Origami_Narwhal

  Duty is uncomplicated, and Winston takes to it with gusto. People, however, are complicated, and Winston's duty is to his people. Then there are the people he must work with, the neighboring Lords, his Duke, his liege the Aylking...

  He takes to the complications with slightly less gusto, certainly. But he does it, because he is Lord and Keyward of Craumont, with the Empire's old magic still singing in his blood. He does it, even when he'd rather not.

  Today is one of those complications. Perhaps the entire month, a gradual heating of the city until all within were boiling without truly realizing it, only revealed now by a stirring of the pot.

  Speaking of the pot-stirrer: Ivy, a sister, a cousin, currently gravely injured in a sense beyond the physical. He would never cease to love her, but by Elluvial the woman is a walking complication. And, of course, it’s Winston’s duty to make sure she’ll actually heal.

  “Haven’t gotten out of bed yet, cousin. What’s got you so mad?”

  Winston opens his mouth, and two thoughts struggle to push their way through: Lord and Cousin. Lord Craumont sees that walking complication and catalogues the dense muscuture that makes her a threat, the Cousin sees how Ivy drapes tiredly across the chair and counts the bandages across her body.

  Ivy runs a hand through her hair, orange eyes fixing on a strand of red-brown amongst the silver. Whenever her soul was sufficiently mended, Winston suspects, the red of the Crawford line would vanish once more.

  "Still staring, Winnie. Get on with it."

  Winston's lips curl against his will. Some things never change, apparently. "And you don't know already, Ivy? I'm mad at, and for, you. Obviously."

  Ivy snorts, tail flicking against the floor. Click, cck. “Obviously,” she repeats drily. Her face is drained of expression, bnk like a letter waiting to be written. He’d missed that little facet of his cousin. The tail betrays what her face rarely does, though, and the next few taps speak of agitation.

  So, Winston waits.

  She finally speaks a half-minute ter, eyes cwing their way past Winston’s, chest rumbling. “At me? Couldn’t have pnned for Dongbaek sealing a Delve. Nobody did. And we got out... bah, I’ll be able to hunt the damned fool in a week or two.”

  Her lips peel back to show a zy predator’s grin, one muscled arm drifting up over the back of her chair.

  Winston arches an eyebrow, one hand up to massage the base of his horns. “Or two? Ivy, it’ll be two and no less.”

  Ivy’s smile dims back to bnk, her tail curling onto her p. “Can’t really afford it, can I. Dongbaek’s on the loose.”

  “Two weeks, Ivy.”

  “One.”

  He is going to need another soothing cup of tea after this, that much is certain. “Two, Ivy. Your health is not something to be haggled over, and short-changing me would mean risking your death.”

  Ivy holds his gaze, chin up, expression stony. The tail in her p twitches, and her cws begin to stroke it. “So that’s what you’re mad for me about?”

  She frowns, brow furrowing. “Mad for me about. That barely makes sense, doesn’t it.”

  Winston’s burgeoning headache faces sudden and stiff competition from the threat of a smile. “Yes, Ivy. I’m mad for you, because you’re on two weeks bedrest. I’m sure you’ve only become more of a wanderer in your years away.”

  Years a Dame cannot be spending outside her own nds, the Lord in him murmurs. Years she deserved away from the city that hurt her, the Cousin insists. Two truths, utterly incompatible.

  How... Ivy, of her.

  The woman in question matches Winston’s smile with a predator’s grin, eyes glinting. “I’ve stayed longer for jobs in Ard Judicia, but for the most part? Yeah, I’m not going to rest for two weeks.”

  The idea of bending to anyone simply hadn’t occurred to her, the Lord notes, and the Cousin agrees. Negotiation, then. That’d always been Olivia’s specialty, when it came to the inherited stubbornness of the whole family, but Winston liked to think he was a close second these days.

  “One week resting, one week taking it easy. You’ll need time to adjust and regain any lost fitness, won’t you?” He points to her muscuture. “I assume that’s not all from your Mageblood traits.”

  She stares at him for a long moment, cws click-click-clicking down her scaled tail. Her toothy grin widens, curling back further than human lips really should. It looks good on his cousin anyway. “Rapid healing makes it much easier to build muscle, turns out. I'll think on it.”

  The headache from before wins out, and by Elluvial Winston needs several cups of Benny’s finest tea. Or the Crawford Manor’s, whichever responds faster. He binds up the thought in magic and offers it to the Manor, and the Manor accepts in a burst of warmth. Like its owner, it obeys as it pleases, rather than out of some imbued obligation.

  At least tea is coming. He massages the bases of his horns, pressure and movement dulling frustration’s sharp edge.

  “And I'm mad at you,” Lord Winston Craumont says through gritted teeth, “Because I knew you'd disobey my orders.”

  Ivy raises an eyebrow, her smile fading away. Her tongue flicks out between her lips— subtly pointed in a way it wasn't before— and the click-click-click of cws on scales continues.

  “Bah. Fair enough,” she concludes, nodding once. Her expression clears, her mouth opens again, and nothing comes out.

  She takes a breath, then another. The Manor breathes around her, curtains rustling and boards shifting.

  “If I stay in bed for two whole weeks, Winston, I'll go mad,” she says, her voice softer than before. “I'll rest until I can't, and try to do things that don't push me.”

  The Lord stumbles. The Cousin beams. Winston does a bit of both.

  “I understand,” Winston says gently, and he finally, finally eases himself down into a chair near where Ivy is lounging.

  If she can be honest, Winston should be, too. Even with the headache. “I'm just worried, Ives,” he admits finally. “We failed you yesterday. We failed Lena, and very nearly had a Padin of Adamantine die in our borders. A thousand grand marches of depth sickness to a woman that doesn’t Delve? She should be dead, Ivy.”

  That awful moment is burned into his mind, fear and all. Watching the portal snap closed, feeling the cold knot settle in his gut, how dare Dongbaek—

  He takes a breath.

  Ivy peers at him, frowning. “Dead? Eh. She held up well enough. She’s not going to be using much magic for a few weeks, but I would’ve noticed if she was close to death.”

  The Lord in Winston quietly files the thought away.

  “Bah. You're forgiven, anyways,” Ivy says eventually, waving her hand zily. “Have to help me get a muffler cap for Lena, though. The new ears are sensitive.”

  Forgiven. What?

  “Just do better next time.”

  Ah, there she is. Still, Winston finds himself smiling, and Ivy smiles back. He can't help but push, one st time: “And Benny will tell me if you push yourself too hard. So, don't.”

  Ivy winces at that. “Fair enough.”

  They sit for a while, not in quiet, but in comfortable chatter. Ivy shares parts of her visits to far-off cities, Winston speaks of his wonderful husband and the melodrama of Ayldom politics.

  The door whispers open, and Benny arrives with the tea. “You called for tea? Pardon my assumption, but I prepared a brew best suited for headaches. Such things are common when dealing with stubborn Crawfords.”

  Ivy groans, slumping down... and when Winston starts to ugh, Ivy does, too.

  A walking complication, the Lord in Winston reminds him. He continues swapping stories anyways, this time with Benny quietly settling into a third chair to add their own. It’s good to see Ivy opening up, no matter the circumstance.

  Gods, he missed his cousin.

  Winston finds Lena next— her excited chatter is a river that flows and tumbles into the hall, audible even from the top of the stairs. He’s still wondering if he’d tempted Mireise a bit too much, and he nearly misses the softer voice that follows. But he does not, for a Lord does not lose track of their surroundings, and his heart warms.

  It always feels warmer, when his husband is involved. With his sort-of apprentice, no less, though any sort of formalizing will have to wait until after this mess is over. Curiosity like that should be encouraged— and even if Lena isn't inclined to serve the city, he can carry that knowledge forward to another apprentice.

  "...could be a, um, a characteristic of Water Gods? The Restoration and Elluvial both have tenets of, I guess serving others?"

  "That might be a coincidence, really. Or, not that, it's... hm! Elluvial doesn't ask for service, she asks for her followers to be charitable in time or action. That was also a tenet of the Imperial faith, wasn't it?”

  “Ah, I'm not, I'm not that familiar with the... oh, Manor, could you help me find a book on the Imperial faith?”

  The Manor's focus shifts in a shiver of floorboards, and Winston ducks into the library. He's too short to hit his horns on the top of the doorway, but the habit remains.

  There's his husband, beautiful and handsome as always; the sight of him rexing with Lena in the plush chairs of the Library very nearly convinces Winston to join them. But the Lord in Winston reminds him that he’s here to say hello and little else, as there is much to do in the city.

  The Husband and Mage in him insist he indulge. He listens.

  “I know Padin Greyfeather is bed-bound, Lena, but Padins of Adamantine are well-educated on the Sun Emperor's faith,” Winston says primly, giving a restrained nod to Lena. “It might just convince her to stay in bed, actually, and I'd appreciate that. She’s liable to know more than most books on the subject, I suspect.”

  “Afternoon, Winnie. How's Ivy? Cwing at the walls yet?” Harriet's smile turns rakish, and Winston rolls his eyes.

  “Ah, g-good afternoon, my lord! I, ah, didn't realize it was you coming in,” Lena manages a moment ter, not quite meeting Winston's gaze. Her ears swivel toward Winston— and, Gods, that'll take some adjustment, won't it?

  Winston opens his mouth.

  Lena, however, manages to speak first. “Um, you said that. No, ah, why would Padins of Adamantine know the Emperor’s faith? I-I don’t know much of either, but I know Adamantine allows worship of herself in chapels of the Hero, so.”

  Her cheeks flush. “Sorry, were you going to say something? I, um, got carried away.”

  Winston closes his mouth, and shares a smile with Harriet. Harriet tilts his head, lips quirked— would you like to answer?, his expression says. Winston raises an eyebrow, jerking his chin toward his husband. No, you’re the historian, dear.

  “It’s a good question, Lena,” Harriet says gently, eyes twinkling. As he speaks, a book weaves its way out of the library shelving, nudging its way into Lena’s hands. “While the details of training for the Padins of Adamantine is kept a secret, they are only allowed to take the oath once they can successfully refute the ideology of the Emperor. He was Order, but she is Justice.”

  “Fascinating,” Lena breathes out, ears twitching. Her hands curl around the book, and her bright turquoise eyes tch onto Winston. “Um, Lord Winston, after we work on spell structures tomorrow, do you think Verity will be alright enough for me to visit? I have so many questions.”

  Winston blinks, reaching for his mental calendar and peering at the days. Yes, he’s getting the days right, and she is as well. “You want lessons tomorrow?”

  “Well, it’s. Isn’t that our usual time of the week, my lord?” Lena offers, tilting her head. One orange ear flops down, leaving the other to swivel its focus to Winston. “I don’t want to fall behind.”

  He doesn’t quite manage to stifle his incredulous look. She was locked in a Delve and she’s ready to get back on her feet already?

  Harriet just snorts. Loudly. “You are supposed to be resting, Lena.”

  Lena purses her lips, one hand shooting up to toy with her mess of curly hair. “But...”

  He’s just had this conversation, more or less, but with a white-haired cousin who could bend him in half and toss him out a window. Lena is nothing by comparison, so—

  His darling husband clears his throat. “Maybe something gentler, then? I think it would be an excellent break for both of you. Winnie here has been burning the candle at both ends, after all.”

  Winston sighs. “Yes, dear. That’s an excellent idea.”

  And before that sudden near-manic spark in Lena’s eyes can burst into an inferno of questions, he holds up a hand. “But not now. I have a city guard to organize, and letters to send to ensure we can handle... whatever it is that comes next. So. Harriet, Lena, how did you end up discussing theology?”

  The inferno is stalled, and the moment of danger is passed. Lena smiles just enough to show too-pointed fangs. “Oh! Yes, um, we were talking about my blessing from the Restoration? It was a bit unusual, for what I’ve read of his blessings. Or, we started there, but then Harriet made a good point about blessings as a whole, and he mentioned blessings he’s seen from Elluvial and we got to...”

  She stops, breathing in sharply as her cheeks flush red. “Sorry. I’m a little out of it today.”

  Harriet waves his hand, smiling as gently as ever. “It’s been a wonderful conversation, Lena. I was a little surprised when we looped through Spiritus, but I suppose the God of Knowledge can really crop up anywhere, can’t he. I’ll see if I can’t get you a book on his knowledge demons— Winnie, do we have anything on him?”

  The conversation, evidently, has slipped back into the Lena-Harriet whirlwind once more. How on Ekhosa did they end up at Spiritus? “Most likely, but nothing detailed, dear. Would you like something on blessings, as well?”

  “Oh! Yes, that would help,” Lena bobs her head, eyes glittering. She turns one ear to Harriet. “Do you think we could learn a bit about that protective blessing, actually? Verity took a look at it too, maybe she’ll be able to say if it was based in Water or just divine.”

  “Well, that’s two things to ask her,” Harriet concludes with great cheer, exchanging gnces with Winston. “Maybe I’ll join you, Lena?”

  That is the point where Winston should have excused himself. Stepping back from the edge of the academic abyss would be the correct choice for the Lord of Craumont. Staying, and digging into this conversation with his husband and his maybe-apprentice, would be a... complication.

  He doesn’t excuse himself, naturally. Not even when the Manor’s erratic cleaning enchantments nudge him to stand up so some crumbs can be tidied.

  Padin Greyfeather sneezes, pauses, then sneezes again. It's an oddly shrill sound in the quiet of the house of healing, underid with the split tones of her voice.

  "Gods protect," Winston says reflexively, and after a moment to contempte he adds, "I'd hope you cannot get sick at the moment, but..."

  "I just need the one Goddess to protect me, thank you," she snorts, grinning widely. After Ivy’s toothy smile earlier, the Padin’s feathers and bright smile barely register. The eyes burn into him, but once again, he’s dealt with worse. "Adamantine is hardly jealous, but she might just be miffed if I went to another God first. So, tell me how things are going with preparations for defending the city, and don’t spare me the details. I might be able to help!”

  Winston gnces out the window and winces. The Lord in him not-so-quietly points out that, had he done everything to pn, he’d have arrived at an hour past noon and be gone... well, sometime before the sunset it currently is.

  Padin Greyfeather chuckles, gncing out the window with him. “...tell you what. Spare me the details now and just loop me in on whatever report system you use around here, okay?”

  ...at least one of the three girls isn’t a walking complication, when it comes to his time. He’ll take that, and drink it down with a gss of wine with his husband ter. And Elizabeth, if she decides to invite herself to dinner again.

  The Cousin says that they’ll be courting before the month is out. The Mage insists his almost-apprentice would be too skittish with the power dynamic, give it two months. The Lord wishes Ivy wasn’t infatuated with a Padin with a history of coups and a budding Mage who could probably use less distractions.

  Walking complications. He’d hate to do without them.

  Origami_Narwhal