Tavros Fontaine: Whispers, Part Four

Written by our DM, the final fate of Vigo the Whisperer... 

Tavros followed Abbess Sturmgart down the hallway. They were under the main complex, in seldom used tunnels that he was unfamiliar with.

“Here,” the Abbess gestured to a small cell, being used more literally in the spirit of its namesake. It was guarded by two very serious looking guards wearing regalia not of his house, but of the temple – men loyal to the Abbess. She had been wise not to trust anybody of the Fontaine household with the prisoner, who might claim to be acting in the purported best interest of their king. It was an effort by the Abbess to put the power of decision making back in Tavros’ hands.

“Thank you,” he said, “you are one of the few, and always have been, who look after my genuine best interest. Really, I… I appreciate it.”

“Of course, my child. I know it’s important to you.”

“It is. If I continue to let everybody think they need to step in and fix things for me – if they continue to think that I’m incapable of doing these things for myself – I will never truly be king; I will only be a puppet.”

The Abbess nodded and smiled graciously. Tavros felt a surge of warmth. No matter how grown up he felt, the Abbess had a way of making him feel like he was that young boy again, running amuck around the temple.

“Who told him?” Tavros inquired.

“It was one the maids who served you and Jacqueline a few nights ago. It turns out that neither your mother nor Andraska had any recollection of ever hiring the girl. You see, with so many people coming and going here and at your mother’s estate, everybody just assumed that someone else had hired the girl. In reality, nobody hired her, but she’s been going around for months, serving your food, folding your clothes, and all the while funneling information back to…” she paused.

Tavros’ face became stoic, “Yes, well we’ll see about that. Thank you, Abbess.” He bowed low. It was how he used to defer to her, as a disciple – not entirely appropriate as a king, but well, there was nobody here to see. She smiled again, and touched him affectionately on the cheek – also not appropriate, but damn it all!

After the Abbess walked away, Tavros, took a deep breath, nodded to the guards, and barged into the room. It was a spartan cell, in the fashion of many in the temple, but this one was deep in the bowels, windowless, and barely furnished. Vigo the Whisperer sat a table, writing. The Abbess had treated him as a political prisoner of importance rather than throwing him in a proper dungeon, again giving Tavros the opportunity to decide how he would be treated.

“You ran away!?” Tavros blurted angrily.

“Of course,” Vigo responded calmly, “you were going to execute me. How can I serve my purpose if I’m dead?”

Tavros sneered, “Well I hope our dear Reverend Mercy didn’t mistreat you too badly.”

“He found me in the Savage Hills, halfway to Brightland. I have to say, I’ve never been eaten and shat out by a snake before.”

”Yes, well,” Tavros brushed the scales on the back of his head, “Marshall finds that a convenient way to store and transport things.”

Vigo finished writing and put his quill in the holder, “I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a list of others that you should execute alongside me. I assume you’ll make it a public affair, likely with some light torture to emphasize the price of crossing the king.”

“I am not torturing people!” Tavros stamped his foot in frustration. This was exactly the problem with Vigo. “Besides, wouldn’t you be included in this group?”

“Yes, of course, assuming I don’t escape. But public torture is nothing compared to the real thing – just some minor dislocations, cutting out a few internal organs -- …”

“Enough!” Tavros yelled, “why doesn’t this bother you?”

“As we discussed,” Vigo said with a moderately bemused look, “I have nothing left to lose. But truth be told, I’d rather not be executed at all.” He got up and came over to Tavros, dropping to his knees. He grabbed Tavros’ enormous claw and started begging, “please, my liege, spare my life. I will swear to serve you, on your terms!”

“Are you -- ?” Taavros snatched his hand away, “begging!? Get up, it’s…”

“What’s wrong with begging?” Vigo asked as he stood up.

“Aren’t you ashamed?”

“No,” Vigo said simply, “I want to live, so I’m begging you to let me live.”

“But,” Tavros said, eyes narrow, “you also don’t care what I do to you.”

“Not really,” Vigo said honestly, “but I beg you not to kill me, so that I may serve you.”

“You’ve served me enough,” Tavros said angrily.

“At least,” Vigo implored, picking up the list, “look at my list.”

Tavros received the list begrudgingly. He scanned it, his eyes getting bigger, “are you serious?”

“Of course,” Vigo said, “these people are your enemies.”

Tavros stopped suddenly, his mouth open, “Martini D’wintlithar!?”

Vigo nodded, “She’s dangerous, angry, and evil. She tried to turn in your pivotal battle against the Goddess of Secrets, offering to join her. It would be better for the kingdom if she were dead.”

Tavros turned away, massaging his aching temples.

“Surely,” Vigo said, “you don’t consider her situation different than my own? It’s true that I might betray you, if I felt it necessary, but I haven’t yet. She has.”

Tavros sighed, turning back to face his former spymaster, “Vigo, I sentence you to death. There will be no torture, no fanfare, no performance. I will do it traditionally and honorably: With a block of wood, a sword, and my own hand. I pledge to you it will be over quickly, but it will be over. My mind is firm on this matter. I am sorry.”

Vigo nodded, thoughtfully, “that is… sub-optimal. But… it suits you. Good job.”

Tavros looked at him aghast, shaking his head, “Vigo, you confound me.”

“My apologies, my liege, for I seek only to aid you.”

There was nothing left to say. Tavros just shook his head, and made for the door.

“Wait,” Vigo pleaded, “one week. Give me one week.”

“One week for what?” Tavros asked.

“One week of you,” Vigo replied, “one week to tell you everything I know, everything I’ve learned, everything I have planned. If I will no longer be here… at least let what is in my head live on in you. It is clear I have no leverage, and I am out of time. The best I can do for my kingdom… is to give it all to you.”

“You can do that in a week?” Tavros asked, skeptically.

“Yes. You will arrive at eight o’clock each morning, and we will go through supper. We’ll eat our meals here. I will be provided spare quills and all the parchment I need. What I don’t say, I will write. All of it, all my knowledge, it will be yours.”

“That’s,” Tavros searched for words, but had none. He did not understand this person at all.

“No disruptions,” Vigo said firmly, “you give me one week left in this mortal world, but I want all of it. Your other advisors must wait, for now.”

“I,” Tavros stuttered, trying to find the hole or trap in this suggestion, “I - …”

“And on the eight day, can you execute me at mid-day?”

Tavros looked at Vigo in surprise, “Why?”

“I just,” Vigo seemed to think for a moment, “well, I guess I wanted to see the sun one more time.”

Tavros laughed once, mirthlessly, “Confound is not a strong enough word. Very well, I will execute you at high noon of the eighth day, on MY terms.”

Vigo bowed deeply, “thank you, my liege. For what it’s worth…”

There was an awkward pause. Tavros didn’t know what to say, so he just waited for Vigo to continue.

“I think,” Vigo said, “you will be a much better king than your uncle. I am proud of you.”

Tavros swallowed. For all the horrible things Vigo had done, for all the certainty he had about this decision, it was still hard for him. He was not good at sentencing people to die. “Thank you,” was all he could muster. Then the two men stared at each other in silence until Tavros left the room.

Once outside the room, Tavros had a pit in his stomach, but then something tickled the back of his brain. Was it mistrust? Or perhaps a developing, ingrained vigilance?

“Double the guards,” he ordered, “and nobody is to see the prisoner except for myself.” After a moment, he added, “that includes the Abbess and my mother. Absolutely nobody, is that clear?”

The guards nodded vigorously, virtually wilting under his gaze. A part of him felt bad, but another part nodded in satisfaction. Dammit, he swore to himself, a little piece of that bastard is already inside me.

Tavros Fontaine: Whispers, Part Three

"Tavros!" Jacqueline smiled warmly, then hesitated as she studied his expression. "You look worried." They'd met for an evening meal at his mother's house, with Emiliana's Steward Andraska to watch over them and make sure that all the proprieties were maintained, while ostensibly just directing the servants who brought the meal.

"I am," he said, quietly crestfallen. "You barely survived our battle with Vecna, and Tabitha... Tabitha is gone beyond recall. You could have been too. And now I learn that Vigo the Whisperer was once a Secret of Vecna -- something I should have discovered much earlier -- until the dark army threatened the kingdom and he betrayed them."

Jacqueline considered that for a long moment. It sounded like exactly the sort of thing that Vigo's political enemies -- and some of those still survived -- would spread around to discredit him. "First of all... you were fighting a god. There were always going to be consequences to such a battle. Second, it was not your choice to endanger us. The guilt for that belongs to Galvera, and Galvera alone. You didn't know Tabitha--"

Tavros dismissed that with an anguished shake of his head, and she loved him for it. "I know that she was important to you. I know that her aunt corresponded regularly with my mother. Had she lived, I would have known her better."

Jacqueline bowed her head. Tabitha's absence was an emptiness in her chest. She had been Jacqueline's closest, most trusted friend -- and now she was gone. 

She'd also been clever. If she'd been carried over to Asgard, she might eventually teach the Goddess of Secrets a thing or two about trickery. Jacqueline could at least hope. 

Tavros gave her a moment to be silent with her grief. When she looked back up, he was studying her face. "I'm sorry," he said. "I seek to justify myself, and cause you pain instead."

Jacqueline drew a breath, released it; drew another, and released it as well. Finally she said: "We are all grieving. Let that not rob us of whatever small joys we can find. What I was trying to say is that while you did not know Tabitha, you understand what a loss her death was -- to me, and to the world. We are poorer without her, but even so: it was not your fault."

Tavros nodded thoughtfully. 

"And this news of Vigo," Jacqueline said slowly, guiding them as gently as she could onto a different track. "Where did you hear this?"

"From Vigo," Tavros said. "He chose, I think, to let me know the terms of his service to the Crown and the limits of his loyalty to me."

Oh. Oh my. Oh, that is going to be a problem. Jacqueline made herself draw another breath, and then release it, while she considered. "Tavros... you will be the king. You cannot afford to have Vigo trying to run the kingdom for you, nor would you want to." She hesitated, as she followed her own trail of thought. "Tavros... How much do you trust him?"

"Not at all," Tavros said immediately, and with a certainty that she found welcome. "He carried out my uncle's will, but only as he chose. His Archons tortured and executed anyone of elvish blood. He is precisely the evil that I do not want attending my rule."

"Then you can't dismiss him," Jacqueline said slowly. "You can't count on him to accept it. He will continue to interfere; he might even move against you. I don't know how likely that is, but..."

"He would do it the moment he considered that it would damage Sol Povos less than leaving me in place would," Tavros said. "You are right. I'll have to have him executed-- not as a traitor to Sol Povos, but as an overzealous servant who overstepped his role and committed crimes against our own citizens."

Jacqueline thought about that for a long moment, then nodded. "You'll also need to make sure that the stories among the public mostly uphold this as an example of the new king bringing justice." Her expression turned thoughtful. "It wouldn't hurt to have word leak into Duendewood that his treatment of the elves was a large part of his betrayal." 

She wouldn't have said anything of the sort even six weeks ago, but conversations with Aesa and Emiliana and Hilda and Werendril had gone a long way towards informing her understanding. 

Tavros smiled, and she saw how he controlled it to keep his fangs hidden. "As it happens," he said quietly, "I know a few bards who move through that area."

Then the servants laid the last of the feast on the table, and Tavros Fontaine and Jacqueline Bouvier moved to opposite sides of it to lose themselves in the joy of well-cooked food.

Tavros Fontaine: Whispers, Part Two

"Ah," said Emiliana Fontaine. "You have come directly to your mother, with not even a stop for your future bride. It must be important. What troubles you, my son?"

"Vigo the Whisperer," he said simply, and waited. 

"You want him removed?" His mother offered a gentle smile. "I could arrange--"

"No." Tavros kept his voice under control. "How much have you arranged already?"

"Nothing. I only..." 

"Mother." Tavros kept his voice firm. "Don't lie to me. Don't even shade the truth. Tell me what you've done."

The lady Emiliana Fontaine sighed. "It was for your own good. I spoke with your friend Martini, and mentioned that Sol Povos might be better off without Vigo the Whisperer around, and that I had two hundred or so platinum pieces sitting on a table in a side-chamber that I might be willing to hand over to anybody who brought me a certain sort of news about the man."

Tavros sighed. His mother was a wizard and a noble, but not a paladin and no longer a princess. "Did it not occur to you to consult with me first?"

"A king must be able to disclaim any evil done in his name," she said gently. "No, it did not. I would not have you compromised in such a way."

"Mother..." Tavros forced his expression back to calm, hid his fangs, and held his mother's eyes. "You believe we should be rid of the Whisperer."

"I do," she answered immediately. "He is a subtle poison, certain of himself and his vision for the kingdom, and far too ready to be the power behind the throne."

Tavros nodded slowly. "He would support my rule, actively and effectively, until I took steps he disagreed with. Then he would betray me, with no more care than a craftsman discarding a useless tool. Even so, I will not have him assassinated, or have an accident arranged. Can you call off Martini? Or must I speak with her myself?"

"...It will be less awkward if I do it," his mother admitted. 

"Do so," he said. It was incredibly strange to be commanding his mother this way, but it was also desperately needed. "And don't try to go behind my back again."

His mother smiled, mostly sincere. "I am chastened. I will not."

Tavros Fontaine: Whispers, Part One

"Why did you take him in?" Tavros asked, as somber as the Abbess Hilda Sturmgart had ever seen him. 

"Who?" she asked. She was fairly certain she knew, but it never hurt to be sure. 

"Vigo," Tavros said. "You know what he is. You know what he's done."

"He's been a valuable resource to you," Hilda observed. 

"He has," Tavros agreed. "Not trustworthy, but valuable. On the one hand, I doubt we would have made it this far without his knowledge and his ability to gather information. On the other hand, he is a torturer, a murderer, and a former Secret of Vecna."

"He was also," Hilda said gently, "a political refugee, at least when he came here."

"Is that why you took him in?"

"No," she replied immediately. "It was a whisper in my ear, an intuition, and if it did not come from Amun himself then it came from one of his own. I did not know then that you would return, but the moment I saw Vigo and Dante I knew that they needed to be here."

She watched as Tavros sat back. "Divine scheming." He shook his head. "I wish there was some way to be rid of it."

"You would have to change the nature of divinity," she said, "and I doubt even the Creatress herself could manage that."

Tavros nodded. "There are battles yet to fight, and there will likely be further losses, but I believe I can reclaim my uncle's throne and rid Sol Povos of its demonic invaders. What, in the wake of that, should I do with Vigo? He is loyal to his particular vision of the kingdom, and therefore tries to serve the kingdom itself, but... I do not trust him. I never have. And I am honestly amazed that the elves have not assassinated him already."

"Your friends trust you. They follow your lead. Still, with his immediate usefulness diminished, many who want him gone might see him as more dispensable. Whatever you decide, you will need to act before they do -- to protect him, or to have him justly executed. You should not allow others to act for you in this, especially if they act without your command."

Tavros nodded. He knew already. Did he think it would have been easier to let them? No, not Tavros. The boy hadn't been born to be a king, exactly, but he'd been born to try his best at whatever he turned his hand to. He wouldn't shirk responsibility that way. 

"The Temple of Amun exists to serve the good of all people," Hilda continued, a soft reminder of one of the catechisms, "through the application of justice and law.We seek first to understand the situation, to see what is actually happening, and only then to find what moral principles apply."

Tavros was silent for a long time. "Thank you, Abbess," he said at last, and rose. He offered a bow, not as deep as he had when he was purely a paladin, but deeper than anything she'd ever received from a king. Then he turned and departed.

Her office seemed emptier with him gone. Perhaps he truly was growing into his role as king. It would be good to see what followed from this.

Good!Party: The Tragedy of Vigo the Whisperer

This one's from our DM, who's been meaning to share more of Vigo's backstory and apparently also wants to complicate Tavros' life with more complex moral decisions. Honestly, I was pretty sure that Tavros' mother Emiliana was going to have Martini assassinate Vigo, if Vendril didn't get to him first. (Vigo spent the better part of two days torturing Vendril, and was responsible for the Archons who were arresting and torturing anybody with any elvish blood on suspicion of disloyalty.) Our DM, however, argues -- not unconvincingly -- that having someone else assassinate Vigo in an attempt to help Tavros goes against Tavros' whole story arc, where he's become increasingly responsible and increasingly willing to make his own decisions. So... for the moment, I'm posting this here while I think all that over. 

* * *

“A company of vrocks was seen on the Sun Plains, I need you to send word to Lady Bertrand immediately!”

“Yes sir!” The messenger was impeccably clad in the regalia of Tavros Fontaine. He nodded dutifully and flew from the room, almost knocking Clovis over.

“Where the hell is Paulo Carbone!?” The man speaking swiped his arm across the desk, sending a shower of documents toward a hapless, second servant.

“He is… on his way,” the servant stuttered, “I am assured he will be here soon.”

“You assured me he would be here an hour ago! Now get out of my sight, you feckless moron!”

The servant quickly bowed and ran from the room. He also almost knocked Clovis over; Clovis really did have the worst luck…

“Stingard: Fallen. Paras: Fallen. Our eastern front decimated by that damned tarrasque. We’re going to have to lean on our dear Grand Marshall Bouvier sooner rather than later. Good thing his daughter’s our hostage.”

Clovis edged his way into the room, “His majesty,” Clovis began.

The head of Vigo the Whisperer snapped around, consuming Clovis with his penetrating stare.

“He, uh….” Clovis cleared his throat, “he gave us strict orders not to make any move until he’s back from Sandorne Castle.” Clovis looked at the floor, somewhat ashamed.

Vigo got up and paced the room, continuing to count their many obstacles. He was now on his second hand, “Eastern front, destroyed. Northern front, ground to nothing by those damned elven revolutionaries. The western front… it at least is defended by our newly minted Supreme Marshall, but she hangs on by a thread. And may the gods have mercy if Suncoast becomes the center of our power…”

“Oh yes, I know what you mean,” Clovis said. It was a bit of a fib, “and I’m sure King Fontaine does as well.”

“Does he?” Vigo glared at Clovis, “He knows it so well that he goes in the opposite direction of all these troubles, prancing off to Duendewood on some fanciful quest for the God of Secrets – who, incidentally – is actually NOT one of our problems at present!”

“He –“

Vigo cut Clovis off, “Where is that other blasted messenger!?”

A young boy ducked into the room, looking sheepishly at the ground, “You already sent him to Magister Atrix with a message, m’lord.”

“And what are you?” Vigo bellowed, “You’re not mute, why can’t you carry a message? Must I wait for the first idiot to return!?”

“Oh, no no no, m’lord, I couldn’t –“

“Blast!” Vigo threw his wine glass across the room and it shattered on the wall next to the boy. who looked like he was about to melt.

Somewhere deep down, the part of Clovis that was a priest came to life, and he stepped between Vigo and the poor boy, “Lad, now is not a good time. Why don’t you wait outside, and please let us know the moment the official messenger returns? Alright, that’s a good lad.” He patted the boy reassuringly on the shoulder and closed the door quietly behind him, turning to face Vigo. The man was leaning over the table again, hands balled into white-knuckled fists, staring angrily at some paper.

“Vigo,” Clovis began carefully (he really did have the worst luck), “that was not well done.”

The spymaster’s body softened, and his shoulders slumped with a sigh, “I know, Clovis, it’s just… we’re a kingdom, which means we need a king. Instead, I’m left here to hold things together, and as you so succinctly put it, I’m not allowed to actually DO anything.”

Clovis’ face lit up – this was his area of expertise. “Vigo, good sir, you must have faith in our King. He is doing what he believes is best to protect the kingdom.”

Vigo snorted, “Faith? A lot of good that does.”

There was something odd about the way he said it, and Clovis, always one to stumble into the unluckiest situations, opened his big mouth before he even knew what he was saying, “What do you believe, Vigo?”

The spymaster regarded Clovis intensely, but with a degree of respect, as if he’d found something he hadn’t seen there before.

“I said,” continued Clovis, always one to dig his unlucky holes deeper, “What do you believe?”

Vigo might have grinned for a split second, but then he turned his head away, as if embarrassed, “Nothing.”

“What?” Clovis asked in shock.

“I said nothing.”

“Well,” Clovis stammered, “that doesn’t make any sense. Everybody believes something, at least sometime in their life.”

“Sometime,” Vigo laughed, without mirth, “yes I did, not that long ago.”

“Then what was it?” Clovis asked.

The man’s head snapped around, “Look at me, Clovis. I deal in secrets, I deal in knowledge, I deal in knowing that which isn’t supposed to be known. Do the math!”

“Oh,” Clovis stumbled backward, realization slamming into him.

“Were you expecting Helios?” Vigo asked sarcastically, “Or Amun? Or maybe some obscure harvest goddess? Who else would I worship!?”

“May the sun’s rays protect us from the night!” Clovis drew a circle in front of himself.

“Save it,” Vigo said, turning his head away again, “That is… no longer.”

Clovis was silent for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say, he really hadn’t expected the conversation to go this direction. He really did have the worst luck.

“Well,” Vigo sounded almost relieved, “now that it’s out there, should I tell my king? Get my head lopped off by that big, rusty sword of his?”

“Y-yes,” Clovis stammered, “but n-no…”

“Which is it?”

“Of course you should tell him,” Clovis stamped his foot fiercely, “but you should have some faith that he won’t lop your head off!”

“Faith again,” Vigo rolled his eyes.

“Yes!” Clovis walked over to Vigo, grabbed him by the shoulder, and looked him in the eye, “Faith!”

“In Tavros? In a king? I tried that, boy. It’s how I lost my faith in the first place, and I still ended up on the wrong side!”

Clovis blinked, his mouth moving wordlessly. It all made so much sense now: Vigo the Whisperer, the accomplished spymaster, pursued knowledge and secrets. Of course he was a follower of Vecna, perhaps even one of some import. But when it came time to choose between his kingdom and his god, he chose the former, only to have the ‘king’ in kingdom become a raving nutcase.

“That’s what I thought, boy.” Vigo seemed both pleased and pained to have won the argument, and turned back to his papers.

“Nothing,” Clovis whispered.

“What’s that?”

“You have nothing: You chose king over god and lost both.”

“Thank you for the diagnosis,” Vigo sneered.

“You have to stop this,” Clovis exclaimed, gathering a head of steam. Such a state always led him to an unlucky place.

“Stop!?” Vigo asked, incredulous, “Stop? As you so honestly put it, I have nothing else left!”

“No,” Clovis said, “quit trying to atone for whatever you used to believe, or trying to honor this office, if that’s what you think you’re doing. And definitely stop trying to tutor our king like a schoolboy! That is not the way to earn his respect and it’s getting you nowhere!” Clovis waved his arms around the room, indicating the various maps and papers, “Because look here, Mr. Whisperer, I know what you believe!”

“Really?”

“In this! In your kingdom!” Clovis tapped his finger on the map of Sol Povos.

“Sirs,” the boy poked his head in the room, “the messenger is back.”

Vigo nodded, his voice much more subdued, “thank you, please send him in.” After the door closed, he turned to Clovis, “Thank you, Cardinal, I will think on this.”

It was a dismissal if Clovis had ever heard one, and a good thing, too. As he ducked out of the room, Clovis was in the process of regretting every word he’d said. In the hall he buried his head in his hands and moaned, “How did I get myself into this!? I truly have the most rotten luck!”

-----

Tavros stretched his aching back. The trials of Sandorne Castle had taxed him severely, and he suspected some of these pains would be companions for life. The three hour briefing on events since his departure was mercifully drawing to a close, and his retinue of advisors filed out until only Vigo remained. He stood in front of the desk, across from Tavros, with his hands clasped behind his back. Tavros groaned and drained his cup of wine, simultaneously reaching for the decanter to refill it.

“I’ve had confession with Cardinal Cloverfield,” Vigo said flatly.

Tavros spewed a mouthful of wine across the room in astonishment, “You what!?”

“I’ve had confession with Cardinal Cloverfield,” Vigo repeated patiently, “and he gave me some advice. Upon reflection, I concluded his advice was logically sound and I intend to act upon it.”

Tavros looked around the room like a caged animal, convinced this was some sort of joke. Was it his birthday? Were people about to spring out of hiding places with fireworks and sweets? Did Jacqueline put them up to this?

“I’m serious, Tavros.”

Being called by his name jolted Tavros’ attention. Vigo really was serious.

“You asked me a question once – one I didn’t really answer.”

Tavros narrowed his eyes, searching Vigo’s habitually unreadable face. That was a trick he could stand to learn. Then it hit him, “What do you believe?”

“Nothing,” Vigo said, “but I already answered that question, and it’s not what you were really asking.”

“Have you,” Tavros chose his words carefully, “ever believed?”

“I was a Secret of Vecna – the equivalent of a bishop – but only a membrum honorarium, not a priest. It’s an honor often awarded to important nobles, especially those who make financial contributions. They’re given significant influence and access to high-ranking clergy, but are not priests themselves.”

“Gods!” Tavros was aghast, “you bankrolled them!?”

“The king’s chief spymaster is a very well compensated, but as you can see, I have virtually no mentionable wealth. As king…” he cut himself off before finishing, pursing his lips.

“As king,” Tavros continued in a somewhat abashed tone, “I should have already asked myself where your wealth had gone, and I should have had someone independently look into it.”

Vigo nodded.

“What else have I missed, Vigo?”

Vigo was silent.

Tavros growled angrily, “What, no lecture? That’s a change. Fine. I’ll reason it out.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, “Let’s see, what should I desire to know of a member of my council. Are you loyal to me?”

“No.”

“Excuse me,” Tavros choked, his eyes bulging, “if you’re not loyal to me, then who?”

“Not who. What. I am loyal to the kingdom.”

“Then why serve me?”

Silence.

“Hrm, okay. Well, obviously,” Tavros reasoned out loud, “you currently believe I best serve the interests of the kingdom, so you support me. Then logically,” he paused to take a drink of wine, “the next question I should want to answer is what will happen if you cease to believe in my kingship, will you act against me?”

“Without hesitation,” Vigo answered.

“And you tell me this? Fear you not that I will string you on a questioner’s rack for saying such things?”

“Men torture for two reasons, Tavros. The first reason is simple: Cruelty. I do not fear that from you. The second reason is to gain knowledge, and since I am well aware that I would, under pain of torture, divulge every bit of this information, there is no reason to withhold it from you now.”

“How many men did you torture for my uncle, Vigo?”

“Hundreds. I can’t even count them all.”

“Personally? You were in the room?”

“For a great many, I turned the crank and asked the questions myself.”

“Amun’s mercy,” Tavros shuddered, “doesn’t that bother you?”

“In truth, I hate it. It’s one of the reasons I sleep so little, and when I do, it’s usually after secretly drowning myself in wine. My dreams are plagued with horrors I wish on no living soul, and will be to my end of days.”

Tavros threw his hands in the air, “Why, Vigo? Why… any of it?”

“There are times when the good of the kingdom – the many – outweighs the good of an individual, even an innocent one. In such cases, a sacrifice is logical and must be made.”

It chilled Tavros to hear Vigo speak of it so bluntly, as if it were as simple a choice as wearing a coat on a cold day. He wondered if he would ever be able to make such a sacrifice. If it was a choice between Aesa’s life and hurting an innocent, what would he do? What if it was Aesa and Anica and his mother and Jacqueline (since when was she in this list?), what choice would he make then? He shuddered and pushed the thought to the back of his mind. “I must admit, Vigo, bringing these things to me takes more courage than I realized you had.”

“Wrong again.”

Tavros frowned, and considered this rebuttal, “Fine, another puzzle. I will reason this one out as well. I will look at the converse.”

Vigo smiled, “I see you have been listening to Dante after all.”

“I listen more than you realize, Vigo. Now, as I was saying, the converse: Why wouldn’t you tell me? Well, I suppose the same reason as anybody else: Fear, specifically the fear of losing something. So, I must conclude you don’t possess this fear, or alternatively you have nothing to lose.”

“Very good, Tavros,” Vigo nodded his head appreciatively, “most excellent. Now, circle back to the beginning of our conversation, what is my purpose today? You must always be asking yourself, what is the other person’s purpose?”

“I thought I was reasoning things out for myself,” Tavros chided.

“Old habits, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll overlook it. Now, circling back to the beginning. You wanted me to know that you used to worship my mortal enemy – the very force that I, and everybody I love, have been fighting against these last three years. But you also wanted me to know that you have nothing to lose. I suppose this is all about understanding. You want me to know exactly, precisely, what you are.”

“Which is?”

“A broken man,” Tavros said, a full picture finally forming in his head, “One who gave everything to the Order of Secrets, only to have them betray and attack the only thing you cared about more – your kingdom. So, you abandoned them and backed a man you knew to be evil, presumably based on some logical calculation that he was the lesser evil. However, this turned out to be a poor gambit, so you betrayed him as well and now you have nothing. You attach yourself to me because I provide a means to help the kingdom, wherein you have some very specific ideas as to exactly what kind of help the kingdom needs. You’re like a broken and out of favor tool, each day hoping only to be picked up and used for its intended purpose one more time.”

Vigo was quiet for several long moments, before replying softly, “Well done… Your Majesty.”

Tavros took a deep breath, drumming his fingers on the desk again. “The only question remaining, that I should be asking, is why now? Because I don’t believe for a second that our dear Cardinal Cloverfield simply coaxed you down this path of confession.”

Vigo was silent again, seemingly committed to letting Tavros figure it out for himself, no matter how long it took.

“Well, let me take inventory,” Tavros began thoughtfully, “you’ve made it clear where your true allegiance lies, and that you don’t fear me. In fact, you don’t seem to fear anything, namely because you have nothing to lose. You are, in fact, quite exactly a tool. And why do you want me to know this now, at this moment? I would guess because you’re sensing that this conflict is starting to come to a conclusion, and when that happens, like an artisan finishing a project, I will start thinking about what to do with my tools – about what to do with you.”

Vigo stared at him intently.

“In fact,” Tavros continued, “a man of your experience would have already suspected, or perhaps even discovered, that I’ve already begun thinking about this.”

“I would be otherwise disappointed in you, Your Majesty.”

“So, it seems,” Tavros said, counting on his fingers, “you have laid out your terms neatly and quite immutably: I can turn you out, expecting not a shred of loyalty should our interests ever collide. I can use you for the tool you are, and only that tool – also without a shred of loyalty, I might add. Or, I can have you killed.”

“Quite exactly and well spoken, Your Majesty.”

Tavros’ face softened, “These are not compassionate choices, Vigo. Do you even want to stay with me, to be used as a tool, but never trusted, never loyal, never part of the family? Is that really an existence? Is that really what you want?”

“With all my heart, Your Majesty.”

Tavros signed and rubbed his temples, “Vigo, I know this doesn’t mean to you what it would mean to another person, but for what it’s worth… thank you for telling me the truth.”

“It served its purpose, Your Majesty.”

“I know. Now, you are dismissed. I have much to think on.”

As Vigo the Whisperer left the room, Tavros shook his head in dismay.

Alliances Offered, Part Seventeen

Evening had finally come, and despite everything that was still unresolved, Tavros was glad of it. He could spend a few minutes in peace and quiet, watch the sunset, and gather his wits...

Anica nodded to him as he stepped out onto the balcony. The stone bench was already occupied; lady Jacqueline Bouvier was seated at one end, leaving the rest of it open. Tavros glanced at Anica, but she just shrugged and said, "I'm pretty sure she didn't come here to murder you, Your Majesty."

Tavros rolled his eyes and started forward again. He seated himself on the bench. "Rough day?"

Jacqueline looked over at him. "You didn't happen to bring that bottle along, did you?"

Tavros shook his head. No, but maybe I should have. 

She swore, in Dwarvish of all things. It wasn't a language Tavros spoke; he only recognized it because he'd heard Sister Tiva use that particular phrase in that particular tone before. "Maybe we should just keep one out here."

"That bad?" asked Tavros. Between Dante being an ass and the inescapable fact that they were not going to be able to drive the demons out of Sol Povos without even more loss of life, he thought his own day had been rough. But Jacqueline looked... drained. 

"Not..." She hesitated. "Not bad, exactly. But I am absolutely prepared to believe that the devotees of Demeter really do count every single bean that gets harvested, that they number every single grain of wheat, and that they keep thorough, years-long records of their worshipers so that they can calculate exactly the best way to distribute the goddess' largesse."

"I'm sorry," Tavros said immediately. "I've asked you to--"

"No," said Jacqueline. "Don't. You asked me to do something important. If it wasn't work, you wouldn't need me for it. And I... I like being needed. I like being valued." She hesitated. "Tavros... would you consider--"

Tavros glanced at her, and was just in time to see the masked figure walk up over the stone balcony, crossbow in hand. Snarling, he threw himself forward and yanked Jacqueline down, half-shoving her under the bench. 

Three crossbow bolts slammed into him; a fourth one skipped off his shoulder and shattered against the stone of the ledge. They burned where they struck -- probably poisoned -- but he shook it off and drew his blade. 

To his right, Anica had her sword out and was charging the figure on the balcony. It turned, surprised, trying to fumble another bolt into its crossbow; Anica buried her sword in its thigh and raised her shield. Tavros spun. He knew from the impacts whence the attacks had come: two from above, one from behind, and one from the assassin that Anica was about to take apart. 

A quick glance up confirmed it: two of the would-be regicides were standing easily on the stone wall of the temple, held in place by magic. The last was on the balcony opposite the first; both of them had been positioned to come up just outside of his peripheral vision. If he hadn't been looking at Jacqueline...

He reached the balcony. His blade met the assassin and cut her in half. 

The other assassin had drawn a blade and was dueling with Anica despite the wound in his or her leg. Good, thought Tavros. I hope that hurts. But the two on the wall above them... They were going to be a problem. If he retreated inside, the assassins would likely escape; but if he remained out here, they would continue to shoot at him and sooner or later something would connect. 

Then Jacqueline shoved her head and arms out from under the bench. Her face was frozen with concentration, and her hands moved with a studied precision. The chunk of ice that formed in front of her open palms catapulted upwards, struck the stone wall, and erupted into a burst of cold that staggered one of the assassins and sent the other one tumbling loose to land hard on the balcony. 

Tavros swallowed and reversed direction, moving to put himself between her and the remaining assassin. He was distantly aware of Anica punching her blade up through her opponent's ribcage before dumping him onto the balcony. He got there just in time: the bolt slammed into him as he threw himself in front of Jacqueline. It nicked him through his scales, and again the wound burned; but again he ignored it. 

Jacqueline came to her feet behind him, raised a hand, and spoke three incomprehensible words. 

This time, Tavros didn't see what happened. He only saw that the remaining assassin jerked, and then fell. It was hard to tell, but Tavros thought this one was a man and he was dead before he struck the stone of the balcony. 

He stopped, sword still raised, then lowered it and turned back to face Jacqueline. Jacqueline Bouvier, daughter of one of the few men he truly, instinctively disliked. Jacqueline Bouvier, who'd just destroyed two assassins without a hint of hesitation, and hadn't taken the world's best chance to stab him in the back. Impressed didn't even begin to cover it. "Marry me?" he asked, tentatively. 

She whuffed a graceless laugh. "I was about to say the same thing."

"It's..." Tavros swallowed. "It's not going to be easy."

"Tavros..." Jacqueline shook her head. "You know I would have been willing, just to escape my father. But this... I want this. Let me be part of this."

"Dearest Amun, yes, please be part of this." He was all too aware of Anica moving around the edges of the balcony, looking up and then back down, casually hunting for more assassins. "I'll give you a proper proposal, something even Vigo and my mother will approve of, but please tell me you'll say yes when I do."

Jacqueline stood still for just a moment. Then she reached up, curled a hand around the side of his head, and kissed him.She didn't say I'll say yes, but by then she didn't have to.

Alliances Offered, Part Sixteen

"You should consider marriage, Your Majesty," said Dante Alighieri, and Tavros sighed. He needed assistance and support; instead, he received more demands. 

Nobody should wish to be king. It should fall to the person who draws the unlucky stick. Which I suppose is me, at this point. "You have suggestions, I presume?" asked Tavros, regarding the famed bard flatly across the wooden table where he was trying to study Vigo's map of the kingdom and its travails and loyalties. He needed to know this, rather more than he needed a wife to help cement his rule.

"Not as many as I might wish," Dante admitted, spreading his hands reluctantly. "There is some difficulty in determining who survived the approach of the dark army and the solari hunters."

Tavros sighed. "Do you have any suggestions at all, or is this advice of yours more in the nature of 'You need to be married and producing heirs, but I know not with whom'? Because if that's all you need, put Ruin on the throne."

The bard hesitated. "You have, I think, a very strong possibility in the young lady Bouvier, though such an alliance is less advantageous now that her father is once again in your service. Her lady, Tabitha Andiras, is also of noble birth and well-established... and I believe her aunt corresponds with your mother. And, of course, there is always the possibility that you could marry this so-called Warbear Queen, and settle--"

"What?" Tavros stopped himself with his claws halfway to Dante's throat. "No," he said. "Are you mad? I need to marry someone who will work with me, not against me."

Dante Alighieri had gone pale. "Of course, your majesty." 

"Leave me," Tavros said abruptly. "Now." 

The bard hesitated for a brief moment, then pushed his chair back and stood. 

"I will find a noble bride," Tavros said, managing not to grind his fangs together by an act of will. "I will do as the Kingdom requires. But I will not compromise us in a short-sighted quest for immediate stability."

Dante was still standing there. 

"Get out."

Dante went.

Tavros took a deep breath, and then another, and then another. He made himself remain still in his chair until the rage inside him had passed, and his head was clear again. Dante meant to provoke me, he concluded. The poet -- and likely Vigo the Whisperer as well -- felt that they needed a royal marriage, and heirs soon after. They would only have suggested a marriage with the Solari Hunter Jenny as a prod to get him to accede to something more acceptable. And the gods alone knew what sorts of pressures they might be bringing to bear on any likely noble daughters... and there were still some around, no few of them here in Caristhium.

I could still ask Martini to murder them both, he thought. The elvish assassin would likely do it just for fun, and ultimately the kingdom might even be better for it... or else it might be a disastrous mistake. And it wasn't as if they were wrong, exactly. He didn't intend to have anybody executed just because their good advice was unwelcome.

Damn it. Caught again. He needed to talk to the likeliest candidates, but before that he needed to decide just how much of this he was willing to put up with.

Alliances Offered, Part Fifteen

They were outside the manor when Aesa said, "So... you and Tavros?"

Jacqueline snapped back to attention. Aesa was Tavros' friend, and her opinion was important. "I don't know. I hope so. Maybe I'll just embarrass myself." She paused. "I could live with that, I think. It's not too late to go into hiding, after all."

Aesa laughed. "I don't think it'll come to that," she said easily. "I think that just by doing what you're doing -- being here, and helping as best you can -- you've shown your quality. I mean, maybe you're just earning our trust so you can betray us later. Vigo could do that, I think." She glanced at Jacqueline, sidelong. "Most people couldn't, though, and I don't think you are."

Jacqueline considered. "I don't think I could," she said after a moment, "but in any case I'm definitely not. You have no idea how much better I like it here." She shook her head, because actually shuddering was unbecoming for a lady of noble birth. "All of you can just... help each other out. Be nice to each other. Say what you mean and expect to be understood. Honestly, the foremost disadvantage to making an offer of marriage to Tavros is that I'll end up having to deal with the court again."

Aesa was silent for a long, thoughtful moment. Then she said, "He'll need someone to help him with that, though." She paused, still thinking. "And the court under Tavros may be somewhat different from what you remember."

"I hold to the hope," Jacqueline said fervently.  

"Well," said Aesa, "for whatever it's worth: I won't advise him against it, either. Marrying you, I mean."

Jacqueline hesitated, but she would never have a better time to ask and she wanted to know. "What was it like for you and Vendril?"

"Strange," Aesa said immediately. "I wouldn't call it a proper courtship. I was already raising a daughter, and her father had finally returned, but this presence kept showing up out of nowhere to talk to me and ask me questions. We'd heard of the Silver Fox even out here; he was a legend. He was a ghost. I still don't know what he saw in me, and when I ask he says it was just me. But eventually he asked if he could meet my daughter, and I told him he'd have to take off his mask for that... and he did, and Rose seemed to like him. It was a while after that before he asked if he could kiss me, and by then I was... comfortable, having him around. He kept doing little things for me: collecting Rose from the nursery, leaving small gifts, interceding to make sure that Anica and I didn't end up in a death battle with a bunch of elven bandits in the hills. He was there, and... concerned? ...when Ruin couldn't be. And he needed my support, too. He'd lost most of his companions, and finally been driven out of the city where he'd chosen to make his stand. I don't think he entirely knows who he is if he doesn't have somebody to protect. It was... I don't know. We just fit."

"And Ruin?" asked Jacqueline. "Don't answer if it's an indelicate question. It's just that Tavros seems to have a surprising number of elves around him, and Ruin and Martini are the closest to his concerns. Is Ruin... Is Ruin a problem?"

Aesa offered a reassuring smile, though there was a hint of sadness there as well. "Ruin is Ruin," she said. "I don't know how to describe it any better than that, and that won't make any sense if you don't know Ruin. He's... he's loyal, but also a little self-destructive and a lot angry. I don't think I can properly explain how we ended up having a child together -- it was a very fraught couple of days -- but he didn't deceive me or take advantage of me. If anything, he was trying to help me and things just..." She gestured. "...got out of hand."

"Vendril seems like someone I could trust," Jacqueline observed carefully. "You're saying Ruin might be too."

"You can trust him," Aesa said. "Honestly, I'd be more worried about Martini. But given what the kingdom is facing, Tavros needs someone murderous and scheming on his side too." 

Jacqueline nodded as she digested that. "Then I should trust Tavros' friends the way he trusts his friends."

Aesa shrugged. "Caution is never a bad idea," she said, "but ultimately I think... yes."

Alliances Offered, Part Fourteen

"M'lady Fontaine?" asked Jacqueline Bouvier, as the bald-headed servant led her into the wizard's study. The room was almost a cliche: bookshelves around the outside walls, and a pair of tables in the center, one loaded with alchemical apparatus and the other covered in a sheet of paper peppered with scrawled calculations and a sketch of a tower at its center. 

Emiliana Fontaine looked up from where she'd apparently been pacing back and forth while reading from a scroll. "What? Yes?" She focused on Jacqueline, and the priestess Aesa who had accompanied her. "What is it, child?"

Jacqueline swallowed. "You know who I am. You said I could ask you anything. I'd like to know... would you support me if I asked Tavros to marry me?"

The lady Fontaine blinked, then blinked again, and finally again. After a moment she she asked, "Would you permit me a question first?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Why would I ask him, or why would I openly ask for your support?"

"Yes," said Lady Emiliana Fontaine. "Both. You're scheming, obviously, but you want me to know it and be part of it. So... what's your angle?"

Jacqueline sighed. "This would all be so much simpler if Tavros had simply executed my father for treason," she said. 

"Yes," agreed Lady Fontaine, "but try telling him that."

Jacqueline chuckled. "No, I know. I even think I understand. In any case, it's too late now." She paused, sorting her thoughts. "I want... I want, more than anything, to be free of my father. He is... I don't even know how to explain it. But... if he isn't dead, then I want him not to have any more control over me."

Lady Emiliana regarded her for a long, silent time. "I can sympathize with that," she said at last. "Tavros was, in his way, my own form of protest -- though there was more to it than that, of course."

"Of course," answered Jacqueline. She knew something of the court gossip around Lady Emiliana, and she knew better than to trust that gossip. "The way I see it now, I have two options. I can disappear: change my name, go somewhere else, and try to live a life as someone who is not the daughter of Giles Bouvier. Or, alternatively, I can make an alliance with someone who elevates me above my father's station. That would be your son. And... if I'm telling you all... I like your son. I think... I think I would actually enjoy being a partner to him."

"All well for you," said the lady Emiliana, "but what is it that you would offer him?"

Stability. Heirs. The thought of being taken by someone so strong, so fierce, so utterly loyal overwhelmed her for a moment. Support. "I know how the Court works," she said. "I've seen its intrigues and its finances. And I'm not afraid to stand beside him. I know what he wants, or at least I hope I do. I could help show him how to get it, and my advice wouldn't be tainted by other loyalties."

Lady Emiliana set the book in the corner of the table. "Do you wish me to petition him on your behalf?"

"No!" Jacqueline covered her mouth, feeling slightly horrified. "No, I only hope you won't object when I petition him myself."

The Lady Emiliana Fontaine took a moment to consider. Then she smiled. "Very well. I will leave it entirely to the two of you, and if Tavros sees fit to ask me I will give my endorsement." She paused, then added: "I know you are helping my son with the petitions from the Order of Demeter, and I know that he is grateful. I do not know if he has thought of marriage, but I know that he appreciates you, and the help you have offered."

Jacqueline felt her cheeks burning. "I just hope I'm worthy of it."

Emiliana's smile widened. "Don't just hope. Be worthy of it. It always takes work. Always."

Jacqueline swallowed. "Do you know... when I first arrived here, the paladin Anica advised me to be Tavros' friend. Not just because he trusts his friends, but because his friends make him stronger than he would be alone. That's what I want from this. I want to be part of something like that. I want to belong to it."

Lady Emiliana hesitated, then approached her. For a moment, she studied Jacqueline's face; then she kissed her twice, once on each cheek. "Trust is not an easy thing to learn," she said quietly. Then: "But I know my son. If you are loyal to him, he will be loyal to you. It will take more than that, of course. But you can find the way if you seek it."

"I... Thank you," said Jacqueline Bouvier. "I... I will..." She swallowed. "Thank you."

She barely remembered leaving the room.

Alliances Offered, Part Thirteen

"Sacha!"

They had been back at the Temple of Amun for all of two minutes, and Leira was already back in her husband's arms. Tavros smiled as he watched them: they were so completely caught up in each other, so wrapped in joy that everything around them faded away. 

He turned away, suddenly tired. Their assault had been successful, at least, but that was about the best that could be said for it. Giles Bouvier was still alive, and still the Grand Marshall of the Eastern Army, and Tavros wasn't entirely certain how he felt about that. The man was certainly a competent commander, but he was definitely a political creature; his attempts to press for advantage while still disoriented from having been under the control of a Mind Flayer had been clumsy and easily recognizable and more than a little infuriating. 

So Jacqueline's impressions of him as a father were almost certainly correct.

Still, he hadn't attempted to claim the throne of Sol Povos of his own free will, and he was a more than competent commander. He could be left in charge of Welfort and what remained of the Eastern army. It wasn't what Tavros would have preferred, but then Tavros had nobody more trustworthy to promote to that position. Had he grown up in the Court, he might have known someone... 

He sighed as he made his way down the corridor. If he'd grown up in the Court, likely he wouldn't have seen Giles Bouvier as an undesirable candidate for such a position. The man's ambitions and expectations would have seemed perfectly normal. And likely he'd have accepted Vigo's insistence on agreeing to whatever offered the most value as simple common sense, no how disastrous that approach had proven in the past. 

He ducked into his cell, and grabbed the bottle of gnomish whiskey that he'd left on his desk. After the things he'd fought -- and nearly been killed by -- he desperately needed a bath. 

He wasn't ready for that yet. He wasn't ready to remove his armor, or to set his sword aside. Instead he let his steps take him to the stairs, and then to the long passage that led to the western balcony. The day was still young, too early to watch the sunset, but at least he could sit in the shadow of the temple and have a moment to himself. 

He stepped out through the archway, and crossed to the stone bench. 

"Your Majesty?" asked a woman's voice, cautious and polite. 

"Jacqueline," said Tavros, by way of acknowledgement. He glanced back, and noted that another of the junior priestesses -- Anmara, he thought her name was -- was standing beside Bouvier's daughter. Well, too bad if she overheard; he was done with pretending at things. "Call me Tavros, please. Anywhere else, I might be heir to the throne. Here, I'd prefer to be just another paladin."

He looked down at the simple stone bench, then settled into it. 

A single set of footsteps approached, and then Jacqueline asked, "May I join you?" 

Tavros motioned towards the far side of the bench. "Be my guest. I have news, as I'm sure you suspected."

"I'm sorry," she said, but she seated herself on the far end of the bench, leaving room enough between them for another person to sit. Two, if they were all especially comfortable with each other. "I was waiting for you to come back, and I thought you might come here first. Aesa said it was one of your favorite places."

Tavros nodded at that. Leave it to Jacqueline to learn my ways in self-defense. He pulled the cork from the bottle, poured three full swallows down his throat, and then offered it across to her. "Sip," he cautioned her.

After a moment, she took it. After another moment, he looked over at her and found her looking back at him. She looked down at the bottle, looked back at him again, and then tilted her head back and poured a bit of the whiskey into her mouth. 

To her credit, she didn't drop the bottle -- though she did slap the base of it down onto her thigh. She sat for a heartbeat with her mouth closed around the whiskey and her eyes wide. 

Then she swallowed, shook her head, and handed the bottle back as if it had all been nothing worth remarking on. "I nearly killed Tarric," she said, and her voice was only slightly raw from the whiskey. "I suppose this is my penance?"

Tavros poured more whiskey down his throat, then shook his head. "This is what I'm doing to recover from meeting your father. I take it you didn't actually kill Tarric. Did you kill Thesean?"

Jacqueline Bouvier was silent for a long moment. Then she said, "I didn't kill Tarric, but it was close enough that I had to call Aesa back to help. I did kill Thesean, and it was..." She held a hand out, and Tavros passed her the bottle. 

She took a swallow, this time making it look effortless. "It was possibly the most satisfying thing I've done in years," she said. She handed the bottle back. "Did you kill-- did you execute my father?"

Tavros took another long swallow and then shook his head. "No."

"No?"

"No." He handed her the bottle. "He was being controlled by a Mind Flayer, an ancient and powerful one. That was why he'd declared himself king, and why he was willing to let the Tarrasque run loose. He's... I think as a person that he's every bit as awful as you say, but he was the commander of the Eastern Army. I couldn't kill him once the Mind Flayer was dead."

Jacqueline took a drink, thought about it, and then took another, longer drink. "My ladies made it to safety," she said. "There's that, at least. The wizards brought them here, and your mother took them in." She raised the bottle again, reconsidered, and then handed it back. "I wish you'd killed him." She hesitated. "And I don't."

Tavros nodded. He wasn't entirely certain that he understood completely, but he understood being conflicted well enough. "You're more than welcome to remain here, and your coterie as well."

"Tavros..." She let his name trail off. "You look rough. How can I help?"

That... might have been the first time weeks that anybody had asked after his needs. He had advice aplenty, and more demands than he knew what to do with, but actual help? ...No, he didn't have anywhere near the amount of help he needed. He looked at the bottle, but didn't drink from it. 

"...Honestly?" he asked after a moment. "The Abbess said you've been helping Sister Tiva with the accounts. Could you meet with Demeter's bean counters and see what we'd actually need to build their portion of a temple for the Covenant of Amun? We'll likely need something similar for Helios and Amun. Vigo thinks that we'd need to at least double what the kingdom formerly donated to Helios alone, but temples bring in their own money and I'm not sure we need that much of commitment once the temples are built. I'd prefer to take the support that Sol Povos was giving Helios, and divide it among the Covenant instead."

Jacqueline was silent for a breath, and then another, and then another. "You're asking me to shape the future of the kingdom, you know," she said. 

"If you don't want to--"

"No." she replied firmly. "I have to live here too. I'll do it. I'll see how close we can get to the former commitment -- and if it has to be more, I'll make sure you know why. The Orders will want a stake here. I can use that. I've seen how it's done."

"Thank you," said Tavros, and settled back. He was profoundly relieved to have someone besides Vigo looking at the issue. Vigo was extremely smart and incredibly good at gathering information, but so many of his assumptions were still grounded in how things have always been done. Tavros meant to change that, as much as he could, and Jacqueline Bouvier sounded ready to help him. 

"Tavros--" He had his eyes closed, but he heard her shift her weight on the far side of the stone bench. "Thank you. You took me in. You trusted me." He felt her lips brush the side of his snout. "You don't even mind that I nearly killed your friend." She drew away, and Tavros felt suddenly, unexpectedly empty. "I'll make this work for you if I can."

Then her footsteps were crossing the balcony, heading back towards the archway. "Tabitha," she said, to remind the priestess Anmari. "I don't care what you heard, for a little bit longer I need to be Tabitha."

Alliances Offered, Part Twelve

"Ah, lady Andiras." The Abbess Hilda Sturmgart looked up from her desk, then sat back in her chair. The halfling priest Birno backed quietly out the door; he would wait in the antechamber until Jacqueline emerged. "Welcome."

Lady Jacqueline Bouvier, still pretending to be her own maiden companion lady Tabitha Andiras, offered a delicate curtsey, and the Abbess motioned for her to take a seat in one of the comfortably-padded chairs in front of the desk. That was yet another unreality, a lack of formality that would never have happened at court, but Jacqueline found that she was growing used to such things now. She seated herself without any fuss. 

"What brings you to my office?" asked the Abbess, kindly enough. 

"I don't--" she began, and then twenty years of deportment lessons fell on her head all at once. Be precise. Be definite. A noble daughter knows exactly what she wants and what is expected of her. She stopped, and began again. "You said I should come and speak with you."

"So I did," answered the Abbess. "Let's begin more simply, then. How do you find life here in the Temple?"

Jacqueline hesitated, then reminded herself that honesty had brought her farther in this place than anything else had. "If I were given gills and sent to live among the merfolk," she said slowly, "I don't believe I'd find it much more strange than this."

The Abbess laughed. "No, I suppose not. I have little experience with the High Court myself, since the priesthood of Helios always held pride of place there, but I know that the court is in many ways its own small, isolated world. You feel out of place, here?" 

She nodded. "Very much so."

"Well," said Abbess Hilda in a considering tone, "for whatever it's worth, nobody would know it to look at you. Sister Tiva tells me you have a surprisingly good understanding of finances for a lady's companion, and that your help with her books is most welcome. The others reported your success in stopping the assassin Thesean. And, of course, His Majesty is grateful that you brought him warning."

"Abbess..." Jacqueline swallowed. "I do have some questions." 

"Ask, then." 

She thought for a moment, but one question -- one incredibly stupid question -- was pressing to get in line in front of the others, and for all that she didn't want to ask it she couldn't seem to let it go. "Is it true that you sleep in one of those tiny little cells?" 

Abbess Hilda didn't laugh; instead, she tilted her head thoughtfully. "Yes," she said after a moment. "It's true. I can show you, if you like. But it's fair to say that that's also somewhat misleading, as all I do there is sleep. Most of my work is done in this office, which..." She gestured around at the well-crafted desk, the comfortable chairs, the paintings hung on the walls. 

"I mean... there's no shame in sleeping in a small room, here, is there? No... loss of status?" 

"Ah." The Abbess shook her head. "No. None. Anyone who sleeps alone, sleeps in one of the small cells. Those who sleep together have larger cells, but only enough larger to be comfortable. The Temple was built to be a citadel as well as a place of worship, and the sleeping-rooms are a matter of practicality rather than status."

Jacqueline nodded slowly as she took that in. Anica had explained and she'd believed, but... it was still a relief to have it confirmed by the Abbess. She considered for a long moment, then asked: "When we killed Thesean... everyone keeps saying it was good work, it was a good job, I did well. Abbess... I dropped a Freezing Sphere in that room and very nearly killed Tarric. And they all know it. Why... Why aren't they angry? Why doesn't Tarric hate me? Why do they keep saying I did well? I didn't do well. I was as much a danger to my allies as our enemies were."

The Abbess was silent for a long, long moment. Finally she said, "That is really something you should ask them, but I'll tell you what I think: I think it's because they're used to it. Magic is dangerous. Divine magic, arcane magic, it's all dangerous. It takes some practice to learn how to use it to harm enemies without hurting friends. You're surprisingly powerful for a mage who's never seen battle, but your mistake was exactly the sort of miscalculation they'd expect from a mage who had never seen battle before." She paused, then leaned forward. "And you're allowed to make mistakes. That's how you learn. That's how everybody learns."

Jacqueline swallowed. She was surprised by just how close to tears that absolution brought her, and she took a moment to compose herself before she asked her last question. "The last time we met... when the two of you identified me... His Majesty handed you some gold after I tried to teleport out. I think I understand that. It was some sort of bet, right? That I wouldn't trust you. And you were right, I didn't. So you won." 

The Abbess nodded. 

"But after I explained about my father, you handed two gold back to His Majesty. What did that mean?"

Abbess Hilda sighed. "I told Tavros that you'd grown up in the court, and that you'd never trust us. He said you'd at least be willing to listen, and I bet him five gold that he was wrong. Then I pointed out that we'd never be able to trust you either, and he bet me two gold that we could." The Abbess offered a warm smile. "And... well... after what you told us, I thought he was right." She leaned forward again. "I still do."

Jacqueline gaped at her. "You think I-- What--?" She stilled herself, drew a deep breath and released it, then drew another and released it as well. Finally, she said: "You trust me?" Why would you do that? 

"Yes," said the Abbess Hilda Sturmgart. "Because you've shown yourself worthy of it. We took you in; you didn't try to spy on us. The warnings you brought us have all proven true. You stopped one of your father's-- one of your lady's father's assassins yourself, and you worked with Tavros' friends to do it, and you didn't take advantage of what I'm sure was a wonderful opportunity to stage a tragic accident for one of my paladins. You could have made any amount of mischief in working with Sister Tiva's accounts, but you didn't do that either." The Abbess took a long, slow breath. "At some point you just have to accept that people are who they show you they are. And what you've shown to us... merits our trust."

For a moment, Jacqueline couldn't breathe, her chest was so tight. And then everything inside her came loose, so suddenly that she almost fell out of the chair. Her mind was blank; she couldn't think of anything to say. The idea that somebody might just trust her... more, that she might deserve that trust... she didn't know whether to scream or cry. 

The Abbess waited patiently, giving her time and silence to try to work through those thoughts, these feelings, this revelation. 

No, whatever happened, she was not going back to her father's court. And Tavros was already on his way there, if he hadn't done the deed already. So long as she does not forget her faithful servant, lady Fontaine had reminded her, and it was past time to get lady Tabitha and the others out of the path of the storm. 

She reached into her pouch, set the stone on the Abbess' desk in plain sight, and laid her hand over it. "Tabitha, tell the others to scatter. Then use the scroll hidden behind your headboard. Do not wait. I want everybody out now."

The reply came immediately: They're here already. I'll do what I can.

"It seems," said lady Jacqueline Bouvier, "that Tavros and his friends have arrived in Wellfort."

Alliances Offered, Part Eleven

Jacqueline Bouvier followed the smiling servant into the elegantly-appointed room, and bowed courteously to lady Emiliana Fontaine. The steel-haired woman was still in her dressing gown, black silk patterned with silver butterflies, but looked no less regal for that. 

"Come, sit," said the lady Fontaine, gesturing to the low table in front of her; she set the example by seating herself on the floor behind it. "The servants will bring what we need for this, and then we can speak frankly."

Jacqueline moved forward and seated herself opposite her host. "You honor me, lady."

Lady Fontaine held up a hand, and Jacqueline fell silent, waiting as the servants loaded the table with a variety of breads on trays, then an equal variety of cheeses, then sweetmeats and fresh-cut fruits. There was more here than the two of them could eat; more than than all the servants together could eat. Several pitchers were carefully placed as well, and Jacqueline found a hammered silver goblet in front of her, twin to the one in front of her host. 

When everything was in place, the lady Fontaine looked up and said, "Clear the room." As the servants departed, she glanced at another woman whose shaven head made her age difficult to determine and added, "And make sure it stays clear."

"It will be," acknowledged the woman with a grin, and slipped out through a doorway that Jacqueline hadn't noticed until now. 

Lady Fontaine waited for a long moment, possibly for dramatic effect and possibly to give the servants time to get completely out of earshot. Then she said, "I did not expect to find the lady Bouvier in my home, even -- or perhaps especially -- at my son's invitation."

Jacqueline Bouvier met her eyes and said, very clearly, "You mistake me, my lady. I am lady Tabitha Andiras, here in service to my lady Bouvier." 

The lady Fontaine nodded graciously. "Of course. You must forgive me; your aunt Semira writes to me of how proud she is that you have found a place at court. But in her recent letters, she worries that with the current strife even your place as a favored servant of the firstborn daughter of Giles Bouvier, the self-proclaimed King in the East, might not be safe."

"My mistress fears the same, which is why I am here." 

"She shows an admirable protectiveness for her loyal servant," observed lady Fontaine. 

No I didn't. I left her in danger and went off here. I thought I was going into danger myself, but these people... they continue not being the sorts of people I expected. Hesitantly, she said: "But she is also using me to prepare her own escape."

"So long as she does not forget her faithful servant," said lady Fontaine, leaning across the table to pour wine into Jacqueline's goblet. The emphasis there said plainly that she hadn't missed any of the subtext, and that she expected Jacqueline to take damned good care of Tabitha. Which she'd intended anyway, but...

"I shall of course remind her to do so." Jacqueline shook her head, then decided to change the subject. "I have met your son. He is a credit to your line."

The lady Fontaine offered a brief smile. "I am his mother; of course I would think so." She paused and tilted her head, studying Jacqueline closely. "You wish to marry him?"

Jacqueline shook her head immediately. "I wouldn't presume..."

Lady Fontaine blew air out between her lips, a dismissive sound. "But you've thought of it." 

"To spite my father," Jacqueline said. Then, to cover the slip: "So my lady says. It is an alliance my lady has considered, to spite her father. But His Majesty -- Tavros -- intends to execute Giles Bouvier, and with that done there will be no need."

"No?" asked the lady Fontaine. "Well, then. Let us not dwell on such unpleasant thoughts. Your aunt never indicated that you were such an accomplished mage. Who taught you?"

With no ready lies prepared, Jacqueline Bouvier answered honestly; and from there, the conversation fell into a discussion of wizardry and spellcraft and magical traditions... and food. It was early in the day and Jacqueline wasn't usually much for wine, but before long she was finishing her second glass and glad of it.

When they finished, the lady Fontaine rose and came around the table; Jacqueline rose to meet her. 

"You have fought your first battle this day," lady Fontaine said, "and done so on behalf of my son, albeit for your own reasons. Speaking as someone who was raised in the High Court, there must be many things here that you find strange. You have my leave to come and speak to me, to ask me anything you wish, and to know that I will answer you as honestly as I can." She paused, then added: "Food and drink and their attendant distractions should have helped, but the first kill takes everyone differently. You may have nightmares; you may find yourself suddenly shaking and cold; you might be stricken with guilt... however it comes, be gentle with yourself over the next few days, lady."

That was almost more than Jacqueline could digest; she made her courtesies and stumbled out of the room, walking almost at random until she encountered a servant who led her to a bedchamber. 

She barely remembered falling into the bed.

Divine Alliances: Cleaning Up the Mess

This is another one where my DM and I are swapping sections on a piece of writing, so some of this is mine and some of it is his. I'm also dropping this in much bigger chunks than I usually do, because there's a lot of stuff here and it's all relevant to where the campaign is right now, so spacing it out doesn't seem like a good idea.

Verkander Stoneheart seated himself gracefully on one of the benches in the dining hall. Tavros was still a few steps behind him, and still striving with all his might to maintain some vague semblance of a last shred of dignity. The acolyte had, at least, gotten the message: he'd gathered three others and hurried off towards the storerooms. 

Anica and Werendril had somehow contrived to remain at Tavros' side, and he was grateful for the show of support -- and at the same time worried for them. If this somehow came to battle, they wouldn't stand a chance. Neither would he, of course, but he might at least be able to keep himself alive long enough for some sort of help to arrive. 

Tavros nudged Werendril with an elbow. "Beer," he said. "Beer, and two tankards." Anica nodded.

Werendril took one more look at the massive dwarf, and said quietly, "I'll make one of them a pitcher." Then he was gone, slipping silently through the onlookers.

Sister Tiva, herself a dwarf, was making a direct line for Tavros, bumping aside anyone who didn't move out of her way quickly enough. Tavros nodded to her when she when she was close enough to speak. "Careful, Your Majesty," the priestess said quietly. "That one's Stonekin, blessed by Belrab."

"Belrab's Avatar," Tavros answered, nodding to show he understood.

Tiva looked momentarily shocked; then she shook her head. "No, being Stonekin is different. They're something like the True Elves are to regular elves. If this one's an avatar as well..." She shook her head. "I'd better sit wi' you, then." 

Tavros had never heard Sister Tiva slip into an accent before; she must be badly shaken. He nodded, and she followed him to the table, seating herself on the bench a moment after he did. Anica held back, and seated herself at a table behind him. 

Verkander Stoneheart seated wasn't any less intimidating than he had been outside the gates of the temple. He looked up briefly as Werendril reappeared and leaned down to set a full pitcher of beer in front of him, and a tankard of beer in front of Tavros. "Ah, good," he rumbled, and picked the pitcher up as if it were an ordinary mug. He downed half of it, then set it back down on the table. 

To match him, Tavros raised his own tankard and took a swig. The beer was decent, but it was whatever they'd had available in the kitchens; the acolytes hadn't yet had a chance to bring up more and better. "Verkander Stoneheart," he said, "I bid you welcome." 

The massive dwarf grunted, studied him for a long moment, and then said grudgingly, "Ye invited me in fer beer, an' made certain there was plenty o' it. That's welcome enough." 

Tavros nodded, accepting that, and waited while the avatar took another massive swig, nearly draining the pitcher. 

"Indra's man thinks he owns you," said Verkander, studying Tavros narrowly, "or at least has right o' first refusal tae ye." 

Tavros shook his head. "We have one goal in common: preventing the Order of Secrets from resurrecting Vecna here in Midgard. Whatever Ezra Cardon might think, I owe him no debts." He was on firmer ground here, having thought through that much at least. 

"Ah," said Verkander. "Then ye-- Ah!" He paused, because Werendril had returned with a second pitcher of beer and a tankard for Sister Tiva. The True Elf paladin collected the empty pitcher and departed again. "Served by an elf, yet. I wouldn't hae thought their kind'd be welcome here." He shook his head, but he didn't seem displeased.

Tavros shrugged. "You were asking...?"

"Right, yes. I were askin' if that meant ye weren't plannin' tae leave the Temple o' the Elements to Indra alone... or tae raze the whole thing an' build yer own temple atop the ruins, as Ah've heard."

Tavros studied the taciturn dwarf. Direct, plain-spoken, plain-dealing. So... "I was," said Tavros. "I no longer am." He took a sip of his beer, reconsidered, and added a healthy swallow. "At some point, I expect to have to confront the necromancer-priest Durest. With him destroyed, the temple of the elements would be derelict: empty and mostly ruined. It seemed a prime spot to build something new." 

The avatar growled, and Tavros nodded. 

"...But that assumed that the elemental orders lacked the resources to rebuild their temples, and the clergy to staff them. Since you do intend to rebuild, I will simply build my planned temple elsewhere, and leave your temple to the Stone Cabal."

Verkander grunted. "Plainly spoken," he said, with a sort of grudging approval. "If'n ye were willin' tae support the Temple of Stone, I could be of great help in getting rid o' this upstart necromancer." 

Tavros hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he shook his head. "I cannot. I fear I am already committed elsewhere. I am willing to acknowledge the worship of Belrab as a welcome addition to religious life of Sol Povos, and I might even be able to offer a small sum to help with the reconstruction of the temple, but I cannot offer ongoing support. And much of that will depend on how much of Sol Povos is left when I take back the throne, and how much will need to be rebuilt." 

The massive dwarf nodded slowly. "'Tis no whae I hoped to hear," he said, "but 'tis honest and fair."

Sister Tiva leaned in. "If ye wish tae avenge yerself on  the necromancer who tore down your temple, we would be happy tae offer assistance." She was playing the accent up deliberately this time, Tavros thought, matching the Avatar's tone to build an accord. She glanced at Tavros, who nodded: the Solari Hunters had been most dangerous as a team, and without their cleric the prospect of unseating the bear-queen went from suicidal to merely insanely difficult.

Verkander tilted his head to study her momentarily, then looked back at Tavros. "That... that, I will consider." Then he looked around the room. "For tonight... more beer!" 

Amun help me, Tavros thought. He didn't need more beer; he needed a couple of hours to think through everything that Vigo had said, and how to respond to it. But he also needed to keep the Avatar of Stone happy, and after the way today had gone a couple of beers would at least be a welcome relief. 

* * *

Three beers later, Tavros had left Verkander to drink with Anica and Sister Tiva, and set out for his cell -- where he'd hoped to come up with a gameplan. Things were on the edge of spinning out of control, and he needed to reassure all parties that no decisions had been made, and would not be made until after they’d all had fair and balanced negotiations. No, Tavros. Wrong word! Until after they’d all had fair and balanced… discussions. Yes, that’s better. It would buy some time, or rather he hoped it would buy time.

He still wasn't sure what he needed to do, but at least he had the beginnings of an idea. Now, however, he needed to check up on the Avatar of Stone, and...

Tavros paused outside the dining hall to straighten the expensive robes he’d changed into. Once he was convinced that he looked as kingly and composed as he could manage, he reached for the door handle, and stopped. The sound of bright, musical laughter poured from the other room. It was a female voice, dripping with enthusiasm. And it sounded like… Martini? What in the fuck?

It could be said that in the course of a typical week, Tavros might run into one, possibly two people as big as himself. As a general rule, he was almost always the biggest, strongest person in the room. Ever so often – maybe once or twice a year – he might meet someone larger, but it was a rarity. And yet, upon opening the door to the dining hall, he was confronted for the second time that day with a mountain of a man who was not only larger than Tavros, but made him look downright… skinny.

If Verkander was built like a house, this man was built like a marble statue. Actually, he made statues look puny. He had long, blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and striking features. His huge, muscled legs flexed with each step, stretching his fine breeches to their limit and exposing every detail of his chiseled physique. He had, for his size, a tiny waist, which made his massively broad shoulders look even bigger. His white silk blouse was clearly custom tailored (nobody made shirts that big), and yet it still strained to contain his huge, well-defined muscles. The effect was such that he might as well not have been wearing a shirt at all, but in the interest of modesty he had also dawned a sleeveless vest, which hung open. Tavros highly doubted that it could be fastened closed across his watermelon-sized pecs. He was carrying, under each arm, a full-sized keg, as if they weighed nothing. All in all, he was breathtaking to behold, which explained why Martini was walking beside him, laughing and giggling, with both hands wrapped around a bicep several times larger around than she was.

“Oh, pardon me!” the newcome exclaimed, nearly running over the gaping Tavros, “I just saw a couple of the servers struggling to bring these kegs upstairs and thought I’d lend a hand! Is here good?” He looked back to one of the acolytes, who confirmed.

“Tavros!” Martini exclaimed, “Have you met Gaston? Oh, isn’t he wonderful?” She seemed ready to take him right there in the middle of the room.

“Gaston…” Tavros mouthed dumbly.

“Well,” Martini said in a sultry voice, “you might know him by his nickname, Ironarms!” She squeezed his bicep playfully; it didn’t give an inch in her tiny hands. Gaston raised his other arm, flexed, and winked at her. She looked tremendously pleased.

The newcomer’s face lit up. “Wait, did you say Tavros? As in, King Tavros? Just the man I came to see! It’s an utter pleasure to meet you!” He grabbed Tavros’ hand and shook it vigorously, “A pleasure, a real honor! Name’s Gaston Galais, I’m actually from these parts originally. You must excuse me, I came in last night, but I was praying with the Abbess up until now. I hope you’ll pardon me for not presenting myself sooner, I know it’s poor form!”

Tavros’ mouth fell open, and he felt dizzy. Gaston Galais? THE Gaston Galais? He looked the massive man up and down. Yep, that’s him. It turned out Tavros knew exactly who he was: Gaston Galais, also known as Ironarms, also known as the mighty, world-renowned avatar of Amun. Tavros swayed on his feet, and looked around for Vigo -- not so much because he wanted the man's advice, but because it seemed impossible that another Avatar had shown up and Vigo wasn't here trying to manage him.

“Ah, there ya are, ya ‘majesty’!” It was said in a southern drawl, with the last word emphasized in a patronizing way. It was Marshall. “I just wanted to let ya know, that I took care of ya little problem.” He grinned and whispered conspiratorially, “Let’s just say our little buddy won’t be waking up anytime soon, or even tomorrow for that matter. I done ‘em real good, just like ya asked. He’s back in his room now, sleeping like a wee little baby.” Marshall patted Tavros on the shoulder and walked off, beer in hand. 

Well, that's one less thing I'lll have to deal with. Whatever happened next here, he was going to have to handle it on his own; he was surprised to find just how much of a relief that was. Very well... Tavros turned back to Gaston, but the man’s attention had shifted.

“Verkander?” Gaston exclaimed, “Verkander Stoneheart!? Well somebody pinch me, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Martini pinched him, and he had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. But a few batted eyelashes earned her quick forgiveness.

“Gaston,” Verkander nodded. He drained a pitcher of beer in three swallows and set it on the table, next to dozens of others, similarly empty.

“Why,” Gaston continued, “I haven’t seen you since the battle of Mill Valley!” He chuckled and grabbed a nearby tankard of his own, “I tell you, that was a story for the ages!”

“Why don’t you tell us, Gaston?” Martini purred. Her hands had not left his enormous bicep.

Gaston looked around the room, sensed that a small crowd had formed, and decided to regale them. He took a quick drink and leaned into the story, “Okay, there we were, just me and Verkander. We’d been sent east from Terranos to treat with this rebel group. Except the thing was, they didn’t want to talk, which they made clear by springing an ambush where the valley narrowed. By the time we managed to subdue the attackers on the ridge, the servants had been slaughtered and our wagons smashed.” He paused and looked around the room, giving the crowd a moment to ooh and ah at this terrible turn of events.

“Oh no, Gaston! I hope you weren’t hurt!” Martini stroked Gaston’s arm, as if looking for blemishes on his muscles. Luckily, she found none.

“No, I was okay, but we were in a predicament, because at that moment we heard the thundering of hooves coming from the east! You see, this was a problem, because we knew the town of Carris lay half a day’s march behind us, to the west.” As he spoke, he gestured in the air with his tankard to explain the location of the town relative to the attacking army. His other arm, most conspicuously and involuntarily surrendered to Martini, was entirely uninvolved in the illustration. “Verkander and I can hold our own, but this sounded like a hundred heavy horse. We knew some of them would ride right by us and sack the town. So I look at Verkander, and I say, ‘We’ve got to do something!’”

Verkander grunted in agreement, drained another tankard, and moved to the next. Tavros was starting to think they might need to bring up even more beer.

“So Verkander,” Gaston paused to take a swig, “you’ve met him, he’s a man of few words, he just looks me straight in the eye, does his grunt thing, and says, ‘Put the wagons there.’ I don’t quite understand, but he points to each side of the valley, and then I realize that it’s so narrow we can just clog it up. It turns out the rebels’ strategy to ambush us in the narrowest part of the valley would actually work to our advantage!”

There were some cheers and toasts in the room to this new development, and Gaston paused to let it soak in.

“The plan was simple,” Gaston continued, “one wagon on the left –“ he pointed with his tankard, “one on the right, and Verkander Stoneheart standing in the middle. My job was to stay behind him and clean up anyone who got past.”

Gaston pretended to be done, and drank his beer. Finally, someone cracked and prompted him in just the manner he was hoping for: “Well? Did it work?”

Gaston nodded, “Better than I could have possibly hoped. Other than needing someone to lift the wagons,” he flexed his arm, “it turns out I wasn’t even needed. Not a single attacker made it past Verkander.”

Someone exclaimed from the crowd, “He stopped all hundred horse, by himself!?”

Gaston looked surprised, “A hundred!? Heavens no, it only sounded like a hundred. It turned out to be a thousand!” Gasps of astonishment coursed through the room. Gaston looked at Verkander and raised his tankard in salute, “And that, my friends, is one of the many legends of Verkander Stoneheart.”

The room erupted in applause and cheers.

“To Verkander!”

“A thousand men? Did you hear him, a thousand to one! By himself!”

“To Gaston!”

“To Gaston and Verkander!”

“To Gaston and Verkander! And to Amun and Belrab!”

“Huzzah!”

Ruin appeared next to King Tavros, who was standing largely forgotten at the edge of the room, unmoved from where he entered. He looked around bewildered, “What in the actual hell is going on? I heard there was another Avatar and came to check on you, but–"

“We’re toasting Verkander Stoneheart, who held off a thousand heavy horse in the battle of Mill Valley… by himself,” Tavros explained, “but he needed someone to help him form a chokepoint by lifting entire wagons with his bare hands, which is where Gaston Galais, avatar of Amun comes in. So we’re toasting him as well.”

“And Martini?” Ruin asked, looking to where she had sat next to Gaston at one of the tables. She was practically in his lap and her hands were wandering shamelessly, without the slightest care for the avatar’s notions of propriety.

Tavros shrugged his shoulders, “Martini worships in her own way. It was like this when I came in.”

Ruin nodded his head several times, as if taking all the information in. Then he disappeared.

Tavros looked to the empty spot where his friend had been, shrugged again, and left the room. Might as well get some sleep, he thought to himself. He needed to talk to Gaston and Verkander alone, and it was clear that the former would not be separated from Martini this night, nor would the latter be separated from his beer. Perhaps I could get some nice, quiet reading in…

“Tavros! Tavros!” Sacha was practically running down the hall. Leira was holding his hand and skipping behind him with her skirts hiked up. “Is it true!? Gaston Galais is here!? Iron-arms himself!?”

Tavros pointed a thumb over his shoulder, “Dining hall.”

“C’mon, Leira! This way! You’ve got to meet him, you’ll think he’s just grand!” He dashed passed Tavros without another word.

Tavros shrugged, and kept walking.

“Tavros!” Eva this time.

“Dining hall… but she didn’t look interested in sharing!” That last part was called down the hallway after her as she retreated out of sight.

Tavros shrugged, and kept walking.

“And that’s why I can’t wear closed toe shoes anymore. You see right there, that big knob on my second toe…”

“Ahem, yes, but back to the matter of a temple for The Lady…”

As he walked by the open door, Tavros saw Geddy had his foot up on the table, showing it to the two negotiators from the church of Demeter.

Tavros shrugged, and kept walking.

As he turned the corner, a gaggle of young acolytes – all female – rushed past him, whispering to each other. They didn’t seem to even notice their king.

Tavros shrugged, kept walking, and came to his chambers.

“Tavros?”

“Dining –“ Tavros turned and stopped. It was Lady Emilianne Fontaine, his mother, “Oh, I assumed…”

“That I was another admirer, looking for Gaston?”

“Um, actually? Yes.”

Lady Fontaine chuckled, “Well, he is a very pretty man, I’ll give him that. And his muscles –“

“Mother, please.”

“Sorry,” she gestured at the door, “Shall we? You know Dante doesn’t want us to be seen interacting in public without all the proper pomp and circumstance.”

Tavros nodded and quickly led her into his chambers. He chose a chair by the fire and poured himself another much-needed drink, “So what brings you to the temple?”

Emilianne grinned, “In truth, Gaston. I was meeting with him and the Abbess earlier.”

Tavros rolled his eyes, “So am I to barter and deal with my own mother church for support as well?”

“I don’t think he’s here for the same reason as the others. Gaston made it very clear that he would be leaving in a few days. I think the church might have heard about some of the other petitioners, and decided it was high time to pay you a visit themselves.”

Tavros swirled his wine, “Someone to take a measure of me?”

“I believe so. And maybe to provide some guidance as well.”

“Guidance!” Tavros groaned and leaned his head back, closing his eyes, “Guidance is something I could surely use right now.  I thought I was dealing with adults who might be persuaded to see reason, but instead I seem to be saddled with a bunch of selfish toddlers.”

“Tavros,” a hint of her old, motherly chiding crept into her voice, “This is rulership. It’s not pretty.”

“I hoped there could be peace,” Tavros said regretfully, sloshing the wine around in his glass, “I hoped I could mend relations between elves and men.”

Lady Fontaine was silent.

Tavros leaned back and closed his eyes again, “Everybody seems to know what I should do. Fine, spit it out. What do you think I should do?”

“Make the best deals you can, secure the best allies you can. Winning the throne is more important than anything else, for if you fail…” she trailed off.

Tavros considered her words for several minutes in silence. “So… when it’s all done, I’ve made deals, sold off favors, and chosen sides… Am I, at that point, any different than my uncle? Or any of his predecessors? Haven’t I just picked up the thread and continued sewing the same pattern that’s been woven for centuries?”

Lady Fontaine looked down at her hands, “This is why you must choose your allies carefully.”

“This…” Tavros shook his head, “there must be a way to find allies who will support my goals. I cannot simply choose the strongest or those who offer most, else I'll be struggling against them for whole of my reign.”

"I wish you luck in that." His mother gave him a sympathetic look, nodded ever so slightly, and rose, “My liege, it is late and I must retire.” She curtseyed neatly, barely looking him in the eye, and left the room. When she left, Tavros threw his glass across the room and swore. Small wonder his mother had foresworn her place in the succession; if he'd had any sense, he'd have done the same. Still... she was correct that if he didn't manage to take the throne, nothing else that he hoped to accomplish would matter.

The next morning Tavros went the dining hall very early, hoping to avoid the crowds of people he didn’t want to talk to. To his surprise, Gaston Galais was already sitting at a table, cutting up sausages with surprisingly refined manners.

“Your majesty!” Gaston said, “Please, honor me.” He gestured to the spot across from him. Tavros had no choice but to sit.

“Sir Galais, the honor is ours. How long will you be staying with us?”

“Oh?” Gaston blotted his mouth with a napkin and swallowed, “Actually, I’ll be leaving today.”

“Today?” Tavros was shocked. He had expected another protracted negotiation.

“Yes, I’m heading up to Chuva Norte. We have many new followers up there, and I plan to spend all spring, when the Partidos are in full swing. When all the people are together is the best time to spread the word of our good lord.”

“Of course,” Tavros nodded. He’d heard of the migratory Partidos, where people gathered to celebrate the spring before moving back to their homes for the summer, but knew little else. In truth, he knew little beyond the boundaries of Sol Povos. It reminded him of how painfully ignorant he was. “I’d hoped you might lend your arm to our cause.”

“No,” Gaston said quickly, “our lord has already favored someone in this conflict. I merely came to meet you for myself, and –“

“To give me some advice,” Tavros finished.

Gaston stopped eating for a moment and looked at Tavros seriously, “If necessary, but I’m not sure it’s needed.”

Tavros rolled his eyes, “If you say so. All these deals and negotiations, I’m in over my head. And I've only a very few people I can trust to guide me.”

Gaston shrugged and continued eating, “You’re over-complicating things.”

“Am I?” Tavros felt slightly offended.

“Brother,” Gaston said, “in a great battle, in the thick of it, what do you do?”

It seemed like a test, but Tavros was in no mood to back down, “I assess the position of my troops and rally their morale –“

“No,” Gaston cut him off, “you’re in the middle of a big, bloody battle, surrounded by hollering friends and foes, no idea which is which. What do you do? What do you really do in that situation?”

“Oh,” Tavros said slowly, “I look for the most dangerous enemy I can see, and I kill him.”

“And then?”

“And then I kill the next one.”

Gaston nodded his head, “Exactly, and so on, and so on, until there are no enemies left. Then you survey the field to see what remains, and start picking up the pieces.”

“Of course,” Tavros said, “but I don’t see –“

“It’s the same,” Gaston said simply gesturing around him, “this is all the same. You kill one enemy, and then the next, and when it’s done, only then do you survey the field.”

“Are you saying,” Tavros began slowly, “that I should just take the best deals I can to defeat my enemies? Because that seems to be the advice everyone is giving me, and it seems remarkably short-sighted.”

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t over-complicated things. You know, when I became our lord’s avatar, I communed with him. He showed me what it was like being mortal, versus being a god. We are such transient beings, brother – here for the blink of an eye, before being replaced by the next generation. If you could see things as he does, as he showed me for that brief second, you would understand how utterly insignificant some of these decisions are, like a drop of water in the ocean of time.” He waved his fork at Tavros, with a sausage hanging on the end, “And you wouldn’t worry so much.”

“You think I should accept your buddy Verkander’s proposal?” Tavros asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No, no, that’s for you to decide. He’s a solid fighter, but not without his flaws. And I don’t think you’ll have any shortage of suitors vying for alliances with the future king. Your only concern should be winning the battle right in front of you. The future doesn’t matter unless you win the throne.”

Tavros nodded his head. Somehow, advice from a fellow warrior resonated with him easily. “I guess I see your point. In a way, it’s no different than a battlefield. The goal is to stay alive, and you take it one step at a time.”

“Precisely,” Gaston smiled wide, “that is the way of our lord’s work, and why he’s so encouraging and accepting. We are transient creatures, living in the moment, and all he asks is that we do what good we can in the moment, one act at a time, in whatever way we can.”

“Thank you,” Tavros said gravely, “your coming here has truly lifted my spirits. It was perhaps…” he smiled, “exactly what I needed.”

Gaston wiped his mouth one last time, “Glad to be of service, brother. I will pray for you.” He stood and swung his leg over the bench slowly, as if it pained him greatly.

“Are you okay!?” Tavros asked, bolting to his feet.

“Yes, yes, I’m okay. It’s just that…” he looked at Tavros sheepishly, “it’s just that your friend, Madame D’wintlither…”

“So that’s why you’re up so early!” Tavros exclaimed.

“Yes, well, if you see her…” he winced as he bent to scoop up his scabbard and backpack, lying by the door, “do give her my regards. Goodbye, brother.”

Tavros watched the avatar of Amun walk out the door and chuckled. He laughed for a long time, and by the time others started filing into the dining hall, tears were running down his cheeks.

Dante Alighieri was one of the people entering the hall and rushed to Tavros, “My liege, are you okay? Have you… lost your wits?”

“No,” Tavros gasped in between laughs, “no, I’m fine. I’m great actually.” He wiped the tears from his eyes and caught his breath, “I’m better than great, Dante. The best I’ve felt in weeks. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Dante said, puzzled.

“Now,” Tavros stood decisively, “Let’s get moving.”

“Moving where, your majesty? What are we going to do?”

Tavros stopped at the door and shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. One step at a time.” Then he strode out of the room, chuckling to himself some more at Dante’s gaping expression.

* * *

"Ah," said Mythandril, looking up from his book. "What brings you to the library, Your Majesty?" 

"In truth, I came to find you," said Tavros. "Do you mind?" 

"Not at all, Highness," said Mythrandil, straightening. He re-rolled the scroll he'd been reading and set it aside. "What is it you wish of me?"

Tavros regarded him for a moment. "Well," he said, "I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of difficulty, and I don't see any way to get out of it without your help."

Mythrandril looked surprised. "Truly? I admit, it would please me to be doing something useful, though I hope you'll forgive my suspicion in asking you to explain in detail before I make any promises. As entertaining as it has been to attend Your Majesty's strategy sessions, I have never in my life met so many people so thoroughly opposed to hearing me speak."

Tavros blinked. Oh, crap. All this time, and...? "I thought you were staying silent out of... I don't know, actually. Some desire not to interfere in the affairs of Sol Povos, perhaps. I hadn't realized. I apologize, I should have called on you directly."

Mythrandril shook his head sadly. "Kings don't apologize, Your Majesty." 

Tavros said, "This one does. But that's part of the problem, it seems."

Mythrandil just waited. 

"You know -- or perhaps you don't; I may have been naive in this matter, too -- that I intend for you to become King in Duendewood." He swallowed. "I haven't spoken much of it, because it hasn't seemed safe to mention, especially before I've managed to claim the throne."

"Ah," said Mythrandril. "I had wondered why you were keeping me here, or to put it more politely why you had permitted me to remain."

Tavros chuckled. "I had hoped to reunite the realm, but after all this I don't believe that's possible. The point was driven home to me rather forcefully by the reaction to my stated intention to build a temple complex to be the center of worship in Sol Povos. I had hoped that the gods could be satisfied with official recognition and token monetary and political support, and had planned to include temples to Amun, Demeter, Helios, Artemis... and Corellon Larethian."

Mythrandril blinked, and Tavros thought that this time he'd actually surprised him. After a moment to royal elf shook his head sadly and said, "Dearest Gods, man. Nobody would be satisfied with that. Not the gods, not their worshippers, not your subjects."

"In my defense," said Tavros, "that was very much the idea."

Mythrandril looked thoughtful. "You planned to play them off against each other." 

Tavros gave a slight shrug. "Balance them against each other, but yes." 

He was well aware at this point that nobody was going to see it that way, but Mythrandil's pensive expression only deepened. "I can almost see it. No true primacy for anyone, but enough recognition that they could all comfortably grow their followers. It would never have worked, though. Even leaving aside the recent war and the current political mood, you've name the three primary gods of the Covenant of Amun, then added one from the Covenant of Nepthys and another who belongs to no Covenant at all."

Tavros nodded. "And who fathered a race which far too many of my people have come to see as our hereditary enemies," he said miserably. 

There was a momentary pause. "So," said Mythrandril. "Do you want me to tell you how I suspect Vigo intends to get you out of this? Or would you prefer to tell me yourself?"

Tavros quirked a grin. "Why don't you tell me? It would be nice to have someone besides Vigo acting mysterious and knowledgeable for once. And if you're wrong, perhaps your solution will be better than his."

Mythrandil sniffed, amused. "Very well. Vigo will want the Avatar of Demeter on your side, and he likely believes that you must show some deference to Helios to retain the loyalty of the Solari and the nobles. He's very likely correct on both accounts. He's probably irritated that your commitment to Amun doesn't provide more in the way of resources, though having a temple full of loyal priests and paladins is no small thing. So he will want you to limit your commitment of the coin of the realm -- and the associated recognition and political influence -- to the three gods who belong to same Covenant and can therefore be expected to stand together. He will want you get everything you can in exchange for... permitting me to take up a crown for Duendewood, but at this point if I am willing to take over the care and funding of Corellon and Artemis then he would consider that a fair return, especially given that you intend to do this anyway."

Tavros coughed quietly. "I'm beginning to wonder if I shouldn't turn the whole kingdom over to you," he said. "You're rather a lot better at this than I am."

Mythrandril shrugged and stood. "I was raised for this, trained for this, for all of my childhood. You'll get there, Your Majesty, especially as you get better-established and more familiar with it. And to answer the question you didn't ask: Yes, I'm willing to do what you need. I'd have supported the Temple of Corellon anyway, and Artemis is well-loved among the elves. In fact..." he considered for a moment, then said: "I will also pledge to make formal alliance with Sol Povos -- not just to end the war, but to make a pact of mutual protection for our two nations once the current troubles are resolved. That should ease your way with the Whisperer, at least in some small measure."

"An alliance would be most welcome," Tavros admitted. "You should know that Ruin, Martini, and Marshall Mercy will be traveling north in a few days, to assist the Resistance and slay the false king Lamont. Very likely they will weaken the priests of Appollyon in the process. That should help clear the way for your return."

Mythrandril chuckled and shook his head. "Trouble does seem to find them," he observed. "I can work with that, especially if I can make contact with the Resistance."

"The mages should be able to handle that," Tavros said. "They can even send you north, when you're ready... Your Majesty."

* * *

Tavros stopped in mid-stride as he approached Vigo’s chambers, for he heard sounds of agony coming from within. A servant rushed out of the room with a full bucket of… something. Marshall was right behind him.

“Oh, there ya are, ‘your majesty’” Marshall said, “I was just checkin on our little guy.”

A violent retching sound came from Vigo’s room.

Tavros looked at Marshall with a sense of mild alarm, “Is he okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” Marshall said easily, “He just fine. A little poison is good for the body, that’s what I always say!”

Another retch came from within, and another servant rushed by with a full bucket.

“Shouldn’t he have done that last night!?” Tavros asked, his concern growing.

“Oh, no,” Marshall said emphatically, “O' course not. He wanted to, o’ course, but I saved his gentle soul.”

“What do you mean?” Tavros glared at Marshall. The man either didn’t notice or was unfazed.

“I just reminded him how it important it was to keep all that poison inside yer body!”

“Thanks a lot, Marshall.”

“Oh, don’t you even mention it, Mr. Majesty, I’m just happy to spread the joy of Artem-hiss.” He clapped Tavros on the back and floated off, his chubby, emaciated legs dragging behind him like a pair of vestigial tails, and his actual tail swishing through the air.

Realizing that Vigo would not be of any use this day, Tavros chuckled and continued walking. He’d thought to bring the man up to speed on Verkander Stoneheart and Gaston Iron-Arms, but that could wait. And it'll do Vigo good to have some decisions made without his input. When he reached the main hall, he bumped into Sister Tiva.

“Your majesty, I was looking for you!” Tiva said.

“And I for you,” Tavros replied, “I was going to speak with Verkander again.”

Tiva looked down at her feet as if she’d done something wrong, “You can’t, your majesty. He’s… he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Tavros asked.

“Yes, he left very early this morning.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I happened to come across him as he was marching out the front door. He didn’t tell anybody or announce it. I’m not sure he even slept last night. He just drank, and drank, and said nothing other than grunting from time to time. Then he got up and left before first light.”

“He didn’t say anything?” Tavros asked, astonished.

“I… I asked him if he wanted me to give you a message,” Tiva said.

“And?”

“He said no.”

“He refused?”

“Actually,” Tiva said slowly, “I think that was the message. Just that one word.”

“I see,” Tavros said, “So he didn’t seem too pleased, I take it?”

“No.”

"Is he angry, do you think?"

“Your majesty, if I may, I do not think you need to fear Verkander Stoneheart as an enemy.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I don’t think so, at least not really.”

Tavros put his hands on his hips, “What does that mean?”

“Well, it seems to me he feels you have dishonored him, by refusing support after their temple was destroyed. So, he may, in the future, demand that his honor be satisfied in some way, as is their custom. But I do not think he will truly stand against you as an enemy.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Tavros ventured.

Tiva winced, “Well, it depends. He may ask you for money, or there might be a token attack on a border town, or…”

“Or?”

“Well, just don’t go drinking at any dwarven bars in the future. That would be best.” Tiva nodded her head, as if the last advice were the best.

Tavros shook his head, “Okay, thank you, Sister Tiva. Now, if you please, I must consult with my advisors.”

Tiva managed the best curtsey a dwarf could, and hustled off down the hall to attend her daily duties. In truth, it didn’t sound so bad to Tavros. He wasn’t supposed to go to bars anyway.

“Tavros!” the gravelly, irreverent voice of Ezra Cardon echoed down the hall. He had actually come inside. Apparently the departure of Verkander Stoneheart was quite meaningful to him, although he still looked around at the walls like a caged animal planning its escape, “I have information on that rat bastard, Vecna!” He spat on the floor and Tavros glared at him.

“Perhaps,” Tavros said diplomatically, looking at the soiled tiles and the trail of water behind Cardon, “it would be best to talk outside.”

As they walked to the garden, Tavros sent for Geddy, Eva, and Leira, who joined them a few moments later.

“All right, so these bastards were in Wellfort, right…”