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[color=a187be][i]Ashkevron Residence in Askavi[/i][/color][/center]

The mood of the room was palpable.  She could feel things turning more and more sour.  Breakfast served and the men in a state of disarray.  Without their master and commander, so to speak, everyone was dancing on the edge of a knife.  Things finally came to a crossroads when Mikhail re-appeared.  He had a warm smile for her.  His face becoming something nearly handsome but then the sight of the others brought him back to the ice he held around his heart.

His words sent the energies around her into a chaotic swirl.  She set aside the cast iron skillet which had the half-done makings of a pancake within it.  It would burn but at this moment it was not her concern.  She was a Queen.  Not a practiced one to be sure, but she was one.  Her grey slowly seeped from her, pushing down and quelling others as she prepared to speak.  Her psychic energy created a cloud of calm about her.  She did not turn from the stove.  Instead, she busied herself with ensuring that the breakfast would not go to waste.  Placing a cover over Faeril's plate, finishing up final cups of coffee, and turning off units of flame.

The room was quieted, only the ring of the boy's speaking their piece pierced her cloud.  Finally, Fatima turned from the stove and looked over all the people in the room.  Her green eyes searching faces as the silence lingered much too long.  [b]"He is mine and he will speak to me as he likes until I say it is wrong,"[/b] she began.  Her words were firm, her chin tilted upward as she surveyed the kingdom of kitchen.

[b]"And do you not think our dear benefactor would be tired?  How many has she healed?"[/b]  Her moss hues studied each of the boys.  "When was the last time she has worked this hard?"  Each Eryien, protectors of the Black Widow, were shockingly naive at the way consumption of power could drain a woman. [b] "I had hoped she might ask for help, but it seems our lovely lady of the house has deigned to drain herself."[/b]  A wry smile came to her lips as she looked over the Eryien men who had made themselves Faeril's protectors. [b] "How very like a lady.  She has things to curse at me about, as you know.  However, it is high time someone gave her a stopping point too."[/b]

Fatima moved from the stove and gently placed her had on Mikhail's arm. [b] "Lead me to her, please."[/b]  A small, nervous smile and then she looked back at the men who teetered on the edge.  Her features held her determination to not let this situation become a bloodbath.  [b]"Belor, would you come with me?  I believe you are more practiced at dealing with how she will spit and hiss.”[/b]  Playfulness edged her tone, but she wished Lucivar was there.  Having his power to back her own would make her feel even a little bit more confident.

She left the room with Belor in tow and Mikhail leading the way to the room of secrets.  How she would have liked to dig and snoop into the Black Widow’s cabinets.  Unfortunately, there would be no time.  There, on the bed, as promised, was the sleeping form of Faeril.  Fatima, ignoring the men at this point, pulled a stool close to the bed and sat down next to it.  Whether they entered or not was of no concern to her.  Now she would focus on her patient.  The Healer Queen gently smoothed back the hair from Faeril's face.  Her first step was to reach in and feel what ached.  She had dwindled herself down, in Fatima’s opinion, quite dangerously.

Fatima sighed and looked up toward the ceiling, closing her eyes.  Her breaths were slow and steady.  In. Out.  In.  Out.  She prepared herself before placing her hands at Faeril's stomach.  Her first job was to relieve these tired muscles of aches and pains.  Her fingers phased into the woman and processed the emptiness of her stomach and the tiredness of muscles.  It would take time as the young healer began the process of helping an overly worn body relax.