea of me going anywhere outside of Divinity’s Reach, so I reminded her of the cease-fire with the Charr and the treaty in progress, said I’d keep her updated, and promised to take no unnecessary risks.
We had different ideas of necessary, Mother and I.
After reassuring her, I packed my bags with what went for practical in my wardrobe, tied my hair back, and headed out to Rurikton.
I didn’t go immediately to the Ebonhawke gate. Instead, I walked slowly to Langmar Manor—and more importantly, the Langmar cemetery. Kellach was no Langmar, of course, but it was the best I could do for him.
7
I sprinkled Kellach’s ashes in the fresh plot where Deborah’s headstone had rested: my portion of Kellach’s ashes, that was—just thinking of that had me shuddering again. But perhaps he could rest in the Mists peacefully now, free of Zhaitan’s grip; perhaps even the Risen he’d brought with him could, too. We’d done what we could, however grisly the doing of it had been.
From there, I made my way to the rear of the district, gazing up at the crackling gate.
It had been so long.
Handing over a few coins to the Asura by the gate, I straightened up, checked the fit of my weapons and my bag, and then—
Then I walked home.
#ascalonian grudgeblog#anghraine's gaming#anghraine's fic#ascalonian grudgefic#althea fairchild#agent ihan#logan thackeray#countess anise#corporal kellach#ailoda langmar#guild wars 2#pro patria#probably my favourite clump of the entire fic#i didn't plan the fic in groups of seven chapters so there's no pacing logic to where i divide them up#but i was really glad where this one started and ended :)
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pro patria, 71-77
“These are no innocents, Advocate,” said Ihan. “They’re pirates, and a cutthroat bunch at that—bear that in mind.”
Right, pirates. Thieves and murderers and gods knew what else; it still wasn’t the plan I’d have chosen, had another presented itself, but … well, they’d done worse themselves. I’d done worse, arguably, with all the bandits I’d killed—I regretted nothing, but risking murderers’ lives could be no worse than killing them myself, surely.
title: pro patria (71-77/?)
stuff that happens: One minute, Althea's realizing that her life as an aristocrat does not represent a universal Ascalonian experience; the next, she's manufacturing pirate slang.
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Ailoda Langmar, Agent Ihan; Captain Barnicus, First Mate Gaets, others; Althea & Ailoda, Althea & Ihan
chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35, 36-42, 43-49, 50-56, 57-63, 64-70
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SEVENTY-ONE
1
According to our stories and records, all the Fairchilds alive today were descendants of Lady Irene Fairchild. Irene, a cousin of Duke Barradin and member of the first Vanguard, claimed that she’d left Ascalon on a mission before the Searing, and returned afterwards upon being summoned by Prince Rurik himself. She’d defied King Adelbern to help Rurik lead desperate survivors of the Searing to Kryta, and taken over the expedition upon Rurik’s death.
She and some companions joined Kryta’s White Mantle government, only to turn on it when they discovered its corruption, at which point they became allies of the Shining Blade instead, and aided Queen Salma's ascension to the throne. Irene even left notes of something to do with a lich and Rurik, though she was vague on the details. The family story went that she became an agent of the Ebon Vanguard, first under Captain Langmar and then Gwen Thackeray, and helped establish Ebonhawke.
It sounded like the stories were true—all of them.
2
It made for a pleasant diversion, but after that, I seemed to encounter something disturbing about my people everywhere I went. One man near the gates complained about his offspring creating a guild to attack Ascalonian children.
The woman he was speaking to shrugged and replied, “Someone’s got to teach them a lesson.”
And people wondered why we stuck to Rurikton and Salma.
In the upper city, I overheard a man asking another man and a woman why we didn’t have more Ascalonian ministers, something I’d certainly wondered about enough times. The other man said grimly,
“The usual. No land, no vote.”
3
That was what my mother thought; she only knew three or four other ones. Of course, nothing prevented people from voting for someone who just happened to be Ascalonian—but they almost never did.
In the meanwhile, I heard various gossip about Queen Jennah, ranging from whispers about Caudecus taking over—over my dead body—to anxious curiosity about when she would marry, to staunch declarations of support. Something must have happened; Logan, evidently, had gotten in a fight with some of Caudecus’s people, though I wasn’t exactly sure when or why it had happened. I could think of any number of reasons, really.
Exhaustion crept up on me, perhaps from the exceptionally long morning I’d had, but more than that, too. I had never wished for another heritage, another life, but sometimes I wished I could just get away from everything that came with it.
4
I didn’t want to be poor, of course. But I’d like to pass through my city without hearing about the war or the Charr, or any of the things that Krytans thought were wrong with us.
Not bothering to hide my scowl, I made my way back towards Seraph Headquarters and the palace, where the city was particularly beautiful and the people particularly inoffensive. I walked around under the dangling moons and stars of the mossy courtyard until my mood and my headache improved—and even then, I couldn’t help but think of how few Ascalonians could simply show up for a stroll in the royal courtyard when the world became overwhelming.
And here I was, the Lady Althea, daughter of a Langmar minister and a Fairchild heir, hero of Shaemoor, Advocate of the Crown, doing absolutely nothing for my people. Helping others in general, sure—but not Ascalonians, who needed it more than anyone else.
Someday I would.
5
I promised myself that. Zhaitan or no Zhaitan, I would go to Ebonhawke, where my people had lived and fought for so long, where my own family had, where I’d come into the world. I would offer my services to the Vanguard, in whichever way they saw fit, whether sword and sceptre or political strings pulled or whatever else. I would earn a right to the Ascalonian banners that hung throughout every manor I’d lived in. I’d earn the right to say I am an Ascalonian.
I would go home, at last.
To Ascalon.
6
I returned to the Salma manor to rest, glad to see the familiar lines and curves of the place I’d known for so many years—a place where I knew myself to be safe from all the rest of the world. Another advantage that most Ascalonians wouldn’t share with me.
I’d never thought of that before.
This time, I did manage to sleep, my intended nap turning into the hours until dinner. Despite all the irregularities of my schedule, I scrambled to appear on time.
My mother, entering the dining room from the opposite side, looked startled.
“Althea?”
7
“You’re here!” she said happily.
“I can’t stay long,” I replied, seating myself at her right hand, “but I did want to see you.”
She smiled. “I would have come home earlier, had I known you were here—what have you been up to?”
I weighed what I could tell her, and what I wanted to tell her.
“Oh, I had a meeting with Logan and some other people,” I said, “and ran a few errands, and then”—I swallowed—“then I took a long walk about the city.”
She gazed steadily at me, and said, “Was any word of that true?”
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1) she was vague on the details: the GW1 PC doesn’t cover themself with glory in their dealings with the lich; they’re constantly fooled through the first half of the game.
2) The family story went that she became an agent of the Ebon Vanguard: in the GW1 expansion Guild Wars: Eye of the North, the PC has the option to become an agent of the Ebon Vanguard, gaining ascending '[x] Agent' titles. The game isn't clear about what happens after that, but I imagine them (or at least Irene) sticking with the Vanguard.
3) a guild to attack Ascalonian children: an actual ambient conversation.
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SEVENTY-TWO
1
“Every word was true,” I assured her. “Vague, I grant you—but true, and no vaguer than they have to be.”
She nodded, accepting this, or appearing to. “Can you tell me where you’re headed now?”
Only then did I feel the weight of my next destination, a place I’d so often read of, heard of, seen on maps. I took a deep breath.
“Lion’s Arch.”
2
“Lion’s Arch!” my mother exclaimed. “What in the names of the Six are—oh, you probably can’t tell me.”
“I’m afraid not,” I replied. I didn’t quite regret it; I could only imagine how worried she’d be if she knew I was fighting dragon minions and chasing a deranged Seraph in the company of a spy.
“Be careful,” said Mother, already looking worried. “The city’s not what it used to be. It’s full of unsavoury types who think they’re too good for the queen, and it’s crawling with Charr.”
3
Charr! I hadn’t thought of that.
I should have. I’d heard that Lion’s Arch paid no respects to the lines between human and Charr, sylvari and Asura, any of them and Norn—paid no respects to anything at all, except money. To me, nothing but perhaps the architecture sounded appealing.
Nevertheless, to Lion’s Arch I was to go, if only on my way to somewhere else. And I couldn’t deny a certain curiosity about the place.
4
“I’ll take care,” I promised. “You don’t need to worry—I can look after myself, I promise.”
“Sometimes,” said my mother, “that’s what I’m afraid of.”
I laughed. “Well, I won’t pick fights with anyone, either. Even the Charr.” But I’d given my word, so I added, “Not in Lion’s Arch.”
5
Mother sighed, but said, “I don’t suppose I can ask for more than that. You’ve grown up so much, Althea.”
I picked up my fork, poking at our cook’s best attempts to make something of rationed food. Sometimes I didn’t feel very grown-up. More often, I wished I didn’t. But Tervelan’s plot had yanked me out of childhood forever, and Shaemoor and its consequences had done the rest of the work.
“One minute I’m little Althea Fairchild,” I said lightly, “and the next I’m Advocate of the Crown.”
6
“You’re what?”
I hadn’t meant it as a distraction, but I seized the opportunity when it presented itself. That was, I supposed, my way.
“Queen Jennah appointed me this morning,” I told her. Only this morning? Holy Kormir, what a day. “It’s a sort of diplomatic thing.”
7
I half-expected her to press further, or at least express some disappointment or dismay at the secrecy, but instead, she lit up.
“Oh, Althea.” She searched my face, then pressed my free hand, a trembling smile on her lips. “A government position? Darling, I’m so proud; I never dreamed that you’d follow me!”
I couldn’t help but return her smile, even though I wouldn’t exactly call fighting undead following my mother’s path in the Ministry—but she’d started with battles against the Charr, hadn’t she?
“It’s all very complicated,” I said.
SEVENTY-THREE
1
Contrary to my own expectations, I slept as easily as a cat in the daytime. Unlike one, however, I woke at dawn—I had a substantial journey from Lion’s Arch to Lionbridge Expanse to complete this morning. According to a decidedly sketchy map in my collection, I’d go north out of Lion’s Arch into Gendarran Fields, head west out of Cornucopian Fields through Broadhollow Bluffs, and then run into the Expanse.
The route would take me right past the Ascalon Settlement, the town that the first Ascalonian refugees in Kryta had established; with Ebonhawke and Rurikton, it was one of the main centers of Ascalonian culture. I’d always wanted to see it, but hadn’t dared the journey. Now, I couldn’t afford any detours—this time. But maybe I’d be able to go once this was all over.
2
I dressed quickly, gathered the supplies for the journey I’d packed last night, left a note for my mother, and headed out to the royal courtyard. I could go through Queensdale instead of Lion’s Arch, and felt strongly tempted to do so, but that would be pure self-indulgence; the Asura gate to Lion’s Arch gleamed right here in the courtyard.
Once, I’d been composed of little but self-indulgence. Now, some things had to come first—and efficiency ranked high among them.
Despite my best intentions, I hesitated at the gate. I wasn’t a healer, able to identify bone and organs at will, so I couldn’t say exactly what shivered in my chest as I stood before the gate.
Did it matter?
3
Footsteps sounded behind me, and someone said, “Are you going through?”
I turned, saw a man in merchant’s clothes, saw him step back.
“My lady,” he added hastily.
“Pardon,” I said, embarrassed at my own weakness. Determined to cast it aside, I summoned up all the resolve I possessed, and continued, “Yes, I’m going.”
With that, I paid the Asura by the gate, and stepped through.
4
I only dimly remembered the last time I’d taken an Asura gate, when my family left Ebonhawke. One moment, I was crying as Aunt Elwin kissed me goodbye; the next, with a flash of purple light, I was staring around at Rurikton’s narrow walls and tall buildings.
This gate seemed both like and unlike that memory, and like and unlike the waypoints I used so often. As my vision filled with purple, my body felt oddly compressed and heavy, while my heart raced and my stomach clenched down on nothing. But then everything cleared and my feet landed on solid ground, without any lurching disorientation.
I took a few steady steps down a wooden ramp, and looked around with interest. So this was Lion’s Arch.
5
I stood on a sort of mossy circle, which centered on small levels rather like a fountain leading up to a flowery crystal. On one side of the circle, a stone ramp ran up to the main city, which from here looked like a very dramatic collection of shipwrecks; on the other side, a wooden bridge headed off into some trees. All around me, Asura gates cast light from their rocky pedestals just beyond the edges of the circle, each accessible by another ramp, and guarded by soldiers of various species.
Including Charr.
I steadied my nerves; they weren’t even looking at me, but talking in their low growls to a sylvari gesturing at the gate. Something, something Black Citadel.
Sweet Lyssa, who would want to go there?
6
I’d heard little of it, of course, and had no interest in finding out more. But I knew that it was the Charr capital, deliberately built on the bones of slaughtered Ascalonians.
This must be a gate to Ascalon.
I eyed the Charr guards, unable to repress a curl of my lip. I’d never go this way. But they didn’t matter, I told myself; what they stood for mattered, but these were just two monsters among thousands, perhaps millions.
I turned away.
7
My gate was likewise guarded, by two professional-looking Seraph who appeared remarkably sanguine about the Charr so near to them. I greeted them by rank, which seemed to gratify one of them, and then said,
“I need to go to Gendarran Fields.”
“We’re not tour guides,” said one of the Seraph, but the other hushed him.
“You go all the way north, past Trader’s Forum,” she told me, and when I thanked them and headed off, she hissed at her companion, “Don’t you know who she is?”
“Why should I care?” he said.
“She’s Captain Thackeray’s right hand!”
He scoffed, saying, “No, that’s Lieutenant … wait, you mean that was the hero of Shaemoor?”
SEVENTY-FOUR
1
I nearly got lost about a half-dozen times on my way to the Trader’s Forum, as I navigated assorted buildings pieced together out of assorted ships—many of them looked very much the same, even with strings of glowing lights and the occasional waypoint lighting the way.
And the crowds were like nothing I’d ever seen before, even in Divinity’s Reach on its busiest days. Everyone was shouting and shoving and jostling on the ways to the bank and the Black Lion market, which lay right in my path. Once, a Charr actually touched me as she pushed on by. My stomach turned and I jerked away.
Eventually, however, I found myself in the much more sparsely populated stretch of crafting stations along the northern edge of the city, very little different from those in the Commons back home. I repressed the urge to stop and look at jewelry and clothes, and more relieved than not, strode through the portal.
2
I emerged into a landscape of green fields and hills, and took off running to the west. At first it looked nearly idyllic—an impression that lasted the three minutes that passed before I encountered giant spiders spitting poison. I killed them without very much difficulty, though I felt decidedly queasy, and raced onwards until I nearly collided into a green and purple sylvari.
“Hello!” she said. “I am called Brigid. And you?”
“Althea,” I said, certain that neither lady nor Fairchild would carry any meaning for her.
3
“It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” she continued happily. “So green and fertile.”
I nodded, and she chattered on, talking about the apparently hard-working farmers of Applenook, along with the dangers of pirates. While I certainly disapproved of piracy as both a fellow citizen and a loyal subject to the queen, it came as quasi-welcome news in this case. Evidently, I’d arrived at the right place.
“Thank you,” I said, and we parted ways, Brigid peering around herself as I took off for the west.
Onwards.
4
Despite the occasional fight along the way, I made good time, and ran through grass and clumps of cheerful yellow flowers to arrive at Lionbridge Expanse early. Ihan was, of course, already at the bridge.
Well, under it.
At first, when I didn’t see him, I shrugged and clambered down the slope to the stream flowing beneath the bridge. A large skale attacked me, so I thought I’d pass the time in fighting it.
“Advocate, over here,” whispered Ihan.
I flung aether towards the skale and whirled about.
5
My long skirt whirled with me, and settled neatly back down again, rather to my relief; Faren would have approved, though I couldn’t imagine Ihan cared one way or the other.
I could only make out a vague figure in any case. Then Ihan stepped forward, himself once more, and murmured,
“Keep your voice low.”
I hadn’t said anything, but I nodded.
“The pirates are still spooked from Kellach’s attack,” he said. “They won’t be quick to trust newcomers.”
I didn’t mean to be impatient, but—
6
“We need them to tell us what they know,” I said firmly. “How do we get them to talk?”
Ihan gave one of his thin smiles. “Don’t worry, Advocate. The Order’s been thinking ahead—it’s what we do. The Order of Whispers is the oldest organization in Tyria; we’ve managed to survive this long because we always have a plan.”
I’d hoped to hear that.
7
“I’m listening,” I told him. “What do you suggest we do?”
“I’ve hidden special torches on the outskirts of the pirate camp—they’re enchanted with pure life force by a priest of Melandru,” he said. “The power of these torches will draw in the undead, but nobody else will notice the difference.”
“Draw in the undead?” I hissed. “That’s dangerous!”
That was what he’d been doing while I slept?
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1) jewelry and clothes: you can develop crafting abilities in the game, including as a jeweler and a tailor, though Althea would probably just buy things.
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SEVENTY-FIVE
1
“People could get hurt,” I added.
“These are no innocents, Advocate,” said Ihan. “They’re pirates, and a cutthroat bunch at that—bear that in mind.”
Right, pirates. Thieves and murderers and gods knew what else; it still wasn’t the plan I’d have chosen, had another presented itself, but … well, they’d done worse themselves. I’d done worse, arguably, with all the bandits I’d killed—I regretted nothing, but risking murderers’ lives could be no worse than killing them myself, surely.
I nodded, not quite trusting myself with words.
2
“Disguise yourself,” said Ihan, “and attempt to join the crew. When the undead attack, prove yourself defending the camp. They’ll trust you after that.”
Well, now it made sense. It was much easier to do something like this with a clear objective in mind, and clearer plan for achieving it.
“I’ll maintain the torches,” Ihan continued, “and watch for undead. I’ll be nearby in case the situation escalates out of control.”
3
That sounded promising.
Ihan set a pack down on the bank of the stream, opened it up, and started rummaging inside. He emerged with some things that someone more generous than me might have called clothes. There were leather trousers, which I could have expected. There was a feathered hat—all right. There were assorted belts and straps and scarves, and unexpectedly, a half-corset, something I’d never imagined pirates wearing.
There was not a shirt.
4
“Here, put on this disguise,” he told me, his mouth quirking as he glanced from the fashionably slashed caps of my sleeves to my long skirt. “No one’s going to believe you’re a pirate in your current get-up.”
“Uh,” I said. “What am I supposed to wear here?” I gestured vaguely at my chest.
Ihan, thankfully, didn’t look. “This.”
5
He tossed the half-corset at me.
“Fine,” I said, “but what am I wearing over it?”
“Nothing,” said Ihan, a trace of impatience touching his even voice as he handed over the rest of the quasi-clothes. “You’re a pirate, Advocate. If you’re going to continue in the Order of Whispers, you have to learn to set Lady Althea aside, and become whatever is needed.”
I had never said anything about continuing in the Order of Whispers! I preferred them to the others—maybe—but—
6
“Now you’re Yardarm, Rock Dog of the Eastern Sea,” he added.
“Right,” I said faintly.
“Now, hurry up.”
“Well, turn around,” I said, though with that corset, it hardly made any difference; he’d see everything anyway. Everyone would.
I shuddered, but remembered the undead, and once he turned his head aside, swiftly disentangled myself from my coat and skirt and did my best to figure out the pirate gear.
With deep reluctance, I said, “Done.”
7
Ihan turned back to me and glanced at the outfit; to my relief, it was only a glance before his eyes returned to my face.
“Good. Are you ready?”
“Is there anything else I need to know about being a pirate?” This horrible outfit couldn’t be enough.
“Work on your swagger, your swearing, and your slang,” he said, and smiled again, more warmly. “You’ll be fine.”
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1) At this point in the story, Althea’s standard outfit is this; the pirate costume is this.
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SEVENTY-SIX
1
Swagger I could handle. As for swearing and slang, I didn’t know what about me gave the impression that I might be conversant in either. I didn’t even know people who were; Logan didn’t bother, Faren found them inelegant, Deborah … well, all right, she swore like a sailor when she got angry. I strained to remember some of her more vivid insults.
“All right,” I told him. “Thanks, Ihan. Here I go.”
2
Despite all my apprehensions and discomfort, the plan went off like a dream. I made my way to the camp, ignored the low, drunken singing of a small group of pirates, and was promptly directed to the captain by a surly underling.
The first mate stopped me on the way there.
“Get out of here before I use your parts for chum, you swine-hugging lowlife,” she snarled.
I eyed her coolly. “Big talk from someone who smells like an unwashed dolyak.”
“That's the best you got?”
3
She gave a hoarse laugh, adding, “Your wits are 'bout as quick as a pregnant cow.”
My wits were just fine, and I didn’t care one way or another what some pirate thought of them. My first inclination was to shrug and continue on my way, but I remembered Ihan’s advice, and tried to imagine what Deborah would say.
“Hey, don't go bringing your mother into this,” I said, and smiled cheerfully, making sure it showed my teeth. “Someone might get hurt. You, in fact.”
4
She didn’t look intimidated, but her eyes narrowed, which I counted as a success of sorts.
“What’s that?” she growled. “I'd murder you right now if I didn't mind getting the blood of a Charr-loving rat-catcher on my blade.”
A Charr-loving—
Me? Me?
My vision tightened, narrowing in on where she stood before me, a sneer on her face, and—I didn’t normally condone them, but I had half a mind to to challenge her to a duel on the spot.
5
In other circumstances. Not now, when I needed information, when undead were loose in Kryta. I forced my fury to a reasonable simmer, steadied my hands and breaths.
“Oh, please,” I told her. “You even think about murdering me, you better stop yourself and apologize, skritt-licker.”
To my astonishment, she chuckled. “Good one!”
6
“I like you,” she added, grinning down at me. “You can live for now.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I don't need any favors from you, flotsam-face.” I tipped my hat; it seemed a pirate-ish thing to do. “See you around.”
I very much hoped I wouldn’t. For her sake.
7
She marched ahead of me as I walked towards the captain, my heart thudding, and Ihan’s torches shining clear and bright around the camp.
“Splendid view, isn’t it?” the captain told her. “Only thing missing is our bloody ship! We never should have let that Seraph dog board the Ravenous again.”
My nerves all seemed to spring to life at the same time, but I tried not to look too obviously interested.
She saluted and said, “Ravenous died a noble death, Cap’n: on fire and full of holes.”
Apparently that was their idea of nobility.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
1
The first mate sniffed. “She went down fighting, like the grand dame she was.”
“Aye, that she did, that she did,” Captain Barnicus said gravely. He glanced my way, and his eyes narrowed. “Here, who’s this new lubber come to stare at us?”
I saluted him, aiming for a mix of deference and assurance—like a rough-around-the-edges Logan, maybe, though I could just imagine his face at the comparison.
Especially considering the corset.
2
“Reporting for duty, captain,” I said, dropping my voice. “They call me Yardarm, Rock Dog of the Eastern Sea. I hear you’re looking for a new crew?”
The captain’s scowl deepened. “You heard wrong. We’re looking for brothers and sisters of fortune. Sailors that’ll stand by us when the blood starts flowin’.”
3
“Now sling your hook before I—”
A sylvari pirate (not two words I would have ever expected to use together) swivelled about towards us. He shouted,
“Captain! The undead are back! We’re under attack!”
The menace on Barnicus’s face turned into surprised fury, his hand already brandishing his sword. “Damn them!”
4
He pointed at me with his other hand. “You there, Yardarm! If you want to earn a berth on my ship, draw your weapon and risk your neck with the rest of us!”
Ihan’s plan, such as it was, had gone off perfectly. I seized my own sword and leapt into the battle, dodging the rotting limbs, decaying weapons, and inexorable tread of the Risen. The aether lashing through my sceptre and my illusions destroyed undead as well as anything else.
Not easily, though: they just kept coming and coming, and I spent as much time protecting and bracing up pirates as I did fighting—victory wouldn’t go very far if Barnicus lost his crew with it.
5
After three waves of attacks, this group of undead lay, well, dead. We burned the corpses and scattered the bones; you couldn’t really be too careful. Then, astonishingly, the pirates returned to drinking, singing, working, and/or mourning the ship, as if nothing had happened. I’d worried about them figuring out the cause of the attack, but they didn’t even try to guess.
Barnicus gave me a slightly painful clap on the arm. “You did well, Yardarm, but if you’re lookin’ to join my crew, fightin’ ain’t enough. You need sharp wit, too.”
6
“My wit?” I said, not prepared for this, but not willing to abandon the plan. “What does that have to do with anything?”
He shook his head, hand still on my bare arm. I refused to flinch, though every particle of my body urged me to cringe away.
“Listen ’ere, matey. My crew has to settle scores with words, or we’d kill each other off! Speak with Gaets, she’ll set you to rights.”
7
It sounded positively deranged to me, but I agreed; I hardly had another choice—and it gave me some distance, at any rate.
When Gaets turned out to be the first mate I’d exchanged words with before, however, I nearly balked. If she called me a Charr-lover again, I’d … well, in all honesty, I’d probably just endure it again, but I wouldn’t forget.
Luckily, Gaets seemed to pride herself on a certain level of originality; each insult she threw at me was unique—lily-livered bilge-rat, lice-infested hammock hanger, and the like. Even more luckily, I had enough inventiveness (and enough memories) to return each insult in kind.
She took a deep, satisfied breath. “That was amazing.”
#ascalonian grudgeblog#anghraine's gaming#anghraine's fic#ascalonian grudgefic#althea fairchild#ailoda langmar#agent ihan#captain barnicus#first mate gaets#guild wars 2#pro patria#the pirate section is ... well. game canon and we'll leave it at that
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pro patria, chapters 50-56
For all my lifelong pride, the Althea of a year ago could never have imagined this—me, a hero of Kryta recognized on sight, walking into the throne room in answer to a personal summons from the queen. Gods, where would I be in another year?
What would I be?
title: pro patria (50-56/?)
stuff that happens: Althea's dissatisfaction with her normal life is quickly interrupted by a summons from Queen Jennah.
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Logan Thackeray, Countess Anise, Queen Jennah; Ailoda Langmar, Crusader Hiroki, Agent Ihan, Scholar Josir, various residents of Garrenhoff; Althea & Queen Jennah, Althea & Logan, Althea & Anise, Althea and Ailoda
chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35, 36-42, 43-49
-
FIFTY
1
I wasn’t happy.
I’d rarely thought about whether I was happy or not—which probably meant I had been, most of the time. But exploring Kessex Hills, while it tickled my curiosity at points, didn’t satisfy me the way that exploring Queensdale had. I helped people everywhere I could, I poked around the nooks and crannies and dutifully added them to my map and notes, I even fought centaurs with the Seraph, but it didn’t … I couldn’t say why it seemed so different.
I only felt myself again when I saw Deborah, or got (long-delayed) notes from my friends and family, or defended Fort Salma.
Something wasn’t right with this place. Or something wasn’t right with me.
2
It helped, a little, to recall that the maps would go to the Seraph as well as to the Explorers Society. The latter was a hobby that might or might not prove productive, but the former would help my people, in a more lasting way than a battle for this camp or that. Not that the battles didn’t matter, the lives of the Seraph I met, but I’d grown used to—well, to plots and treason and investigations, to helping everyone.
Maybe the problem was that so few civilians lived out here. Back in Queensdale, I’d protected monasteries, mills, entire towns of people. Here, I found little but camps and Lionguard havens, the former transitory and the latter prepared to look after themselves.
Little, at least, until I stumbled across a village in the southeast of the hills called Garrenhoff.
3
Garrenhoff was by no means the most dangerous place I’d seen in Kessex Hills. That honour went to Viathan Lake and its godsdamned krait, beating out even the worst of the centaur camps I’d helped the Seraph decimate—and the centaurs back in Queensdale were nothing to those here. But Garrenhoff, a village with no attackers and apparently no violence, unsettled me just about as much as the Blood Witch.
By all accounts, Garrenhoff owed its security to Isgarren, a wizard who lived in a nearby castle that hardly anyone else seemed to have ever entered. He had set elementals to defend the village and to perform any labour demanded by the villagers.
“He has a kind, gracious heart,” one woman informed me, “and he cares for and loves the people of this town.”
Enough to supply them with slaves, apparently.
4
“It’s like something out of a children’s story,” another woman said, “with the kindly wizard watching over the sleepy little village and sending his magical minions to help out with day-to-day chores.”
Right.
A random man talked of the town’s debt to their unknown and virtually unseen patron. The nominal town guard assured me that the elementals kept everyone safe, and his job was to stand around doing nothing in particular. Sailors casually said their job was to sit back and let the elementals take care of everything. The mayor cheerfully greeted me and said I could have nothing to fear or want in Garrenhoff.
My skin crawled.
5
It was a relief to hear occasional murmurs of discontent. A woman confided that she felt uneasy around the elementals, as if they were angry; a girl snapped about her annoyance with the tourists; an older lady talked of the days when people did their work with their own hands. The last, however, turned out to be envious of the scarce villagers who got invited up to the castle and spent out the rest of their lives there.
As if this place weren’t creepy enough.
“Do you ever get to see the villagers who moved there?” I asked.
“No, but that’s not surprising—a place as elegant as that … I’m sure they’re just wrapped up in their new lives,” she said wistfully.
All right, it just got even worse.
6
I seriously contemplated going back to see how the Falcons were doing and leaving Garrenhoff to a large dot on my map. But I’d never turned back from anything, least of all a peaceable village—and one with a good vista of the landscape around it. I reluctantly started climbing the stone steps leading up to the vista.
A sweet-faced boy ran up to me and tugged at my skirt.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You smell like money,” he said. “You’re rich, aren’t you?”
7
Lyssa’s tears, even the children were disturbing.
I made it to the vista without further disturbance; it did, indeed, make for a lovely view, and I quickly sketched in a few more details on my map. But I’d only just returned to the main square of town when I saw an unevenly-written sign on the wall opposite me. Already suspicious, I walked over to see what it said.
Get mesmers out of our government! How can we trust mind-shapers to argue fairly for the people?
I grabbed the poster and tore it off the wall.
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1) godsdamned krait: a particularly irritating species of snake-lizard-merfolk who attack and enslave people of other species wherever possible.
2) the Blood Witch: the krait's champion.
3) get mesmers out of our government: Queen Jennah is a mesmer as well as Countess Anise.
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FIFTY-ONE
1
Not quite satisfied with that, I ripped the poster down the middle, crumpled up both halves, and shoved them into my bag for evidence. When a few scraps of parchment fluttered down from my hands, I ground them into the mud.
Beside me, flowers trailed down the stone wall, their innocuous beauty only further aggravating me. I wasn’t angry for my own sake—or at least not only for my own sake; it wasn’t talking about me, but about people like Anise, maybe Jennah herself. Probably Jennah herself.
I’d seen far more seditious activity throughout Kessex Hills, but somehow, this was the thing that got to me. Maybe I did need to go home.
2
Towards the front of the town, I heard someone shouting. I turned my attention to the clamour and hurried over, just in time to see the gates open, and a trio of Seraph walk through. Ignoring the curious gazes of the villagers and tourists, they stalked over to the mayor, their voices now decorously inaudible. He glanced around, then pointed directly at me.
Something like hope sprang up in my chest, though I couldn’t have said what I hoped for.
The Seraph strode over to me, and the leader bowed.
“You’re the hero of Shaemoor?” she asked.
3
For once, I was glad to hear it.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Althea Fairchild.”
She nodded indifferently, and held out a sealed letter. “I have an urgent message for you.”
Not everyone got messages hand-delivered by Seraph—or perhaps I should say, not every occasion required it. Curious, I looked it over; unless I was very much mistaken, that was the seal of the Shining Blade.
4
Anise! How strange—I’d received updates from my mother, my friends, Logan now and then, but Anise was not exactly a devoted correspondent. I tore open the seal, and took in the unexpectedly stark scrawl.
Hero of Shaemoor,
By the Will and Command of Queen Jennah of Kryta, you are hereby formally summoned to attend the royal presence. Make all haste to her throne room in Divinity’s Reach, and you will be welcomed there.
Until next we meet, may the Six Gods watch over you in all things.
—Countess Anise
5
What?
I’d expected that my summons, whenever it arrived, would come from my mother or Logan. But even if I’d imagined one from Anise, I never would have anticipated that it would come in such a form. This was no request from a mentor and ally, something I might ignore or deny, even if I never actually would; it was a royal demand.
I re-read it several more times, trying to understand. It seemed almost a punishment for my restlessness. What in Dwayna’s name had happened?
6
I left Garrenhoff without regret, and led the Seraph north to Darkwood Defile, thankfully without significant incident. I could handle it, and the Seraph seemed impressed by what small encounters we did have, but Anise’s note had not given me the impression of an indefinite timeline. I needed to get to Divinity’s Reach, and I needed to get there now .
We found the waypoint, darted through, and emerged out into the city. The Seraph took their leave, marching to their headquarters. I—well, I took one deep breath, then strode towards the palace with as much speed and dignity as I could.
The guards at the door let me in without a word.
7
For all my lifelong pride, the Althea of a year ago could never have imagined this—me, a hero of Kryta recognized on sight, walking into the throne room in answer to a personal summons from the queen. Gods, where would I be in another year?
What would I be?
In the throne room, I found Queen Jennah in quiet consultation with Logan, Anise looking deceptively disinterested, and her Shining Blade on guard. Logan glanced up as I approached, his expression as relieved as Queen Jennah's was neutral.
“Your Majesty—Captain Thackeray,” I said. “I was summoned?”
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1) the Shining Blade: the personal protectors of the monarch of Kryta, currently led by Countess Anise.
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FIFTY-TWO
1
Logan clasped my hand as lightly as his gauntlets allowed.
“Indeed, and I’m glad you’re here, my friend.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that.
“Kryta,” he went on, “needs you once more.”
By this point, I’d assumed as much. Who could have guessed that a single heroic impulse at Shaemoor would lead to Logan Thackeray and Queen Jennah turning to me in times of trouble? Certainly not me.
2
“You know I’ll do anything I can to help,” I said sincerely, and glanced between Logan and the queen. “What’s the problem, captain?”
He quickly explained that they had reports that Risen, the undead servants of Zhaitan, had been seen in a swamp in the south of the country. My skin chilled.
“Risen?” I exclaimed. “The dragon’s minions? If they’re in the swamp, anyone who goes in there would be in great danger!”
3
“Precisely,” Queen Jennah said, and my attention darted to her. “The three Orders of Tyria are pushing to be involved, but can’t agree on a plan.” Her mouth tightened. “While they bicker, my people are at risk.”
I nodded, scarcely happier about it than herself, even though I had only the vaguest idea what the orders even were. Not what they ought to be, evidently.
“Hero,” said the queen, “I have summoned you to act as Advocate of the Crown.”
4
My jaw dropped. To act as what?
“I want you to meet with the orders and take charge of the situation,” she told me, stunning me even further.
Logan gave a brisk nod.
“You‘ll be dealing with the Vigil, the Durmand Priory, and the Order of Whispers,” he said. “All three specialize in fighting Zhaitan and its minions. However, they all use different methods.”
5
Right. Fine. This was fine.
“It'll be your job to decide which plan is best,” he said, without the slightest hint of reservation, “and then act on it.”
And I’d been sulking about having nothing weighty to do!
“You will have the full authority of the crown to handle this situation,” said the queen, and I swallowed. “Will you accept this task, Lady Althea?”
6
I could hardly say no, but I felt a rush of determination mingling in with my astonishment.
“Your Majesty, I will,” I said, bowing. I added earnestly, “I’m honoured to serve Kryta and my queen.”
Queen Jennah smiled at me, still regal, but almost friendly, and I felt as if I must have flushed a dozen shades.
“Thank you,” she said—the queen, thanking me for obeying her wishes! “Go, and meet with the Order Representatives as soon as possible. I look forward to your report.”
7
I accepted the dismissal for what it was, bowed, and turned to go. Rather to my relief, Logan caught up with me after a few steps.
“Thanks for taking on this problem, friend,” he told me. When I halted, he looked down at me, his eyes very clear. “I know you’ll do what’s best for Kryta.”
From him, no praise could be higher.
“I won’t disappoint you,” I said.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
1) Zhaitan: one of the giant Elder Dragons wreaking havoc throughout the world—in its case, via legions of undead minions.
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FIFTY-THREE
1
“Can you tell me what you know about the Orders of Tyria?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” said Logan.
He began with the Vigil, a worldwide volunteer militia started by a Charr forced to kill her entire warband. I hesitated, then forced myself to say,
“She may be a Charr, but I can empathize.”
Logan gave an approving nod. “Almorra swore to defeat the dragons.”
2
Next, he described the Durmand Priory, an equally far-flung collection of scholars and relic-hunters with the world’s most extensive library. I’d always been a bit bookish, but I didn’t quite see how scholarship could stand against eldritch dragons.
“Don’t let their demeanour fool you,” said Logan; thankfully, however, he didn’t look as if he thought me foolish. “These are tough, shrewd people with a mission to discover the dragons’ origins, purpose, and weaknesses.”
Oh, that made a certain sense. I told him as much, and he smiled slightly.
“Tell me about the Order of Whispers,” I said.
3
He grew instantly solemn.
“The Order of Whispers move in shadows and deal in secrets. Their network of covert agents uses thievery, blackmail, and assassination to achieve their goals.”
I could feel my eyes widen. I understood a certain amount of maneuvering and calculation; I did that myself. That much, though—
“Are they reliable?” I asked.
4
Logan fidgeted, looking a bit shifty himself—as shifty as he could look, anyway.
“They seem to be,” he said, his tone studiously neutral. “Luckily for us, the Order recognizes the threat posed by Zhaitan and the others. I can’t say I trust them, but I respect them.”
Ah. Well, they sounded like valuable allies, if in a highly questionable way—perhaps more valuable than a Charr’s brand of unsubtle onslaught or a collection of scholars, tough or not.
We’d see.
5
“I think I have everything I need to get started,” I decided. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“I expected nothing else,” said Logan. He patted my shoulder another time, then turned and swiftly headed back to the queen.
Anise drifted over to me, her expression as earnest as I’d ever seen it. She met my eyes directly.
“I’m glad you’re here—Advocate.”
6
“It’s imperative that you discover what’s happening in Lychcroft Mere,” she went on. “Lives depend on it.”
Despite her solemnity, there was no anxiety in her face. I eyed her a little suspiciously: I felt certain that she had her fingers in more pies than I could possibly know about.
“Was it your influence that convinced the queen to name me Advocate?” I asked.
Anise’s old ambiguous smile touched her mouth. “I simply ensured that Queen Jennah knew you were loyal and capable.”
7
Even Anise trusted me with this. Particularly Anise, even, if she’d been the one to sway the queen. Anise, my own master, and Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade.
The airy chamber felt suffocating, but I straightened up. I’d prove her right—all of them, Anise and Logan and Queen Jennah, or die trying. And I had no intention of dying.
“I’m glad you think so highly of me, countess,” I said.
FIFTY-FOUR
1
Now I knew what the orders themselves were, but I didn’t mean to walk into this thing without knowing who I was dealing with.
“What can you tell me about the people representing the three Orders of Tyria?”
“Quite a bit,” said Anise, her easy confidence unflagging. “Which draws your interest, pet?”
Pet, indeed. But she’d called me that since I was a child. I felt certain that I could rule the world and she still would.
2
Regardless, her answers came immediately and concisely. The Durmand Priory had sent a man called Josir, an eccentric scholar and explorer; the Order of Whispers, dating back to ancient Elona, had sent one named Ihan; and the Vigil had sent a woman, Hiroki.
“She was once a member of the Ebon Vanguard, and continues to be a stalwart ally to Kryta,” said Anise.
The Ebon Vanguard! My interest immediately sparked; I’d been rather inclined against the Vigil, partly for its origins and partly for its means. But if a Charr-led militia—however pitiable that Charr—could attract an Ascalonian out of Ebonhawke, out of Ascalon, that was a different matter.
“Thank you,” I told her, and shook her hand; Anise just laughed and headed over to Logan.
3
Determined to help and curious about the means by which I would do so, I bowed to the queen and turned to go.
“Lady Althea,” she said, clear command in her voice.
I turned back.
“Logan and the Countess Anise speak highly of you,” she told me, and I tried not to wonder how those conversations had gone. “I am confident that you will protect the people of Lychcroft Mere.”
I—she—they—
Despite my best intentions, I froze in place, my thoughts spinning faster than I could catch them.
4
A life spent in public saved me. I gathered up my shreds of composure and said,
“Thank you, your Majesty. Can you tell me anything else about the area?”
I hadn’t imagined myself questioning her when all this started.
“You’ll be meeting with the Orders south of Viathan Lake.”
I nodded. “Your Majesty, what can you tell me about the Orders?”
5
I was, first and foremost, an Ascalonian and a Krytan; the former guided me, the latter compelled me. I would follow my queen, all the more as her representative.
Queen Jennah’s brows rose a little.
“So long as they stay out of politics,” she said, “I allow them to operate in Kryta.”
That seemed prudent.
She proceeded to explain the Orders in her own terms: the Vigil were militants who offered charity and protection to the people of Tyria, the Priory saved Lion Arch’s libraries and were particularly focused on studying the dragons, and the Order of Whispers were covert agents working to help Tyria.
“I may not trust them,” she said of the last, “but I recognize their contributions.”
6
I wouldn’t trust them, either—particularly as they seemed the most likely to meddle in politics. Honestly, I was curious about what sort of contributions could have earned the respect, however grudging, of these three people.
For now, however, I had more pressing matters than curiosity. I summoned up my nerve, lowered my voice, and said,
“During all my years among your noble court, I’ve never been so honoured as at this moment. Thank you, your Majesty.”
Queen Jennah smiled.
“I am pleased to see you take on the duties of your high birth, Advocate.”
7
Her entire manner suffused with approval, she added, “You will do the nobility proud.”
Gods, I hoped so. No, I would, no matter what happened. One way or another, I’d be a credit to my family, my rank, my people.
I forced myself to breathe steadily.
“I will do my best, your Majesty,” I told her, and drew the sign of the Six. “May Dwayna watch over us all.”
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1) I am pleased to see you take on the duties of your high birth, Advocate: Jennah’s response is dictated by the class origin you chose in character creation.
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FIFTY-FIVE
1
I hurried home to pack for this newest journey, where my mother found me. She didn’t protest the way she had with Debs, just looked resigned.
“Where now?” she asked.
I almost glanced away, but I refused to be ashamed. “Lychcroft Mere.”
Mother’s brows rose. “It doesn’t seem like your kind of place, dear.”
2
It wasn’t.
“There are people in danger,” I said, folding some leggings and shoving them into a bag. I didn’t mean to get bitten by whatever ungodly insects infected the swamp. “I’m not sure I can say why.”
“Ah,” she said. “Then you’d better hurry.”
I eyed her doubtfully.
3
“You should,” said Mother, her voice stronger. She paused, her posture stiff, then reached out and patted my arm. “It’s good, what you’re doing, and noble. You’re a credit to me—you and Deborah both.”
She looked like she might cry.
I had no real idea of what to do; I never did in these moments, and while it rarely swayed my decisions, I hated seeing her upset.
“Thank you, Mama,” I said, and kissed her cheek.
4
That seemed adequate; she blinked very rapidly, then helped me finish packing my bag and led me to the door herself.
“I wish I could do more,” Mother said, but immediately afterwards shook her head. “Never mind that. Just—be careful.”
“I will,” I told her, hoping it would be true.
She grasped my shoulder and pressed her lips to my forehead. “Go with the Six, Althea.”
5
With that, she whirled about and strode back into the house, before I could even tell her goodbye. I inhaled, accepting that for what it was, then walked into the waypoint and out into Ireko Tradecamp—not Lychcroft Mere, not yet. I truly didn’t know what I was allowed to tell people.
A child ran up to me as soon as I strode out of the waypoint. Remembering the boy at Garrenhoff, I looked at him suspiciously.
“Wanna see my magic trick?” he said. “Think of a number from one to ten, and I’ll use my magical powers to guess what it is.”
6
I relaxed, but shook my head. I had higher priorities right now.
At the tents, I found sylvari and Asura merchants, deep in conversation with assorted villagers and other humans. None seemed anything like representatives of dragon-fighting orders. I reached the rear of the village, neither seeing nor hearing anything promising, until a woman’s voice cut through low murmurs.
“Really, Ihan, just because—”
Ihan—he was one of the Order representatives.
7
The woman, I realized, must be the Ebon Vanguard soldier turned Vigil member; I looked around, then ducked into the shelter that seemed closest to where I’d heard her voice.
Three humans stood there—a robed scholar with disconcertingly bright eyes, a black-haired man in red and gold, and a pretty woman with dark hair, blue eyes, and heavy armour. I’d evidently caught them in an argument; they stopped mid-gesture when they saw me.
“Finally!” said the scholar. “Thank Dwayna, you’re here. I am Scholar Josir of the Durmand Priory—we’ve been expecting you.”
“You’re here to make decisions,” the other man said firmly, reaching out to shake my hand, “and that’s exactly what we need.”
FIFTY-SIX
1
“For once,” said the woman, “Ihan’s right about something. I’m Hiroki, a crusader with the Vigil.”
I nodded at them. “Good to meet you. I’m Althea Fairchild, Advocate of the Crown.”
Somehow, I managed to pronounce the sentence smoothly; hearing the words from my own mouth felt even more overwhelming than hearing them from Queen Jennah.
Hiroki said, “The Risen forces are active in Lychcroft Mere.”
2
I took a deep breath, and set my own anxieties aside. This was more important than anything I might feel. Gods, undead in Kryta!
“There are missing villagers,” she went on, “mostly children. We’ve got to get soldiers in there! The Vigil has a squad standing by. They’re ready to sweep the area on your signal, Advocate—just give the word.”
3
I almost agreed on the spot, but to be fair, I waited for the others. Josir immediately took the lead, telling me about a Priory invention that could help the children in some as-yet-undisclosed way.
“Your device is theoretical!” exclaimed Hiroki, wheeling around to glare at him. “Untested! You want to risk children on that?” She clenched her armoured fist exactly like Logan so often did. “Vigil steel is tried and true.”
4
Josir had pointed out that the Priory’s invention—something called Mortus Virge—could preserve manpower, which I granted as a priority, but I was not at all sure about an untested device that would do something vague that might save the children. Still, rushing into a swamp without any defense but the clothes on our backs didn’t exactly appeal, either. But something must be done, and done soon.
I turned to Ihan, hoping for some miraculous third option.
“I’m with the Order of Whispers,” he said. “We brought this to the queen’s attention, but we’ll leave the frontline fighting to the others.”
Wonderful.
5
Avoiding direct warfare was understandable for an order of spies, but no less disappointing for that.
“Very well,” I said. “Hiroki, Josir—give me a moment to think this over, and then I’ll decide.”
They murmured agreement, and I pulled a little away, determinedly not tugging at my hair. Every moment wasted was another moment of danger for the children in that swamp, but I had to think, had to make the best decision for them and for Kryta.
I glanced at Ihan again. The Order of Whispers had to be used to making difficult calls, choosing the effective over the satisfying, deciding what risks to take—maybe he’d have something to say.
6
“It’s not that my organization doesn’t support you,” he said, almost apologetically. “We just like to have more information before we act. Until then, best of luck.”
How incredibly helpful.
“I hate to rush you, Miss Fairchild,” said Hiroki—I winced—”but it’s time to decide. We need to find those children.”
I hesitated another moment, but there was really only one decision to make.
7
“I’ve decided to go with the Vigil’s plan,” I said, praying it was the right choice.
“Now we’re getting somewhere!” said Hiroki, grinning at Josir’s sigh. “My squad and I will wait for you outside Lychcroft Mere. We’ll find those kids—and crush some Risen along the way!”
She might have been talking about an afternoon tea-party.
“You Vigil types don’t stand still for long, do you?” I asked, a little amused despite myself; she reminded me of Deborah. “I like that.”
#ascalonian grudgeblog#anghraine's gaming#anghraine's fic#ascalonian grudgefic#althea fairchild#crusader hiroki#agent ihan#scholar josir#logan thackeray#countess anise#queen jennah#ailoda langmar#guild wars 2#pro patria
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pro patria: chapters 36-42
Logan nodded thoughtfully.
“It’s got to be someone else in the Ministry—someone with money, power, and ambition.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” he said.
title: pro patria (36-42/?)
stuff that happens: Althea and Logan track down the enslaved survivors of Falcon Company.
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Logan Thackeray, Deborah Fairchild; Ailoda Langmar, others; Althea & Logan, Althea & Deborah, Althea & Ailoda & Deborah
chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35
-
THIRTY-SIX
1
“Does the haven often fall under attacks like that?”
Dansky seemed startled; whatever she might have expected, it was doubtless less inane.
“Not quite like that,” she said. “Those bandits caught us off guard, but”—she frowned—“they didn’t steal anything. It was as if they just wanted to kill people.”
I took a deep breath.
“I suspect they were here to kill you.”
2
She stared at me.
“I’m investigating accusations of treason related to the fall of Falcon Company,” I said.
To my own astonishment, she grinned.
“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that!” she told me. “I always suspected Tervelan was rotten, but I had no proof.”
I still held myself ready for danger—this was Kessex, after all—but tension drained out of my body.
“What made you suspect him?”
3
She exhaled, her brief exuberance gone.
“Falcon Company,” she said, “was the finest unit I ever served with. If I hadn’t been recovering from an injury, I’d have been with them that day.”
I almost brought up Deborah, but I didn’t want to distract her; at this point, perhaps it would be better if she didn’t know I had a personal interest in the case.
“You must know something,” I said urgently. “Tell me, did you ever see Tervelan meet with a minister?”
She shook her head.
4
I’d never felt such a weight of disappointment in my life, and I wasn’t sure I could ever again. I nearly turned away; but some instinct told me to wait.
“My job was to deliver messages for the Seraph,” she said, dropping her voice further. Something of Hal’s haunted anxiety seemed to touch her. “The ones I brought from Tervelan were addressed to ‘Minister Arton’—but I know for a fact that Arton never got those letters.”
My head snapped up, Arton’s pained dignity fresh in my memory. It’d been so odd—what if—
5
Dansky blinked rapidly.
“After Falcon Company fell,” she went on, “I found out that the guy I’d been delivering them to didn’t even work in Arton’s office. Nobody’d ever seen him before.” She took off her gauntlet and rubbed some dirt off her face. I chose to believe it was dirt, anyway.
“I delivered Falcon Company’s last patrol to that guy, too. After the unit was attacked, I put it together … and I just couldn’t stay in the Seraph.”
6
“Understandably,” I said. “Do you know the route they were to patrol?”
She brightened a little. “Sure.”
Luckily, I’d brought a map with me to help make my way through Kessex Hills. She drew me over to a table, and inked out an oblong shape in red.
I stared down at the route, struggling to believe my own eyes—all this, the work of a day, after so many years of grief and confusion.
7
“One more thing,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Is there any chance that part of Falcon Company could still be alive?”
Unlike virtually everyone else, she didn’t immediately reject the idea, instead looking thoughtful.
“If the centaurs took them captive,” she said at last, “they’d sell the prisoners to human slavers. There’s a bandit camp to the east that dabbles in the slave trade—you could look there.”
Hope, so relentlessly quashed for so long, blazed within me like a star.
I said, “Thank you for your help.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
1
I sent another, slightly more detailed message to Logan, not expecting much more than quick affirmation that he’d received it, and an injunction to proceed carefully. Instead, minutes ticked by while I waited, anxious and increasingly impatient, for his reply. I had just decided that if I didn’t hear from him soon, I’d go ahead anyway, when an exhausted Seraph came running through the gates.
“A message from Captain Thackeray, for the hero of Shaemoor,” she gasped out.
The Lionguards glanced at each other in bewilderment, then at me.
I sighed.
“I’m the hero,” I said.
2
I tore Logan’s message open, then stared.
Althea —
Head to the bandit camp in an hour and a half from the sending of your first message. I’ll be there. Do not assault it on your own.
An hour and a half left just twenty-five minutes to reach the camp—and I had no idea how Logan could make it from Divinity’s Reach so quickly. Then again, I had no idea how Logan got anywhere, really.
I shoved the note into my pouch and with a garbled thanks, rushed out of the haven.
3
Once I found the camp, I snuck around its edges—and unsurprisingly, Logan was already there, skulking behind some trees in full armour, his white and gold surcoat all but glittering.
“Captain Thackeray, you made it,” I said, as professionally as I could, and caught him up on what I’d learned from Hal and Dansky. I concluded, “Minister Arton’s not guilty; someone was framing him to take the fall if this treason was ever discovered.”
Logan nodded thoughtfully.
“It’s got to be someone else in the Ministry—someone with money, power, and ambition.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” he said.
I couldn’t disagree with him there.
4
He went on, “Destroying Falcon Company weakened the Seraph, and turned public opinion against the queen. It was a clever plan, and it almost worked.”
It had worked, for a time. I dug my nails into my palms.
“I want to see if these bandits have any answers,” I told him, “and, if Dwayna is smiling on us, find my sister. Let’s go.”
We crept closer.
5
We paused among a nearer stand of trees, where I—less obtrusive in blue and grey clothes—peered around to check for scouts.
“I don’t see any, just a couple of guards,” I said, hiding in the trees once more.
Logan shook his head. “So it’s come to this—people turning on each other when we need to be working together. If we can’t trust each other, we can’t possibly face the dragons.”
I’d done my best not to think about the dragons, in perfect honesty; it wasn’t difficult, with centaurs and bandits and Charr and gods knew what else at our throats. I supposed it was something of an honour that he’d bring them up to me, of all people—if rather an unfortunate moment for it.
6
“There will always be villains,” I whispered, thinking of Zamon, Tervelan, the camp just ahead of us. “I suppose that’s why there needs to be heroes.”
“Like me,” said Logan, his smile wry, but he sobered as he added, “and like you. You’ve done tremendous deeds for Kryta. They won’t be forgotten.”
I smiled back at him. If we didn’t make it out of this—I couldn’t see any way to attack except a frontward assault—then there were worse notes to die on.
7
“Thanks, Logan,” I told him, genuinely grateful, and peered around again. Several figures stood guard at what looked like another cave system, braced by wooden beams; to go by the rocky hill beside us, it couldn’t be nearly as deep as the one I’d fought through with Faren.
Neither guard had particularly good posture; one of them yawned, saying something in a bored drawl to the other. It must be nearly the end of their shift—I hoped.
“Is it time?” murmured Logan.
Sure enough, two figures emerged from the cave, speaking to the two tired ones.
“It’s time,” I said.
THIRTY-EIGHT
1
We rushed forward, Logan’s sword slashing at the guards, my own gleaming with aether as I blocked pistol fire with one hand and lashed chaos with the other.
“Intruders! Wake up!” one guard screamed, just before I killed him.
With that, we had a real fight on our hands, and an unpleasant one. Bandits, pistols, and small enclosed spaces made for an unfortunate combination at the best of times, and in this case, we had to do our best to shield the slaves in cages—gods—and others coughing and working at the rear of the cave.
I finally dodged behind Logan and switched out my sword and sceptre for a tall staff: a weapon I always carried, but almost never used. The others helped channel my magic; the staff distilled it, ordinary spells concentrating into near-uncontrollable blasts of aether—but if there was any time to use it, that time was now.
2
With a shout, my magic spread throughout the chamber, purplish lightning crackling as it struck down at our enemies. Only our enemies. With sweat pouring down my face, I bent the spell to my will for as long as I could, then cut off the flow of magic before it could threaten anyone else.
Logan was methodically cutting the throats of those struck down by the spell, holding off others with his shield, sword and shield ablaze with blue-white fire. I’d forgotten that he had magic of his own; it looked like he was pulling out all the stops, too.
“Stay here—don’t let them through,” shouted a large bandit, who seemed to be the leader. “Get up and fight!”
3
The surviving bandits rushed us, but it didn’t matter; Logan shouted something that lit half of them on fire, while I cast through the staff again, my magic pouring out even as blue light flashed out to protect us, the blue and purple lights mingling. His sword and my clones did the rest of the work.
In the back, someone cried, “I need your help!”
It seemed a bandit had the clever idea of holding someone hostage; I sent a clone after him, and with a flare of light, he dropped to the ground.
Logan was holding the last surviving bandit at swordpoint. He demanded,
“Who were you working for? Who set this up?”
4
“Caudecus,” she grunted, clutching at her stomach. “But you’ll never … prove it …”
She collapsed on the ground. I checked for a pulse, but she was gone.
Caudecus—of course! Zamon, Tervelan, all of it: they weren’t just signs of general corruption, though they’d certainly had their own guilt. This was Caudecus’s handiwork—all of it!
5
“Curse it all,” snarled Logan, as angry as I’d ever heard him, “that bandit’s testimony was the only evidence we had!”
“At least we know the truth,” I said, and remembering his weak spot, added, “and we can protect the queen. It’s not enough, but … it’ll have to do.”
He immediately calmed. “You’re right. We’ll figure out what to do after we free these prisoners and get them back to the city.”
I closed my eyes, fighting for my own calm, then opened them again; it was time to see who lived.
6
I slung my staff over my back and started opening cages as we headed towards the rear of the cave, where groups of slaves huddled or staggered. My heart thudded so hard that it felt like it might crack something, but this was more important.
I took out my sword and started cutting bindings and shackles, while Logan cast a series of spells that flashed white light and left injured prisoners standing upright again. I helped brace them as they struggled to their feet, I supported those with remaining injuries, reassuring one after another. They all mattered, not just—if she were here—somewhere—
Near the right-hand wall of the cave, another prisoner bent over with a coughing fit: a terribly thin woman, with faded blonde hair, and when she straightened up again, clear grey eyes.
“Deborah!”
7
She peered through the gloom, her face drawn beneath layers of grime and weariness—but I knew her, I’d know her anywhere.
“Althea?” she whispered incredulously, her eyes wide, and stumbled forwards, nearly falling into my arms.
I caught her, dropping my sword and keeping my grip as gentle as I could; they all had bruises running up and down their arms and legs.
“Merciful gods,” I said, hardly able to believe my own eyes, my own hands, “you’re alive!”
Deborah—Deborah!—coughed into my shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay,” I promised, stroking her hair. “I’m here.”
THIRTY-NINE
1
I’d no sooner spoken than I remembered what sort of person I’d been when she got captured—how consumed with trivialities, foolish, near helpless. I’m here might not do much to reassure her of her safety, at least not until Logan made his way over.
Deborah didn’t say anything about that. She just lifted her head and whispered,
“Am I dreaming?” She coughed again. “Is that … Grenth torment me, is it really you?”
“Yes,” I said, almost crying, “it is.”
2
My senses quickly returned. If she was in a condition to think me a hallucination, then—
“Wait here, Debs,” I said, and ran for Logan. At his startled glance, I gasped out, “I found her, she’s alive, but … I don’t know, she needs help, she—”
Without a word, he followed me over to where Deborah leaned against the wall.
“You’re safe now, sergeant,” he said in his most official manner, but nearly staggered, himself, as he cast his glowing shield again. “Can you tell us what happened to the Falcons?”
3
As soon as he spoke, her tired eyes lifted up, widening at the sight of him.
“Captain Thackeray?” Somehow, she scrounged up the strength for a respectful salute. “Sir! We were ambushed by centaurs.” After another gasping cough, she went on, “They knew our patrol routes, our tactics—everything!”
The shield burst into scattered light, and Deborah finally drew a clear breath.
4
“It’s all right, Debs,” I said, clasping one of her hands. “We’ll make sure all of you get back to Divinity’s Reach. The nightmare’s over.”
I could scarcely believe it myself.
She nodded, rubbing tears out of her eyes with her free hand. “Thank you. And thank you, Captain Thackeray.”
5
She looked from Logan back to me, still wide-eyed. “You’re both heroes.”
I could only imagine what it must be like for her: months of capture, suffering, and enslavement, and then out of nowhere, a Seraph and a lady showing up, wiping out the captors in a bloody battle, and then the Seraph turning out to be Logan Thackeray himself, and the lady—me! In her place, I’d be even more stunned than she seemed to be; as it was, I just tightened my grip on her hand, unable to think of a single thing to say.
“I’ll take these Seraph home and inform the queen so that Minister Arton can be released,” said Logan. “No more innocents will suffer from this treasonous plot.”
I hadn’t thought of Arton, the poor man—but I certainly agreed on the latter point.
6
With that, he started to turn away, but then jerked back to look at the two of us. Abruptly, he said,
“Good work—hero.”
Hero, I realized, meant more than Shaemoor now. I nodded my thanks, still at a loss for words.
“The truth came out and these Seraph were saved,” he went on, “all because of you.”
I was not normally one to refuse praise, but I could only reply,
“Not only me, captain.”
He paused, then inclined his head.
7
I led Deborah over to the other Seraph; it was time for her to go home. On the way, she murmured,
“You never gave up on me.”
But I did. We got that letter from godsdamned Tervelan and I believed it and did nothing until Logan asked me for help—
“Thank you,” she went on, turning her head to meet my eyes. A shade of her old humour flickered into her face. “I’m lucky to have a hero in the family!”
FORTY
1
“I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, Debs,” I told my sister. My sister, alive. “You are stronger than you know.”
Deborah gave a smile—a faint one, but it was there.
“I missed you, Althea,” she said simply.
I squeezed her hand. “I missed you, too.”
2
She re-joined her fellow soldiers, quickly taking the lead in their conversation and gesturing this way and that; Logan’s magic had done much of its work.
One soldier crept forward to peer out the cave entrance, then returned, reaching out to shake my hand.
“Sure am glad to see the colours of the Seraph,” he remarked. “If you and Captain Thackeray hadn’t shown up when you did, there wouldn’t be anything left of me to rescue—thanks!”
He was still wheezing.
“It’s okay,” I told him, “you’re safe now. Don’t try to talk.”
3
Another former prisoner, leaning against the back of the cave, grinned outright and said,
“Tell those centaur slags I ain’t dead yet—they beat me, starved me, tortured me, and tried to sell me as a slave, but I’m still upright … with a little help from this wall here.”
To my horror, I almost laughed.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” I assured her. “You’re safe now.”
She nodded, turning grave. “Deborah always said her family’d never forget her.”
That much, I couldn’t deny, and had no desire to; of course we hadn’t forgotten her, couldn’t forget her—but if the thought had brought her comfort, then I was glad.
4
“There ain’t much left of Falcon Company,” the woman said, “but we’ll be back … thanks to you.”
Overwhelmed, I could only say,
“She was right. Get some rest, you’ll be home soon.”
I’d scarcely uttered the words than Logan returned, a good strong cart following him; I had no idea how he’d acquired it out here, but had long since given up wondering about such things. Logan and I both hurried to help the now only moderately-wounded Seraph into the cart.
“Nice work,” he told me, as if he hadn’t lavished me with praise already. “The Seraph will transport these injured soldiers to Divinity’s Reach—they’ll be given a hero’s welcome.”
5
“Thanks, Logan,” I told him, and felt my eyes burn. But I didn’t want Deborah to see me cry—least of all here and now. Instead, I held out my hand to him, bracing myself for his steely grip.
He took his gauntlet off and shook my hand, as if we were ordinary people meeting in the halls of the Maiden’s Whisper. But we’d never be ordinary again, would we?
I glanced at Deborah, then met his gaze squarely. “We’ll never forget what you did for us today.”
6
Logan looked exactly as I felt: gratified and very deeply uncomfortable. But it had to be said.
“It wasn’t just me,” he told me. “You said it—we did this together. And whatever comes, well, we’ll do that together, too.”
It had not, for a single moment, occurred to me that we might not.
“That’s right,” I said firmly.
7
With that, we got back to work, hoisting the last of the soldiers into the cart, and paying the Lionguard driving it (I didn’t ask). She would take us to Black Haven, Logan told me, where the soldiers could get cleaned up and healed beyond what he’d been able to offer. After they rested, we’d take the nearest waypoint back to Divinity’s Reach.
We did exactly that. By the time they’d healed and rested at the haven, Deborah and her companions were itching to go home.
“We’ll see our families again,” said the man I’d spoken to before, with a smile, “and the Seraph, and probably the queen.”
Deborah said, “Damned right we will.”
FORTY-ONE
1
Had there been any meaningful distance to travel, we would have continued in the cart, for a particularly odd triumphal arrival; as it was, Logan and I led the Seraph to the Delanian waypoint just north of Black Haven, and emerged in the courtyard immediately in front of the throne room and Seraph Headquarters. Several of the Falcons wept at the sight—to the clear astonishment of the people milling around—before dutifully following Logan into headquarters.
“Captain Thackeray,” began Lieutenant Groban, before catching sight of the others and nearly toppling over. “Can it—how—what—”
“Lieutenant, sir,” Deborah said. She saluted him.
“At ease, Sergeant Fairchild,” he said dazedly.
2
Whispers of Fairchild? and the Falcons! it’s them! raced around the room, and in an instant, every Seraph in the place clustered around, welcoming and exclaiming over them, a few wiping away tears while a handful of citizens watched in silent amazement. It took a good few minutes for Deborah to extricate herself.
“It’s time,” she said, dry-eyed but smiling.
After pulling on a hooded cloak that had been provided by the Lionguard, she followed me through the waypoint once again, the two of us stepping through to Salma. We climbed the stairs, Deborah refusing any help, and then—then we stood on the steps before our manor.
She lifted her face, taking in the courtyard and the house’s façade, her breaths harsh and unsteady.
Unnecessarily, I said, “Here we are.”
3
We made our way inside, Deborah still cloaked and hooded, both of us quiet. It was nearly evening, the tapers were lit, and the dim light of the entrance obscured what might have otherwise been glimpsed of her face. The handful of servants who passed by glanced at the mysterious figure in some bewilderment—but at this point used to my oddities, they simply continued about their business.
She looked around, taking in the little changes and familiar arching lines of the manor, her breaths evening out a little.
“Welcome home,” I told her.
“Home,” she repeated wonderingly. “I’m home.”
4
We had only wandered about for a few minutes, Deborah trailing her fingers over furniture and ornaments, when we heard the front doors open, followed by our mother’s voice.
“Yes, yes—that’s right—”
My sister drew a sharp breath.
“Come on,” I said, and led the way back to the entrance hall. Our mother had turned to slam the doors shut; she turned about again, catching sight of me—started to smile—then frowned at the cloaked figure beside me.
“Who is this, Althea?”
Deborah pushed her hood back.
5
Mother gasped. For a moment, she simply stared at her; then she took one hesitant step forward and whispered,
“Deborah?”
We nodded.
“Deborah!”
My mother ran towards us, and Deborah tore off the cloak and raced the rest of the way forwards, the two of them clasping each other in their arms. Mother ran her hands over Deborah’s cheeks, caught my sister’s face between her palms, kissed her hair and leaned her own face against it.
She cried openly; and Deborah, at long last, sobbed too.
6
“My girl—oh, Deborah—how—”
“Treason, Mama,” I said, drawing a little nearer. “Tervelan betrayed Falcon Company to the centaurs, but they sold Debs with some others.”
“My poor girl,” said Mother, clutching Deborah tighter. Then she looked over her head at me. “You found her? You did this?”
I hesitated, then answered, “Captain Thackeray helped.”
7
“Althea saved me,” Deborah insisted, sniffling.
“Sweetheart,” said Mother, and I didn’t even know who she meant—I wasn’t sure she did, either—but then she tugged me closer and put her arms about us both, and we were all crying, and I’d never been so happy in my life.
Once our tears dried, Mother led us over to her favourite parlour, sat us all down—though she kept her hands tightly clasped about ours—and urged us for an explanation. Deborah fell silent, and I could only imagine how little she wished to remember; instead, I quickly explained the plot and its discovery, and Logan’s role in all of it.
“May Kormir bless Captain Thackeray,” said Mother. Then, turning to me, she touched my cheek. “And may all the Six bless you, Althea.”
FORTY-TWO
1
For a week, Deborah slept on and off, while Mother hovered over her and I tried to quietly supply whatever she needed. It was easier for me in some ways; I’d grown used to something like the life Deborah had chosen, for something like the same reasons, and I’d been the one to rescue her. The mission, for all of its horrors, had given me a peace of soul—if not quite of mind—that our mother could not share.
It didn’t stop me from occasionally haunting Debs’s doorstep, of course. But Mother was in torment, now that she knew the whole truth, and now that nothing could be done for Deborah except keeping her fed and letting her rest.
“That’s exactly what she didn’t have before,” I said.
It didn’t help; Mother flinched and looked away.
2
The week passed in a blur for me. I stayed at Deborah's side when our mother, very reluctantly, went about Ministry business; I talked to Deborah of nothing in particular when she woke, making her eat and drink; I obeyed periodic summons from Logan and/or Anise, who were orchestrating the official return of Falcon Company alongside new plans for the queen’s protection.
When I had time to spare, I found myself unwilling to dwell very much on anything, yet unable to go out and attend events as if nothing had happened. Instead, I spent most of my free time in a training hall I’d fashioned (well, ordered fashioned) out of an abandoned gallery in the manor.
I practiced creating clones that would rush up and attack, clones that would protect me, clones that would generate spells themselves, all as indistinguishable as possible. I adjusted the details of illusionary images I made up to confuse people before I blasted them. I turned clones on myself to practice with my sword, my skin damp with sweat—did anything but think of what my sister had suffered.
3
I was there at the end of the week, tossing my sword from one hand to the other, trying very hard not to think about centaurs, and then only about vengeance. I took up a focus for my magic—all the more useful with the chaos magic I drew on—and held my sword in my main hand, imagining Tervelan and then Caudecus.
Slash, gash, stab. I ducked a bolt of chaos from the last clone and lashed out with a crippling curtain of light. Slash, gash, stab. Slash—the clone was down.
And behind me, someone clapped.
4
I whirled around, one hand tight on the focus, the other already lifting my sword for attack. The stranger stepped out of the shadows—
It was my sister.
“Very impressive,” she said.
Irrationally, I felt embarrassed. “I’m not anything to Anise.”
“Nobody is anything to Anise,” said Deborah.
5
“That’s why she’s Master Exemplar, but what you’re doing is nothing to sneeze at.” She paused. “Your magic looks like hers, even.”
“She trained me,” I replied, setting the focus down on a nearby table. Deborah was frowning a little, though I wasn’t sure why. I couldn’t read her.
“You’ve changed, Althea,” she said quietly.
6
I sheathed my sword, unsure of what to say.
Deborah headed for the door, gesturing for me to follow her. We walked a few steps through the high stone walls in silence. At last, I said,
“I had to.”
“No,” said Deborah, “you didn’t.”
Puzzled, I glanced at her. I had made my choices, of course, but it often seemed that each step I took followed inexorably from the one before it—however far those steps might have taken me, might take me in the future.
7
“It felt like it,” I told her. “After you—afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking of what you said when you joined the Seraph, about Ebonhawke and what it means to be a true Ascalonian, and I … I couldn’t ignore the rest of the world any more.”
“I wasn’t talking about you!” exclaimed Deborah, her eyes growing wide.
“I know,” I said, and I did, though that had never helped much, “but I just wanted to do something—I had to do something—so I asked Anise to teach me, and then the centaurs came to Shaemoor, and … and I couldn’t be you, but I did want to be someone you would have been proud of.”
At her startled look, I hurried on,
“But I still like the same things, clothes and mapmaking and—I’m still myself, Debs.”
She grasped my arm and said, “You promise?”
“I promise.”
#ascalonian grudgeblog#anghraine's gaming#anghraine's fic#ascalonian grudgefic#althea fairchild#deborah fairchild#ailoda langmar#logan thackeray#lionguard dansky#guild wars 2#pro patria
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pro patria, chapters 15-21
“Ascalonian, eh?”
“Our father was from Ebonhawke and our mother’s a Langmar,” I said, and he looked surprised all over again.
With a quick laugh, he said, “Then get out there, little sister, and make our ancestors proud.”
title: pro patria (15-21/?)
stuff that happens: Althea and Logan take on Zamon in court, and Logan recruits Althea into a new investigation—one that touches her own family.
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Lord Faren, Logan Thackeray, Countess Anise, Julius Zamon; Minister Caudecus, Ailoda Langmar, others; Althea & Logan, Althea & Faren, Althea & Deborah
chapters: 1-7, 8-14
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FIFTEEN
1
I could always depend on Faren’s loyalty. But even beyond him, everyone I needed looked to be present. Cin Fursarai had arrived to complain about his business losses. Lady Madeline kept me at arm’s length, but indicated she still meant to testify. My friend Corone was ready to identify his stolen chalice, recovered from Zamon's mansion by the Seraph. Reth told me that he’d been fired from the Ministry Guard, but hoped I’d pull this off.
“Just tell the truth,” I said, clasping his shoulder, “and Zamon won’t be able to do any more damage.”
2
Beneath my easy assurance—what I hoped looked like easy assurance—my blood pounded. This could go horribly wrong, and I had no clever tricks left, no clones to conceal myself among, nowhere to run or hide. I could only present the truth, and hope it convinced the ministers.
I couldn’t look at my mother.
Anise and Captain Thackeray quietly joined me on either side.
“Proving Zamon’s guilt won’t be easy,” he said, “but I have every confidence in you. Now get out there and convict that maggot.”
3
I nodded, appreciating both the support and pressure, willing my pulse to slow. It didn’t seem particularly accommodating.
“You look calm, but I can tell you’re worried,” Anise said softly. “Don’t be—you’ve done all of the necessary preparation and the facts are on our side. The case is yours to win.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, and forced myself to breathe evenly. “Now I just have to win it.”
4
Zamon, of course, sneered and denied everything.
“You’re a fool, you know. You’ll never convict me—I’m as innocent as a babe in arms.”
I, too, had noticed the tendency of infants to try bribing extremely wealthy aristocrats. Gods, what an idiot.
I shrugged. “Let’s see who the courts believe.”
5
“Hear ye!” called the judicial scribe, and the hubbub dutifully dwindled. “The trial of Minister Julius Zamon is hereby called to order, Legate Minister Caudecus presiding. Who stands for the prosecution?”
“I do,” I said, and forced myself to add, “Lady Althea Fairchild.”
Just before, the scribe had explained that I would be on trial for slander, if Zamon were acquitted. I thought of my family’s unstained name, and just repressed a shudder.
“Your Honour,” I declared, “we have evidence proving Minister Zamon conspired against the citizens of Divinity’s Reach!”
6
I couldn’t turn back now.
“He abused his authority to commit thievery, murder, and treason. We will present incriminating documents and sworn testimony from respected members of the community, including the sister of the accused!”
Madeline blanched, but met her brother’s glare steadily.
Minister Caudecus studied me for several long moments. Then he turned to Zamon and said,
“The prosecution seems to have prepared quite a compelling case.”
My head swam with relief.
7
“Minister Zamon, can you refute these accusations?”
Zamon simply laughed, and all relief faded. He was an idiot, but one who knew his own interests. Well, sort of—all my witnesses now eyed him with intense dislike, even Fursarai.
“Refute?” he said scornfully. “Why bother? My lord Caudecus”—and now he stood upright, back to his old arrogant height—“in accordance with the most ancient tenets of Krytan law, I invoke my right to trial by combat!”
SIXTEEN
1
I didn’t even have time to hope that Minister Caudecus would restore some sense of order to the proceedings; he immediately accepted the invocation and announced that Zamon would have to nominate a second, and I both a principal and a second.
“I will be the principal, Legate Minister,” I said promptly.
Caudecus granted a short recess to choose my second—my second, in a trial by combat, as if we’d jumped back to the days of the guild wars. I hadn’t really meant this when I hoped for it a few days ago, I’d meant—I’d been angry, frustrated, but I thought of it as a long-dead custom, not a possibility. What did prowess in battle have to do with truth or justice?
Well, I thought, at the least it could be an outlet for justice; I felt not the slightest doubt of his guilt, and very little doubt of defeating him in combat, backed by a decent second.
The only difficulty was finding one.
2
In fact, I had no difficulty narrowing the field to possible candidates. As soon as I turned about and considered the gathered audience, I dismissed virtually everyone.
There was Reth, who had been a Ministry Guard; he must have some fighting skill. There was Anise, a better mesmer than I’d ever be. Captain Thackeray, of course, if he really meant what he’d said. There was even Faren, who had (however ridiculously) held his own in the bandit caves.
But which?
3
I drifted among my friends, not wanting to give Zamon and his massive Norn retainer any chance at preparing themselves. Fending off their inquiries after the case, I saw Faren waving his arm and swivelled about to reach him. Instead, I nearly slammed into Zamon himself.
With one of his most unpleasant smiles, he said, “It’s not too late to abandon this farce. Recuse yourself and I’ll see to it your honesty is rewarded. You don’t want to face the alternative.”
Very quietly, I said, “Don’t threaten me, Minister.”
4
I ducked into the crowd before he could try anything else—I wouldn’t put much past him—and strode up to Faren.
“Ready for action, old friend!” he said brightly.
Tension faded from my shoulders and temples, for all that I’d resolved nothing. Faren could be theatrical, posturing, careless, but somehow he always seemed to soothe my nerves. And no woman could ask for a truer friend.
“I’m sure you are,” I told him, with a quick embrace.
To my surprise, he returned it tightly, his sharp chin digging into my scalp.
5
Faren released me, looking nervous and awkward in a way I hadn’t seen in years.
“And let me add,” he said, his voice far removed from his usual vain cheerfulness, “I’m truly flattered you’re even considering me as your second.”
Oh.
Well, I was, though I hadn’t thought of it as flattery, just pragmatics—but perhaps that was all the more flattering in its way, especially for someone like Faren. In all probability, I wouldn’t choose him, but I was touched anyway.
“Glad to know you’re willing and able,” I replied. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to decide.”
6
I tracked down Anise—or rather, Anise’s vibrant hair, but happily, the rest of her remained attached to it.
“Trial by combat?” she said, with all the incredulity that I felt. “Who’d have thought it? I’m surprised Zamon even knows it’s an option. There hasn’t been one in over fifty years … or, at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”
I shot her an amused glance; she’d been a family friend in my mother’s youth as well as mine, if not before.
“Then we ought to make this as memorable as possible,” I said.
7
Captain Thackeray was the easiest to find; he stood a head above everyone else and was encased in heavy armour, with a bright sword strapped to his side. He grinned at my questioning glance.
“As a Seraph captain,” he told me, “I can’t really jump around saying, ‘pick me, pick me!’ But I can certainly think it.”
I laughed. That resolved the first question.
More soberly, he said:
“I’m ready to go if you need me.”
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1) the guild wars: a bloody war between actual guilds that took place shortly before the first game, Guild Wars: Prophecies.
2) Anise’s vibrant hair: Anise has very long, beautiful red hair.
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SEVENTEEN
1
“There’s nothing I’d like better than to personally dish out some of the punishment Zamon deserves,” added Captain Thackeray.
I could easily believe it of him—both the sentiment and the approach.
As I left him and moved among very-definitely-not-nominees, I did my best to calculate my chances without betraying any sign of doing so.
Reth seemed to be some sort of brawler, eager to rough up a traitorous noble with his own hands. Captain Thackeray, between his bulk and his armour, could effectively shield me and absorb Zamon’s and Eitel’s attacks while I lashed out spells. Faren was—Faren. And Anise would duplicate the confusion I depended upon, multiply it into mass chaos.
2
I returned to the scribe, expression carefully blank, the observers and guests staring in near-silence—all but my candidates, whom I’d quietly informed. Zamon and Eitel-the-Unlovable looked guarded, but unprepared for any specific approach.
“Have you decided who will serve as the prosecution’s second?” asked the scribe.
In a loud, clear voice, I said, “I’ve chosen Captain Thackeray.”
Logan already knew, but he still seemed like he might nearly punch his gauntleted fist into the air. He, Anise, and I turned cheerful smiles on Zamon, who eyed us all with intense dislike. He didn’t look afraid, but he didn’t look relieved, either—whatever he thought of me, he must know it wouldn’t be an easy fight against a captain of the Seraph and a mage.
3
“An interesting choice,” remarked Minister Caudecus, almost dourly. What had Logan ever done to him? “If Lord Zamon proves victorious, he is innocent. The case is thrown out and these charges against him may not be brought again. If you win, then Zamon is found guilty of the crime.”
“I understand,” I replied.
I understood that Zamon was going to rot in prison or the grave.
4
In the grave, as it happened. Captain Thackeray and I planned our approach with a few words and expressions; he would rush forward, keep them off me, and I’d make sure he had a dizzying array of clones and illusions alongside him to keep things interesting, between shooting Zamon and Eitel full of chaos magic. It worked beyond my most fanciful dreams.
Eitel went down quickly; he seemed to have no resistance to my magic, and no interest in dodging it. Zamon screamed that we were nothing—really, who did he think he was?—and then that our skill didn’t matter.
I only drew near at the end, when Zamon lay groaning and wounded under Logan’s sword.
“I only … did … as I was told …” he mumbled, and died.
5
What? Now we had some other scheming traitor out there?
“Victory is declared!” announced Minister Caudecus, with absolutely no enthusiasm. “According to the dictates of Krytan law, Minister Zamon is found guilty.”
Captain Thackeray—Logan—guessed that Caudecus disliked the proceedings purely for the disruption of normal order, not that it was our doing, but Anise shook her head.
“How do you think Zamon knew about the ancient law in the first place?” she murmured.
Logan and I glanced sharply at her.
6
“If Zamon won the battle,” she continued, “he’d be declared innocent—no more investigation. Now he’s guilty, but he’s also dead. No loose ends.”
Of course—but Caudecus himself? I could hardly believe it, and Logan looked shaken as well.
Anise didn’t move closer, but the sudden intensity in her face made it feel as if she had.
“Never underestimate Minister Caudecus,” she told us.
7
Anise slipped away, always quick to avoid unintended notice, and Logan gave a brisk nod.
“Go and celebrate a well-earned victory,” he said. “I was genuinely hoping for a conviction based on a preponderance of the evidence … but this works, too.”
That was Logan, all right.
The ambivalent expression on his face then vanished, replaced by an unusually cheerful resolve. I’d expected him to return to his own business, like Anise; instead, he gave me a comradely clap on the shoulder that nearly knocked me to my knees. Then, Logan—Captain Thackeray of Divinity’s Reach, heir of Gwen Thackeray, hero of too many battles to count—looked straight at me, a woman who’d been indistinguishable from any young noble until a few months ago, and said,
“I’m starting to think there’s no problem we can’t solve if we tackle it together.”
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1) Eitel-the-Unlovable: Zamon’s retainer is a Norn, a member of a species of giant, vaguely Scandinavian shapeshifters.
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EIGHTEEN
1
“Now get some rest,” Captain Thackeray ordered. “There’s sure to be more work for us soon.”
“Thanks, Captain,” I said, at once overwhelmed and determined. “I’ll be ready.”
The compliments didn’t end there. Anise half-jokingly offered me a place among the queen’s lawyers; Corone laughed and said that he’d be sure not to run afoul of the captain and me; Lord Benjamin lit up when I suggested he should join the government himself; even the scribe said she was impressed with the trial.
Truthfully, I told her, “I just hope that such proceedings remain rare.”
2
Faren, of course, swept a low, graceful bow, and then pretended to nearly swoon.
“Another fine day’s work—on your part, that is,” he said. “Frankly, I’m exhausted just watching you.”
I managed not to snicker, but only because I stood among the pillars and arches of the Ministry itself, not to mention under the eyes of some of the most powerful figures in Kryta.
With a grin, he went on, “I hope you know I’ll be toasting your success later this evening, with damsels yet to be determined.”
“I know,” I said dryly, and raised a brow. “Just spare me the details, and I’ll toast you for your discretion.”
3
Gladly leaving Faren to his own devices, I made my last farewells to everyone still loitering around the Ministry.
To my relief, I had no immediately pressing duties, although Captain Thackeray—after congratulating me again and urging me to celebrate my victory—assured me that he’d be in touch. I didn’t doubt it, but for now, the best celebration seemed sleeping for three days.
It wasn’t quite three days, but I did ignore everything else to crawl into my bed for hours, only waking for meals and a few dimly-remembered conversations. When I finally emerged, I had to assure my mother,
“I’m not hurt, Mama, just tired.”
Mother looked at me with anxious eyes—only more anxious after, well, watching me duel another minister to the death while unable to do anything, and while her other daughter lay dead and probably mutilated in some lost grave.
I hated that she’d seen it, hated the fear that lived in her eyes these days, but more than that, I hated the idea of turning my back on our people.
4
After I spent a few days with my mother, alternately sleeping and consoling her, I headed back into Queensdale. I didn’t have a clear destination in mind, but I’d often heard Deborah talk about how people out there needed more help than the Seraph could supply, and how much more she wished she could do. I meant to help wherever I could, in whatever ways I could.
Wherever I could took some peculiar shapes over the next few weeks. I made my way to Claypool and helped the Seraph captain there train the militia; in return, she wrote frankly,
I wasn't sure someone of your reputation would stick around to help my militia. I'm impressed and honoured that you did.
I re-read the letter four times, not smiling, just—I hadn’t expected either the surprise or the gratitude; if anything, I counted it an honour to serve the Seraph.
5
Then there was a lumber mill under perpetual threat from a) skritt and b) extremely oversized wasps. I helped the labourers fight them off as often as I could, and received another letter, though it took awhile to find its way to me—probably because it was addressed simply to “Ly Althea of Rurikton.” The leader of the workers was Ascalonian, and had been more deeply impressed that I had a home in Rurikton than that the home was a manor.
Your reputation, she wrote, doesn’t exaggerate your heroism and skill. All of us at the lumber mill thank you for your time.
That time, I did smile. I wasn’t patrolling Queensdale for praise, but neither was I so pure that I didn’t like getting it.
6
When I heard that Claypool had fallen under attack from centaurs, I returned as quickly as I could manage, and helped fight them off. These seemed even fiercer than the centaurs at Shaemoor, but somehow it was easier to drive them off.
The centaurs were shaken, one of the Seraph told me.
“Demoralizing the enemy is key,” he went on, “and you made that happen.”
I’d helped, no more; but if my help had turned the tide for Claypool, I was glad to serve. Perhaps Seraph Elmder saw that, because he clapped my shoulder just as Captain Thackeray would have.
“Thank you, soldier,” he said.
7
I ended up wandering all the way to Beetletun, doing everything from convincing children to work at their chores, to fighting off even hardier, more aggressive centaurs, to slipping inside their encampments to sabotage their equipment and free their slaves. There were pests in the village to eradicate, and farms throughout the shire to protect or salvage.
And I fought alongside Seraph at their outposts, which I preferred to just about anything else. It wasn’t just Deborah or Logan; as I saw just how much the Seraph needed to do, and how thin their resources ran, I’d come to admire them for their own sake. I’d never met a Seraph I didn’t respect.
Of course, there was Deborah’s memory; wherever her spirit might be, I hoped she knew what my life had become. I might not be much for taking orders from anyone I hadn’t chosen, but I was following her steps as closely as I could.
NINETEEN
1
I was in Godslost Swamp, helping historians fight off nightmares from the Underworld—long story—when a letter from my mother arrived.
It had been written weeks earlier, passed from courier to courier along the increasingly dangerous route, then left at the last outpost until someone brave enough to dare the swamp delivered it to the Priory camp. Thankfully, it contained nothing urgent, only accounts of Ministry machinations, the doings of my friends—she dedicated an entire paragraph to Faren, who appeared to be doing a great deal of nothing—and some visits from her own friends.
Anise seemed in poor spirits, she wrote, or rather, irritated ones. Apparently, that nice Captain Thackeray has a bee in his bonnet (can you imagine him with a bonnet?) over something entirely disconnected from his duties in Divinity’s Reach.
My brows rose; that didn’t sound like him at all.
Mother concluded with an unsubtle wish that she would see me again soon, or at least hear from me, and I winced; although I dutifully wrote whenever I had paper and couriers available, this had not been one of those times—and if she’d known where I was, she would have good reason to fear for me.
2
Frankly, after fighting a massive, hellish nightmare creature that took a good hundred adventurers to bring down, home sounded decidedly appealing. I could soothe my mother, see my friends, get some decent meals and rest, and put on unstained clothes—and check in with ‘that nice Captain Thackeray.’
(Mother’s feelings towards him had always been vaguely positive, but seeing him protect me in trial by combat had raised them to eternal devotion.)
I didn’t bother with a letter; thanks to some of my favourite spells, I could travel faster by myself than any series of couriers. And she plainly did not expect an actual arrival; I could surprise her this way.
Sure enough, Mother gave a strangled shriek when she saw me in the street, and disregarded the curious people around us, the state of my clothes, everything, to rush forward and clutch me to her.
I would never turn back from the path I had set myself upon—but though I cared for many people and places, I didn’t think I could ever love anything so much as my family.
3
Doubtfully, a woman I’d never met said,
“Isn’t that the hero of Shaemoor?”
Another replied, “No, it’s Minister Ailoda.”
We ignored them to make our way back to the manor. To her credit, it took Mother a good five minutes to wrinkle her nose.
“What have you been doing? Let me draw you a bath, darling.”
I was only too happy to remove the accumulation of dirt and swamp water I’d never quite managed to scrub off at the Seraph outposts—but I had no intention of telling her just what I’d been doing.
4
I emerged from the bath with a pleasant sense of pristine cleanliness, and a silk robe that had never felt finer against my skin. After I dressed (the clothes freshly laundered, because Mother thought of everything), I supplied a severely edited version of my adventures since she’d last seen me.
Even that much was enough to make her shudder. “I know you’re following your conscience, but—”
“I am,” I said firmly.
I did spend the next few days with her, amusing her with stories of (safe) quirks and mishaps, letting her show me off at the Ministry, staying beside her during the regular courtesy calls she received.
Then I headed to Seraph Headquarters.
5
When I walked through the doors, Logan’s face lit up. He abruptly concluded the discussion he’d been involved in and strode right over to me.
“Good to see you again, my friend,” he said, looking so pleased that I couldn't bring myself to doubt it. “You have excellent timing!”
I had no idea what tangential preoccupation could have irritated Anise. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared me for what he said next.
“Have you ever heard of Falcon Company?”
6
For a moment, my mind went entirely blank. The voices around us faded, my ears ringing. My face and hands felt cold, but my lungs burned.
“Of course I have,” I said, proud that my voice remained even. “One of the most decorated units of Seraph, wiped out by a centaur ambush.” Taking a deep breath, I added, “My sister was a soldier in that command.”
Captain Thackeray looked stricken.
7
“Your sister?” he exclaimed, clearly oblivious. Falcon Company had fallen under a different command, I told myself, unrelated to his own—that was why Anise disapproved of his interest—and that interest was frankly more than I would have expected.
Still.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, turning somber. “I—I didn’t know.”
I nodded, goodwill restored, and remembered myself enough to wonder: if he hadn’t heard about my connection to the Falcons, and didn’t have one of his own, why was he asking me about them?
And why now?
TWENTY
1
Gravely, Logan said, “You'll be even more interested in this information than I thought.”
The chill lying over my skin flashed hot. Information? What—maybe—was—
He lowered his voice, more conscious of our surroundings than I could manage. “Scouts in the Queen’s Forest discovered pages from an old journal. They were apparently written by Willem Harrinton, a member of Falcon Company.”
A member of Deborah’s company.
2
Had Harrinton known something? Oh, he must have, for Captain Thackeray to consider it ‘information.’ He must have written it down. But—
I waited, some approximation of composure returning; I could hear the low murmurs and pen-scratchings of Seraph business around us, though Logan had drawn us away into a corner where we wouldn’t be easily overheard.
“The writing on the pages is rough,” he went on, “hasty. But it describes survivors of the battle taken prisoner by the centaurs.”
3
Damn composure, anyway.
“Survivors?” I breathed, feeling the rush of blood all through my veins. Survivors. No body, no presence at the grave, nothing—was it possible?
I’d never imagined it. Never dared imagine it.
“My sister could be alive?”
4
Desperate hope sparked through me, and I seized his arm without regard to the layers of plate over it.
“Logan, you’ve got to let me investigate!” I burst out.
No, no, I had to stay calm, force myself into some semblance of self-control; friend or not, I’d be left out if I seemed too overwrought for the investigation. And I couldn’t sit back while others took on the danger, while Debs perhaps laboured under centaurs’ whips (great Kormir, I couldn’t even imagine it), while—I had to find out for myself.
In a quieter voice, I insisted, “I need to know what happened to Deborah.”
Instead of eyeing me doubtfully, as I half-expected, Logan gave me a sympathetic smile. “I thought you’d feel that way.”
5
“Let’s update my records,” he said briskly, reverting to his usual determined competence, “and then you can head to Eldvin Monastery and speak to Captain Tervelan.”
I nodded, aiming for the same level of professionalism.
“Though he’s been promoted to Captain of Queensdale, Tervelan once commanded Falcon Company,” said Logan. “He might be able to tell us more.”
I remembered the abrupt letter we’d received, simply signed J. Tervelan. Now I was going to see its author at last.
“Good,” I said.
6
Logan led me over to his desk, which was covered in papers and parchment in various conditions, along with the Seraph roster that I’d seen before.
“Falcon Company’s records were largely destroyed by centaur raids,” he explained. “I’m trying to get a complete roster.” He dipped a quill in ink, then gave me a quick glance. “Your sister was of Krytan descent?”
I lifted my chin.
“Ascalonian, sir,” I said, “and proud of it.”
7
His eyes widened, a smile creeping back. But he confined himself to an indistinct noise of approval, dragging his finger down the faded roster until he reached Fairchild, Deborah. My chest hurt, but something in me thrilled at the quiet addition of Asc alongside her rank, which I affirmed, and age and place of birth, which I supplied.
After he cleaned and capped the quill, Logan shook his head.
“Ascalonian, eh?”
“Our father was from Ebonhawke and our mother’s a Langmar,” I said, and he looked surprised all over again.
With a quick laugh, he said, “Then get out there, little sister, and make our ancestors proud.”
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1) Ascalonian, sir, and proud of it: the line that inspired the whole fic! It solely (as far as I know) determines Deborah’s appearance in the cinematics, but Deborah and the PC being proud Ascalonians seemed something that would profoundly influence them, given the dynamics at play in GW1/Eye of the North/GW2.
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TWENTY-ONE
1
I nearly tripped on my way from the Seraph headquarters to Dwayna’s gate. A Charr was strolling through the plaza right before headquarters, easy as you please—a Charr, in Divinity’s Reach!
It looked like he’d come from the gate to Lion’s Arch, which was … legal, but I hadn’t seen any here in years, and—and he couldn’t mean anything good. I paused long enough to glance back suspiciously; was he scouting out weaknesses?
“That Charr is back,” someone said behind me, not bothering to lower her voice. “He makes me nervous.”
She wasn’t the only one.
2
But I had more important concerns than Charr, at least right now. Logan and Anise could protect Divinity’s Reach; I had Deborah’s fate to uncover.
I jumped from waypoint to waypoint, stumbling out of the last with a few copper for the gatekeeper and the breath nearly knocked right out of me. But I recovered after only a moment, and with a burst of concentration, took off running towards Eldvin Monastery.
I slowed down as I approached, letting the air cool the sweat and flush on my skin, then wiping it with a cleansing handkerchief that I returned to my belt pouch. I might not be Faren, but I didn’t care to confront unpredictable circumstances at anything less than my best. I brushed a few blades of grass off my sleeves and, after a single deep breath, marched up to the main entrance.
3
The Seraph at the gates to the monastery clearly recognized me, by either description or reasoning. They immediately straightened up, and one of them—who seemed to be the leader—saluted me.
“The hero of Shaemoor is finally here, everybody!” she cried. To me, she said, “The captain’s expecting you—he’s up on the wall.”
Well, that should make things easier.
“Captain Thackeray sent a message that you were going to visit,” she said, and looked me over with evident, un-Seraph-like fascination, her eyes wide. “We’re all very excited to meet the hero of Shaemoor.”
4
She was, at least. I thanked her and got directions to the captain, then paused. I had no way of knowing what any of them had seen or guessed, if anything.
“Have you heard of the Screaming Falcons?” I asked.
“Of course!” she said. “They’re legendary, especially around here—the best company in the Seraph, but then … well, you know.”
Yes, I knew.
5
“Did you ever meet any of them?” I pressed.
“They were before my time,” she said, sobering, “but I’ve heard stories about that week, laying out the bodies for burial.” Her jaw tightened. “They say some of the bodies were missing. It sickens me to think what the centaurs did with them.”
My chest clenched, a sick, sour taste rising in my throat. I swallowed it down and replied,
“Me, too.”
6
Inside the walls, the abbey brothers and sisters seemed cheerful enough, concerned first with their ale and secondly with their faith. But I quickly realized that the first Seraph’s enthusiasm was not shared by all.
“Another ‘hero,’ huh?” said a lieutenant. “I’ve met your kind before—you’re brave enough, inside city walls.”
I thought of saying I don’t have a kind, but I couldn’t quite believe it. At any rate, he clearly hadn’t met a map if he thought Shaemoor lay within city walls.
“Out here,” he added, tone even grimmer, “you’re just a walking corpse waiting for your time to come.”
7
“Stiffen your spine,” I said coolly. “You’re representing queen and country. Petulance doesn’t befit your station.”
Lieutenant Gordon laughed. “Queen and country? Yes, they do deserve better—better than this.”
At once irritated, offended, and peculiarly impressed, I told him,
“Keep that in mind.”
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1) the gate to Lion’s Arch: there’s a sparkly Asura gate/portal to Lion’s Arch (the central city of the whole game) from the human home district of Divinity’s Reach.
2) jumped from waypoint to waypoint: waypoints are location markers that let you teleport between them for a price (varying by distance between them).
#ascalonian grudgefic#anghraine's gaming#anghraine's fic#althea fairchild#ascalonian grudgeblog#logan thackeray#ailoda langmar#countess anise#lord benjamin#cardy#minister caudecus#cin fursarai#baron corone#eitel the unlovable#elmder#lord faren#julius zamon#lieutenant gordon#madeline zamon#reth#pro patria#guild wars 2
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Stuff about my version of the GW2 PC, not in dossier format:
- Her full name is Althea Fairchild and she’s a young Ascalonian noblewoman who has spent most of her life in Divinity’s Reach.
- She’s the younger child of Minister Ailoda Langmar of Divinity’s Reach [ambient dialogue here] and Lord Edmund Fairchild of Ebonhawke.
- Edmund has been dead for some time, but Althea has maintained close ties to her Ebonhawke relatives—especially Edmund’s twin sister, Lady Elwin Fairchild—and is fiercely proud of them and the city.
- The Fairchilds—including Althea—are proud to trace their lineage back to Lady Irene Fairchild, a mesmer in the Ascalon Vanguard who survived the Searing, led refugees to Kryta, and eventually fought in the Ebon Vanguard alongside Gwen Thackeray.
- Ailoda’s family, meanwhile, descends from a niece of Captain Samantha Langmar who joined the refugees fleeing over the Shiverpeaks. The Langmars have received Krytan positions and occasionally intermarried with Krytans, but those spouses were largely assimilated into the Ascalonian community in Rurikton, and the Rurikton Langmars regard themselves as Ascalonian.
- Apart from her father’s death, Althea lived a largely sheltered and frivolous life in Divinity’s Reach until the apparent death of her older sister, Sergeant Deborah Fairchild of the Seraph, in a mysterious centaur ambush. Ailoda was devastated and Althea, with unexpected competence, took charge while burying her own grief. This continued for several months until a friend of the Langmars, Countess Anise, interceded and began Althea’s training as a mesmer.
- About a year later, the “real” story begins with Althea heading out of the city in order to get a taste of the real world before going to help her family in Ebonhawke.
Per the game, she finds Shaemoor under siege by centaurs etc and rushes to help Captain Logan Thackeray—mostly because it’s The Right Thing To Do, but part of her gets a kick out of the knowledge that she, a Langmar, is fighting alongside the descendant and heir of Gwen Thackeray, right hand and successor of the original Captain Langmar. But before long, the bond between them is much more about their own friendship and his older-brotherly mentorship of her than anything their ancestors did.
- It becomes particularly strong as they investigate the ambush that led to Deborah’s apparent death. Ultimately, they’re able to find Deborah and others of her company, free them from captivity, and bring them home.
- Althea’s not a Separatist nor fond of Separatists, but she is intensely Ascalonian in her identity and sympathies, and loathes the Charr despite intellectually understanding the necessity of working with them against the dragons.
- Much later, she does actually go to Ebonhawke, bond with her Fairchild relatives, and fight throughout the Fields of Ruin to defend the city and their people. She becomes more accustomed to interacting with Charr who aren’t always the enemy, but still resents them, even while the clock ticks down until she’s set to meet her mentor in the Order of Whispers.
#anghraine babbles#ascalonian grudgeblog#anghraine's headcanons#althea fairchild#irene fairchild#deborah fairchild#/#//#///#////#/////#a#b#c#d#e#logan thackeray
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I already have a long fic (and now a shorter one) about my headcanon version of the human female GW2 PC, but anyway, here are some factoids about mine at the outset of the GW2 story!
Name: Althea Fairchild
Age: 21 (b. 1304)
Birthplace: Ebonhawke, Ascalon (but moved with her family to Divinity’s Reach, Kryta, as a young child)
Residence: currently Minister’s Manor, Salma District, Divinity’s Reach (previously Langmar Manor, Rurikton, Divinity’s Reach)
Parents: Lord Edmund Fairchild of Ebonhawke (father, dead) and Minister Ailoda Langmar of Divinity’s Reach (mother)
Ethnicity: Ascalonian and Krytan (mainly Ascalonian, which she identifies with and is proud of)
Appearance: medium brown hair; grey eyes; light brown complexion; 5′2″ with a medium build; attractive but forgettably so
Other notable relations: Sergeant Deborah Fairchild of the Seraph (sister, presumed dead), Lady Elwin Fairchild of Ebonhawke (paternal aunt), Lady Irene Fairchild of the Vanguard (ancestor), Captain Samantha Langmar of Ascalon (ancestor), Lady Althea Barradin (namesake and cousin many times removed)
Other major connections: Lord Faren of Kryta (close friend), Countess Anise of the Shining Blade (mentor/trainer), Queen Jennah of Kryta (liege)
Other notes: performed well academically, but disinterested in research without direct application; a skilled mesmer, but disinterested in fighting within a military structure; hostile to the Charr, but not a Separatist.
Order status: under consideration. Further observation needed.
#i was going to actually write out headcanons and instead this gradually morphed into the order of whispers's dossier lol#anghraine babbles#ascalonian grudgeblog#fic talk#fic talk: pro patria#althea fairchild#also i thought of linking the canon characters to the wiki#like ailoda and elwin#and irene to the gw1 pc entry!#but i'm lazy so no#long post
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