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For all she looked like a ancient Black Widow, the Summer-sky Jewel danced on its chain over the battered gown as the woman gave Jandar a squinted look as if seeing if he was truly a trustworthy young man. Seeming content that he was exactly that to her withered sight, the woman gave a crooked smile. Her teeth worn and aged between cracked lips. "Oh, thank you Lord." Bending enough she scooped up a single delicate looking wooden box in one hand and hobbled down the road. "If you'd be so kind, my home lies a bit outside of town. I'd travel the Winds there but the Craft doesn't come well to someone so old and my sanctuary lies off the traveled Winds. Bit of a blessing if I'm honest." She gave a sharp and good natured cackle. "It's less noisy." She explained though there was a bit of a sadnes in those dark eyes. The boxes and bags that Jandar plucked from the dusty cobbles were a mixture of provisions someone would need a good distance from the town for a bit of time and a few particular items. One bag contained color agents and another carried wax. A smaller bag that was deceptively light held coils of threads that smelled faintly of a scented oils. As they moved down the street, people were careful to give the woman her space, though there was a notable respect in their eyes as they greeted her and pointedly eyed the stranger with her. The Summer-sky witch's replies were cheerful enough, though there was a distinct weariness about her tone. She had been alive for a very long time and recent events had tugged and pulled at her heart as old memories of happiness and loss warred over a lifetime.

"Dammit, it all Prince." The Chaillot native growled in an irritated town as Xandar corrected him, a hand moving to rub the back of his blonde head. "Then come out with that first. I've been thinking more for my wife and myself. Not for an entire village." Sighing the Warlord gave a weak shrug. "Not that I would trust an entire village with even the cleverest boy. The Queen here. Alice? She's decent enough compared to the bitches we had to deal with, though with some goading I could see her suggestions and pouts turning to those furious demands. Especially if it was something that could give her a leg up with the Provincial Queen and make her one of Elizabet's favorites." He warned as the Reaper opened the door to leave. "Prince, do be careful and if I were you, I'd hide those wings at least. I'll ask around to see if there is a place for the boy other than us, but I doubt it. Lauran and I have been keeping to ourselves." Shifting nervously he stared off towards the door his wife had disappeared through. "Tomorrow night, I'll stop by that tavern. I doubt you will stay later than that?"

The youngest of the Eyrien brothers, Denvar, gave Dareen a weak smile as he glanced nervously at the thunderous looking Gen and Faeril. "Hold onto your seat. We're going to be in for some rough weather." He muttered in what could almost be an amused tone. "Call. Really, a raise against my hand?" He said a bit louder, attempting to distract from the storm he felt swirling about the room. As the Ashkevron and Saroth families were so close that they were very near to siblings, it was not odd that an occasional clash of wills would happen. As Gen was Faeril's erstwhile protector those clashes tended to happen a bit more often than either cared to admit when a situation was particularly stressful. Which this wasn't, but the topic was a delicate one that he hoped no one would tread on later with the Black Widow. That would be interesting to explain to their Lady. 'Oh, yes, well you see someone asked a question a bit to far so Faeril broke their mind. Don't worry! She might be able to fix it when she calms down. As for their balls? No, I think those are gone for good." Denvar snorted in amusement, his gold eyes dancing.

"You know we cannot." Gen switched to their native Eyrien tongue, as he tried to force reason through Ashke's thick skull. Why was this woman always so stubborn?!

The said woman was giving him an imperious look that warned of danger as Fatima walked down the stairs. "What we can or cannot do lies within the choices we make. I have made this one."

The innkeeper gave Fatima a knowing smile and nodded easily enough, Dunny watching the scene play out in the common room as he sat on Fatima's heel. "Oh, I know exactly. There's a stall in the market square. You'll want to talk to Rebecca, our little herb woman. She grows them for any witch who might need them. A bit of a warning though, don't mention my name. She's a sweet girl, used to work here, but we had a bit of a falling out when she married her husband. Lord Jeoff of Lady Alice's First Circle. I told her it was a fool's match, but she wouldn't heed me. I don't think they've shared a house in nearly half a year with how busy he is sorting out things for Lady Alice."

"It's a fool's one!" The raised Eyrien voice cut through the conversation as Gennar gave a glaring snarl at the witch. Still speaking in their native tongue. "You know if the lad stays with us then he's as good as dead. We all risk it doing what we are. But you would be as selfish as to bring a child into that?!"

The snap as Faeril flipped her wings cut the Warlord off from replying as her own words cut the airs like his warblade. "I am not so selfish, but he we leave him here there will be death in time. I can and will protect him Gennar Saroth. Do you doubt me?!"

The Warlord was standing and glaring at the Black Widow now, their hurled Eyrien words perhaps not understandable to others but the vicious tones a clear indication that what was being said was not kind. "I doubt you when you can't look after yourself. You will stretch yourself too thin and leave the boy exposed to danger. We went through this once, he is of the short lived races. You will watch him die. He is not your son, Faeril."

"Gennar!" Denvar sat up straight and stared in horror at the stricken face of Faeril as though the large man had slapped her. "That's too far!" Helpless he watched the witch turn and stalk from the room to the small courtyard that held enough room for a buggy and two stabled horses, not that they had that. Though they had managed to fit the carriage in there. "Fuck. Gen, you went too damn far."

The larger Eryrien sat down heavily as he stared glumly at the cards. "She needed to hear it."

"Still... Fuck."

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Fatima sipped her drink and listened carefully to the barmaid. She noted down the meager directions she gave her and quirked an eyebrow upward with interest when she told her not to mention her name. Lady Alice, eh? And the woman she was sending her to was, in not some small way, close to the Queen. Well, so to speak. It was unknown whether the great Lady Alice would deign to give her time to some plant pusher. Fatima simply smiled and paid the woman for the drink. "Thank you kindly, I'll keep that in mind." She spoke with good humor in her voice.

She turned as a row began between Faeril and Gennar. Fatima's smile turned to a frown as she watched, listened, and attempted to understand what the argument was about exactly. She absently leaned down to pat Dunny on his cute, fluffy head - as if to assure him that all was well despite the voices becoming raised. The end of the argument left Fatima feeling like she too had been slapped, though none of it was directed at her. Fatima admittedly knew nothing about Faeril or that she may or may not have a son. She also didn't speak Eyrien. She did, however, understand loss, and felt passionately about the way Gen had decided to go about reminding their Widow of the impending loss of Thom. At least, she assumed that was what he was saying. Not the place. Not the time. Not that she, herself was famous for her supreme tact. She did feel for the woman though; Gen's harshness striking discordant cords on her soul.

With a grim line pressed into her lips, she approached the group and looked between the four Eyriens. "May I ask why we chose to have this particular conversation here? In front of the whole Inn?" she asked with patience pulled so taught that a wrong answer was sure to break it. One could practically hear the twang of that wire plucked in the notes of her voice. "And why, exactly, you felt it necessary that Faeril hear that particular set of words in that particular tone of voice in this particular instance in front of near as well as complete strangers?" Her cold gaze was turned to Gennar now. She was not a pleased little Queen, quite evident in her posture and the ice dripping from her words.

The atmosphere was quickly getting worse between Gennar and Faeril and it wasn't necessary much for him or anyone else at the room to realize that and Denvar seemed to know very well what was about to come. Even though Mikhail was together with the group for a short time, he knew enough both Faeril and Gennar to understand that both of them had strong opinions and that nothing good would come from them clashing... as they were about to do right now.

Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, the moment they started discussing, they started speaking in their native Eyrien tongue, which Mikhail didn't know, leaving him completely in the dark about their conversation. Nonetheless, it wasn't necessary for Mikhail to understand their words to know that their small 'discussion' was fierce. Unsurprisingly, the conversation ended up with someone saying something that they shouldn't... When Gennar finished saying a particular sentence, Faeril reacted in a way that Mikhail had never seen before. With a stricken and really offended, it was a new face of the Black Widow for Faeril. She had always been an incredibly strong woman, in all aspects so Mikhail never expected that something could be said that instead of making her angry would make her react that way.

Without saying a word, Mikhail went after Faeril as Denvar and Fatima began scolding Gennar, apparently, rightly so, for whatever he had said. According to how both of them reacted, Gennar said something that he really shouldn't have said as it became evident by the cold tone in Fatima's voice, who normally was incredibly sweet.

"Faeril...?" Mikhail asked, approaching the courtyard she went to cautiously, trying to probe if his presence was going to be accepted by the Black Widow or if she would like to be alone for a while.

"I don't know Eyrien so I don't know what that was said but... I've never seen you like that. Is there something I could do for you?" Mikhail asked, looking to Faeril as he approached her. Even though Mikhail was awkward with that sort of stuff, he did feel at least someone should go after Faeril, after all, it was really a shock to see her react like that, the same strong woman that never wavered or even got phased by most situations.

Dareen chuckled at Denvar's comment and sank further down into her chair as she began to realise that he was nervous about something too. Gennar and Faeril were beginning to clash blades, and they immediately switched into their native tongues to do so. Still, if Dareen had to guess, she would guess it had something to do with the little boy that had tagged along with their little group of terrorists and ne'er-do-wells. The mercenary herself was completely neutral to the idea, and even if she did have an opinion she imagined it wasn't her place in the group to voice it. Right now she was just tagging along and trying to make herself useful.

Either way, as Gennar and Faeril began to argue, Dareen was extremely uncomfortable. This kind of discord was very uncommon among her mercenary group. Nothing that couldn't be settled with a fist fight or more tactful speaking. From their tones of voices, this was more than just a strategical debate- it was personal. Very awkward. It didn't help that if she wanted to talk with Faeril soon she would have to speak with the Black Widow after she just had an argument.

Someone- Gennar, apparently- said somethign they shouldn't have, and Faeril looked like she had been slapped in the face by someone she couldn't slap back. Normally if someone slapped Faeril in the face, they would get what was coming to them, Dareen imagined, but in this case the only recourse provided to the Black Widow was to exit the conversation entirely.

Eugh. Ugh. This is the worst, Dareen thought. This feels worse then that fight to the death I had back at Faeril's house. Or that time I thought I was going to die for sure at Faeril's hands. I'm ashamed to say it doesn't feel quite as bad as when I had to wear that dress. I think maybe my priorities are out of whack.

Mikhail followed behind, and Fatima returned to be the conversation looking like a house of cards that explode on impact.

What were they talking about? This was heavy stuff, apparently.

She imagined Denvar wasn't going to be paying much attention to the game now, so Dareen tried to become as socially invisible as possible and remained completely still. It was probably best that she got up and left, like Mikhail, but where would she go? What if someone looked at her or told her to sit back down? Her back was literally against the wall, like she always liked it, but in this case she felt trapped between a rock and three to four very tense people. If she got up, she would have to awkwardly scoot past the standing Fatima. If she accidentally brushed up against Fatima, Dareen knew for a fact that she would freeze to death and become an iceblock. Not gonna happen.

"..."

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“It’s just Jean,” he introduced himself when she called him by his title. At the old lady’s directives, Jandar nodded, though privately wondered whether there were some other reasons for her living so far away. It did not escape his notice that the townsfolk clearly knew the woman. They seemed both wary and respectful of her, but clearly mistrusted him, the stranger. The woman shrugged them all off with a smile, and the Warlord couldn’t help but wonder what her short inspection of him might have told her.

She was clearly intelligent, the old age not at all blunting her mind, it seemed. “It’s busy n’ rushed here, ain’t it?” he commented neutrally. When they were a bit of the ways out of Winton proper, making their way to the lady’s house, Jandar thought it was a good moment to ask another lightly prodding, though innocuous question that had been on his mind. “Are you an artisan, then? Couldn’t help but notice these,” he gestured to her various bagged materials.

“Most of the towns are like that. Not too many as wants to be out and about any more.” The old witch sighed, almost wistfully. “Those that do tend to keep in the company of the Queen, or wanting to catch her attention. Not always a wise thing.” She remarked with the immunity of the old who had live long enough lives they felt safe speaking freely. Giving him a slightly crooked smile, she guided him down a side road slightly overgrown along the sides and the stones were cracked and uneven. Signs of disrepair and no maintenance, tasks she could no longer preform or others no longer saw the value in.

“Those? An artisan? Hm, perhaps, but no. It passes the time and the shrines always need candles. The Dark Gates always need their candles.” Jandar would indeed know what the Dark Gates were though he had not heard mention of them yet in Terreille. They were the Gates between the Realms. From Terreille, to the Shadow Realm of Kaeleer, to Hell. To open the gate one only needed to put the candle in the proper place, recant the proper Craft and usually under the guidance of the Priestess who kept the Dark Gates under close watch.

“‘Tis a shame,” the Warlord remarked, though his tone was fairly neutral. He chuckled lightly at her next remark, agreeing, “Not all attention is good attention.” His steps briefly stuttered when she revealed the next tidbit of information however. “The Dark Gates?” he asked, tone low, reverential, and yearning. “You must be a Priestess then,” he concluded in a whisper.

“I had no idea there was such a thing nearby,” he muttered, his speech reverting to its usual fluid grace in his excitement. Jandar swept a hand through his hair, and frowned. What he was contemplating was risky, but he couldn’t ignore something like this. “Ma’am, say that someone wished to cross through the Gates…what would it take?” he questioned, still in a carefully quiet voice. He had stated the inquiry as a hypothetical, but he was certain the lady would know that he was the one who needed it – Hell, she may even guess that he wasn’t by his lonesome, and would bring others with him.

It was a good few minutes before the old crone answered with a good-natured chuckle. “My you are full of questions!” While for some this would be something to be wary of the old Summer-sky Witch seemed more amused than anything. “I am. Priestess Olenna. Though my younger assistant went to the Queen’s Circle. Lady Alice was certain she needed the wisdom of someone so clever.” There was a less than amused snort as the older woman gave a disapproving frown. “The chit was in her middling years, true. But it seems a bit odd to me that she’d want the assistant and not the teacher.”

Grumbling to herself, the woman hobbled along the worn road. Up ahead was a dignified building that held one wing which looked akin to a cottage. The rest of the back wall was solid stone, a sandy brown color that was mined from Pruul. The front was a row of columns and ancient-looking wooden doors interspaced and left open between them. “I like it to have a bit of air. Keeps things cleaner.” The witch declared as she crossed what now was an overgrown garden. Weed throttling the useful plants and the grass taking over where flowers were. Setting her bag on the worn step, she cast a speculative eye on Jean. “If someone were wanting to go through the gate, it’d take a black candle. One of the special ones.”

Jandar blinked, and smiled wryly at the Priestess, shrugging a shoulder at her observation. He was curious, that was true. “Perhaps she is fonder of youth rather than experience,” he commented mildly. “Though I do not know her Ladyship well enough to claim so,” he added. The Warlord wondered at her house’s design, and sniffed at the air. “It is fresh ‘round here, you can smell the sea,” he said appreciatively.

“Special?” he murmured. “A black candle per person?” he sought to clarify. “How special are they?” he asked, a glint in his eye. He didn’t know if Olenna intended to charge a fortune for one, or if there was some special and difficult to procure material he would need to get. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

Olenna sighed with a weary air. “You young people are always so impatient. Always wanting grand over the simplicity of life. The last candle burned out a time ago, I needed to get the materials to make more of them.” She gave a pointed look at the bags he carried. “It would be easier in my youth, but I can do it just as well now.” Chuckling she sat on the stone steps that led to a golden and worn looking candle holder inside. Prongs for other candles coming off of the center stem.

Jandar nodded. “Good to know. Unless you need help with anything else, I’ll be off. But I may pay you a visit at a later time,” he added with a wink. As the Priestess did not want anything, he departed, and headed back towards the inn.

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Gen glared at his brother and would have responded in kind had Fatima not turned her ire upon the man. Turning a hard glare upon the tiny Queen he couldn't look into those matching fierce eyes for long and his gaze switched back to his brother. "I am her escort, her protector, Lady. And I will protect her even if it's from herself." Drawing in a sharp breathe he stood, using the height to boost his argument. It was hardly fair, but he wasn't really in the mood to play fair about this. "As for that particular 'discussion'. I thought it best to head such a delicate thing off as soon as I could. I've been damn well in agreement with that oversized Reaper about the boy. But what you are sticking your delicate nose into is a family matter."

"Brother." Denvar was standing as well now and gave Dareen a sideways look as he moved between her and the Queen. A hand behind his back and in full sight of the mercenary flicking towards the door that Faeril had rushed out of. Giving his card-playing partner an out as he locked tempers with his older brother. "Watch your tone. I'm not disagreeing it's a family matter, but you damn well brought it into the open."

Outside the widow was in the sheltered courtyard sitting heavily on a bench. Her face cradled in her hands, her wings tucked tightly to her back. The wound her had been dealt had been a harsh one. She knew Thom was not the son she had lost when the fever had hit her village. Nothing could replace that boy and, Hell's Fires, that was not what she had been trying to do! She merely was fond of the boy, fond of children in general. Running a hand through her normally tidy locks, she heard the soft steps of Mikhail approach her before the assassin spoke. Was there anything he could do? Hardly. He could not bring her boy back. Nor could he convince her that Gen was wrong in his assumption. Faeril would hate to admit it to herself but she had grown to have some affection for the boy. A dangerous attachment though it was not one that was a replacement for her child, just more of a transference of that longing need she had kept at arm's length for such a child. Something she was soothing by minding the young Thom and Dunny. Taking a shaky breath she shook her head dully and her voice came out as a rasp of its normal cantor. "No.. Maybe... Go get me something stiff to drink, if you would." In truth she did not want the assassin around. He had his own scars and a patient should not see her in this light. Weak, vulnerable, able to be mauled by the happening of the world. Of such simple things such as words.

Dareen was in agreement with at least one thing Gennar had to say: this was a delicate family matter. Delicate family matters were something she had no experience in, but had just enough social tact to realise this and not butt in. Probably because the family she knew was hardly delicate. Dareen gave Denvar a sheepish look as he seemed to pay attention to her for the briefest moment to see the minor predicament she was in.

"I fold, I'm gonna go get some air," She said quietly. Just loud enough so people could hear her, not loud enough to warrant comment or discussion. She set the cards down face up, the facade of bluffs and raises revealed to be just that, as the cards she carried were virtually unuseable.

Turning to the side she went past Fatima and Denvar and silently excused herself from the personal family matter. Opening the door she let it close behind her and went off to the side exhaling. Sheesh. Heavy stuff. Dareen hated it when people said 'watch your tone' or were all passive aggressive, disguising what they felt behind a thin layer of politeness. It gave her the creeps. She preferred it when people just came out with it, which was apparently what Gen had done and now he was being reproached for it because because because, who knows? If there was one advantage of being a mercenary it was seeing the look on noble's faces as her commander brazenly rejected their facade of politeness and decency as they asked his company to perform acts of murder and mayhem on their behalf. It was small, petty thing, to peel away the paint and say 'Look, you're just as bad as I am.'

Now, thankfully, she was away from it. Mikhail had followed Faeril out, and she Widow was looking particularly dejected. Poor woman. Shamefully, Dareen thought she had pieced together what her sorest spot was. Dareen couldn't even begin to imagine what the loss of a child could do to someone. So when the family were discussing the matter of a boy, and Faeril was unusually hurt by words...? There were only a few conclusions to come too.

So Dareen leaned up against a wall and then slid down it, becoming little more then a vaguely human shaped pile of brown and red fabric. From the air she produced her journal and pen and opened up the parchment pages and began to idly illustrate images. A pair of cards, held in her own left hand. The old innkeeper. Thom with his hand on Dunny's head, looking off to the right side of the page with a concerned look on his face. Dareen had her knees pulled into her body, the journal opened and laying across her thighs, the pen deliberately scratching away to bring the drawings from a collection of abstract shapes into familiar manifestations of the people she had come to know in the most recent time of her short life on this planet.

Location: Winton, near one of the village shops

”Sounds about right. Stay out of trouble until then, old friend. I’m looking forward to that drink.”

That was the last thing Xandar uttered before walking out of the Warlord’s home, making his way through the village. He would get a few looks, mostly because of his size and physique, but otherwise he doubted anybody recognized him. It was much too far away, and his Ebon Grey vanished, the Sapphire sitting on his ring. It wasn’t uncommon that people made it a mission to steer clear of the Warlord Prince, he had that kind of air to him.

On his way back to the tavern, however, something caught his eye. A blonde haired, blue eyed girl, dressed in some older but well made clothes to accentuate her doll like features. Her laughter filled his ears and he looked over at the group, seeing as a gaggle of girls fawned around her. A Queen, no doubt, he could sense that much of her. This must have been the Queen his old friend has mentioned. She wasn’t completely lost yet it seemed, a little bratty perhaps. He overheard a bit of an argument, and upon getting closer he noticed two warlords who didn’t seem thrilled to be there, no doubt following the Queen. They didn’t seem like much to him.

Normally he would mind his business, but something came over him. They would have to make friends in this world if they wanted to change it, and a young Queen liked this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Besides, if he could get on good terms with her, better for the village and its people, especially if they were dumping the child off there. But most of all, it had been ages since he’d been in bed with a woman, and he couldn’t help but find this particularly attractive Queen worthy of him.

Making his way to them, he overheard her words as he entered the shop, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall next to it. He eyed the Queen up, before locking eyes with her.

”A Queen like you deserves high quality, your argument is very well put. With that logic, why would you settle with company like this?” Xandar nodded his head towards the others around her. ”A warlord prince seems much more worth your time, Queen.”

The two Warlords eyed the Eyrien with distaste they couldn’t quite hide. It was not common for the Eyrien to come so far west across the territory of Dene Nehele and Shalador to their little port. To have a darker jeweled one reach their town was all the more worrisome. Why was he here? A question which was quickly answered by his addressing to their Queen.

Alice was rather interested as she fluttered her lashes over her large doll-like eyes. An Eyrien in her village? She was utterly amazed, and he was a very large man. Giving a coy smile she tried not to glare at Walter and Callen as the two Warlords bristled at the intruder. “How quaint that you would seek such a bold audience with me!” She tapped a pouting mouth with her fan, as she studied the Warlord Prince. “Most men would set up a request with my Steward before coming to me, this is more refreshing for such an interesting fellow.” If he wanted to be worth her time and have her settle for him, he obviously wanted to be part of her Court. Though as much as she wanted to replace her Consort with the man, she could hardly do so. It would make poor Leister sad if she left him out in the cold. “Whatever though, I must wonder, is such a handsome Eyrien doing so far from Askavi?”

”I’m not most men, I’m a proud Eyrien. I know what I want when I see it, and I don’t settle for less. I believe we both have that in common.” Xandar mused, spreading his wings a bit and fluttering them before drawing them to his back again. He paid no mind to the Warlords glaring at him, his eyes and attention fully focused on the Queen, his gold eyes never leaving her blue ones. ”Well living a long life like mine, it’s no surprise to try to see the world with one’s own eyes. I was just passing through, but I feel I could be persuaded to stay a day or two longer.” The Eyrien smirked, standing up firmly and taking a few steps as he was about six feet away from the Queen now. ”I was thinking less business and more pleasure. You seem like a girl who wants some more fun in her life. A conversation over some wine sounds like a fair proposal.”

No he wasn’t most men at all was he? Her ‘friends’ tittered and giggled about her, one going as far as to try to attract the Warlord Prince’s attention with a batting of her own lashes. She’d have to set the poor dear to some dreary task of feeding the poor wretches in the port or something of the like. Walter looked furious as he glared at the taller man, but he knew better than to say anything to her. At least in public anyways. Her First Circle would kick up a fuss in private but after a bit of simpering and sniffling and a few fake sobs… ‘Didn’t they want her to be happy? What with all the work she put in, did she not deserve a bit of fun?’ Oh, they would fold quickly enough. “Oh my! You are direct! Alas, that is entirely improper.” She sniffed in false disdain, her smile only growing. “I am a Queen and just can’t clear my schedule for anyone. But perhaps some very good wine could be found and perhaps if you brought a suitable gift?”

The Eyrien Prince chuckled as he saw her pout, but saw the smile growing on her. As much as she wanted to be proper and hold her ground, he knew how to get his way with a Queen. This wouldn’t be the first time, and with such a beautiful one at that. ”If you think that’s direct, that’s charming.” He mused, before leaning forward and physically whispering to her ear. I can tell you exactly what I want to do to you. Running a hand through his hair, he looked down at the much smaller woman, his eyes shimmering a bit in the dim light. ”But you are a Queen, a powerful and deserving one to make her own time and spend it as she sees fit. I know my wine very well, and I’m hoping to get to know you just as well.” He flexed his wings over both of them before retracting, turning around to face the door.

“Tonight. I’ll let you pick the place.”

The little Queen Alice was looking utterly pleased as she gave a smirk. “Oh? Then should I hope to see you at the Queen’s Residence tonight?” She smiled, using her fan to shield her face as her entourage twittered behind her in amusement and excitement. ‘Oh, he’s a handsome man!’ ‘I wonder if..’ ‘An Eyrien out here? What a curious thing!’ The whispered were hardly worthy of being called that but Alice ignored them. She was merciful after all and all this was boosting her own image! Imagine if she could get an Eyrien Warlord Prince in her Court! Why! Then she would be the Provincial Queen’s favorite!

”Expect me.” Was all he said before opening the door and letting himself out, walking out without so much as looking back as a smirk crept on his face. Worked like a charm, his evening would be much more interesting than he has originally thought. He would see how things went, from that conversation she didn’t seem so bad at all. Maybe worth saving. That Walter fellow seemed a bit resentful, but a lot of men were when a much stronger man advanced on their Queen. He made it a point not to be followed before going to the Tavern to prepare for the night ahead.

Mikhail had a worried expression on his face as he heard Faeril asking for something to drink. He knew that something had happened and he knew that she wasn't well but he didn't know what or if he should say anything, if it was better to let her have some time alone or if he indeed should try and comfort her. At least that was until Faeril finally spoke to him.

"I... Yes... I will be back in a moment." Mikhail said as he went inside the inn again to try and grab a drink for Faeril. Even though he wasn't that good with those type of things, he wasn't as dense as to not realize that Faeril didn't want him to see her like that for some reason.

Even if Mikhail didn't really know what he could do to comfort the witch though, he knew exactly someone who just might be able to. Unfortunately, the moment he entered the inn, the mood was still as heavy and sour as the very moment he got out, with Gennar and Denvar pretty much at each other's throats as they discussed. Before doing anything though, Mikhail got a small cup of the ale from the small keg with a good amount of ice inside it. After that, he unceremoniously interrupted the discussion, simply walking towards Fatima as he gently touched her shoulder, calling her attention.

"I... am not good with those kind of things and I don't know what I should say to help Faeril... She also doesn't seem to want my presence but you might be able to do that which I cannot." he said in a lower tone as he leaned forward, looking at her with a worried expression.

"I think it would be better if you stood by her side..." he finished, putting the small glass of ale in Fatima's hands before he went outside again, although not where Faeril was. He needed some air to clean his head and he wasn't in the mood to watch over Gennar and Denvar as they discussed.

As he got out, he passed by Dareen, almost completely missing her due to where and how she was sitting, instead just walking to an empty spot of the garden and simply looking up, letting the cool breeze in his face. For a moment, he didn't care about his hood falling off, with eyes closed as he let the wind flow through his hair, revealing to others that it was longer than they previously might have thought it was.

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"I am her escort, her protector, Lady. And I will protect her even if it's from herself. As for that particular 'discussion'. I thought it best to head such a delicate thing off as soon as I could. I've been damn well in agreement with that oversized Reaper about the boy. But what you are sticking your delicate nose into is a family matter."

She recoiled visibly at his words. It was true, she had to admit, she didn't know exactly what had been said. She just had a very general idea of it. It was mostly Faeril's reaction that had made her jump in both feet. And now she was treading in very deep water. She pursed her lips and lifted her chin as Gen stood. She wasn't about to back down from such bullying behavior.

"Watch your tone. I'm not disagreeing it's a family matter, but you damn well brought it into the open."

It seemed Denvar was taking her side on this. So it must have been at least somewhat like she had thought. It could be hard to tell with the Eyrien language - it was as rough and aggressive as its speakers. She approached the table and set her drink down as Dareen passed by, saying something about getting air. Fatima offered an apologetic look to her back as she left. Well, she was knee deep in the shit now and without a rope to hoist herself out. The best she could do was attempt to de-escalate tempers. Including her own.

"I am not saying this conversation was something that shouldn't have been had. I am saying that you have put us in an awkward predicament by having it here. You should be careful." Now wasn't that the pot calling the kettle black? She swirled her finger around in the beer which filled her mug. It was cool and bubbled imperceptibly against the digit. With a frown she looked up at the pair of Eyriens. "And you should be gentle." Definitely not a word in the Eyrien repertoire but it was something as important to learn as bashing in heads. "A Witch can only be as strong as her foundation." She removed her finger from the drink and watched the pair of men, wondering what sort of reaction she would get next. She nearly jumped out of her skin at Mikhail's touch. Little scream she tried to clamp hands over and all, as she turned to look up at the man wide eyed.

"I... am not good with those kind of things and I don't know what I should say to help Faeril... She also doesn't seem to want my presence but you might be able to do that which I cannot. I think it would be better if you stood by her side..."

She lowered her hands from her face as he spoke, concern knitting her brows. She took the cup, surprised to see ice inside of it with the ale. An interesting combination. Perhaps the fellow didn't imbibe much. She offered him a small smile before nodding. She glanced at the two Eyrien men again before leaving them to bicker among themselves if they chose. She approached the bar and ordered something much stiffer than ale and then Fatima left the Inn to find their Black Widow.

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Luckily it seemed the young Queen did not have too far to go. Barely ten paces out of the door and there the Eyrien woman sat. She was looking quite miserable, if Fatima said so herself. And she did. She plopped down with more grace than might be expected from the messy girl and forced the ale into the woman’s hands. “That’s from Mikhail,” she said quite matter of factly. She then handed over the shot. “And that's from me. Now drink up. This is a healer’s order.” Her tone brooked no ability to be turned down.

It was slow seconds later that a hand raised the shot to pale lips and the dark-skinned Eyrien woman drank deeply. Her hair falling back enough to show the tears that streaked down her cheeks. Gasping sharply as the drink burned her throat, Faeril gave a sharp cough then another one as she handed the glass back. “Thank you.” The words were rougher than her usual cold and collected tone. Her hand shook slightly as she accepted the mug. “Both of you, thank you.” For all she had drank the shot at the Healer’s and Queen’s order, Faeril still looked shaken. From within the tavern, sharp voices could be heard. Not quite yelling in their native tongue but rather close to it as an argument went back and forth between the brothers. Denvar seemed to be giving Gennar lecture and the other was defending himself.

Dareen’s eyes flicked up, two dark orbs from underneath her hood and peaking over her raised scarf. None of them seemed to have noticed her yet, and so far Dareen wanted to keep it that way. She’d much rather they take their conversations somewhere else, so she wouldn’t have to eavesdrop on them. Dareen has already peaked far too much into Faeril’s personal affairs as far as she was concerned. Narrowing her eyes she refocused on her sketchbook and drove the charcoal deeper into the page as she hardened the outlines of a mug of ale being held in an undetailed silhouette of a person whose appearance was unimportant. The only important part was that they were having fun. Beer, she thought, was supposed to be fun. She tried to only drink it when she was relaxing, or in a good mood. Too many times she’d seen people self-medicate themselves into some ale sickness Dareen didn’t quite know the medical term for.

When Jandar returned to the inn, it was to the sight of three Eyriens bickering and the rest of the group absent. “What the Hell is going on here?” he growled, discomfited at finding some sort of chaotic and dramatic conflict had appeared to occur while he was absent. From the tidbits the brothers offered him while shouting at each other, he got the gist of the situation. Frowning, lips thin in displeasure, he stalked into the courtyard, where Fatima and Faeril where in the midst of an uncomfortably emotional looking conversation while Dareen and Mikhail were awkwardly lurking at the sides. Approaching the latter two, he asked quietly, “Which of you can explain exactly what happened? The brothers weren’t too clear.”

Mikhail was like that for a bit, simply enjoying the breeze until a familiar voice came from behind, interrupting him and making him put on his hood once more almost as if he had just realized that he was showing his ears and his hair, which could potentially attract a lot of unwanted attention to himself.
The owner of the voice was Jandar, who had just arrived and was quite surprised by the chaos he found going on inside regarding the Eyrien brothers.

"I... knew they wouldn't be..." Mikhail said with a long sigh as he walked towards Jandar while he finished putting on his hood and putting the rest of his hair, which did extend a bit lower than his shoulders inside it. As he got closer to him, only then he realized that Dareen was sitting in the corner with her sketchbook on hands. Mikhail did try giving her a small nod and a discreet wave but he didn't know if she did notice him, after all, she seemed to be really... concentrated in her drawings.

"I don't know much about what was said, since they were discussing in native Eyrien but Gennar said something he really shouldn't have. Faeril was really hurt by it. I tried saying something to her but I'm not really the best for these kind of stuff. Fatima is talking with her at the moment. I recommend you to let the two of them alone for a while." Mikhail continued.

"It may have something to do regarding the boy, Thom I mean." he said, finishing explaining about everything he knew to Jandar.

"And sorry, Dareen, I didn't see you there when I got out. I can find another place to... do nothing I guess, if you wish for some privacy." Mikhail said, looking towards Dareen.

Dareen flinched a bit at having been addressed, not sure if she was noticed or not. She had also been a little lost in her drawing, as had been her intention, but the real world had dragged her back from her little land of parchment and paper. Oh well, no big deal. It was Mikhail, offering to leave to give her privacy in her drawings.

The collection of scarves and folded cloth that was hiding a woman pretending to be a man inside glanced up, Dareen pulling back her hood slightly to make eye contact with Mikhail. She shrugged dismissively and smirked. "Oh, no, it's fine. I just needed to get out of there. You can, uh, sit down in the dirt here. If you'd like." She offered, losing a little steam and chuckled. "I'm just trying to stay out of everyone's hair." She concluded, keeping her voice low.

Mikhail nodded with an understanding smile as Dareen replied to him, offering him a place to sit in the dirt near her. It appeared that, just like himself, Dareen didn't seem to enjoy the current atmosphere going on inside the inn right now between the brothers.

"I will accept your offer then. I hope you don't mind, Jandar." Mikhail replied to Dareen with a smile before he turned to Jandar and sat down on the dirt just where Dareen had indicated.

"I am not exactly... useful in these type of situations. Fatima is much more suited to this. That's why I asked her to go talk to Faeril. The only thing I can do to help right now is getting out of the way. The skills I excell at are... not suited at all for this." Mikhail said with a chuckle as he sat down.

Dareen scoffed good-naturedly as Mikhail explained the situation. It seemed they were both fish out of water. "Yeah..." She responded focusing back on her drawings. There wasn’t too much to say. This kind of social conflict was one Dareen didn’t have the tools to help resolve. It seemed that went for both of them.

Fatima nodded mutely in response to Faeril's thanks. She could hear mere snippets of conversation between the trio across the way. Well, duo. The third was silent. She took a seat on the bench beside Faeril. "Your boys are a bit rough and growly. Need a bit of polishing with a sharp tongue." She spoke in a conspiratorial way, as if she were sharing a joke between friends. "I'm not entirely certain what the conversation was all about but I think I got a bit of it. Is it about Thom leaving?"

The others talking and the sharp sounds, though the latter was muffled by the walls of the inn, were a distant thing to the Black Widow. Her throat burned from the shot and the thin sips she took of the drink Mikhail had brought her soothed it. Hearing a far clearer voice she paused slightly, though her eyes still stared blankly into space. She didn’t want to answer Fatima, but there was hardly a way to dodge it when the entire group had followed after her like a trail of lost ducklings. Her lips quivered in sardonic amusement at the thought. “Yes and no.” She took a long, endless draw from the tankard in her hands. It numbed her slightly, but not enough. Never enough. “Gen does not agree that keeping the boy close is a good idea. He is worried for my safety.” And for her sanity, but she didn’t see a reason to bring the fact that her closest friend thought she was latching onto the miscreant out of some misplaced motherly desire. “A mistake happened that he reminded me of.” Her voice was far from alright or dismissive as she would have liked it. It was bitter, regret-filled, and there was sorrow. Her knuckles turned white as she covered her mouth with a hand feeling her stomach roll as that horrid guilt twisted in her belly. Was that what it had been? A mistake? A mistake to heal a village who needed it desperately when a Queen decided to play with a poison? A mistake to even attempt to give her dying family line a chance? “A horrid, horrid choice and there was no good answer. There was the death of one. Then the death of an entire village. All Healers face it.” And she had chosen the many. The many though it had cost her dearly.

Fatima listened calmly. Faeril was sharing something big with her. The woman was not the sort to share freely so she was not about to interrupt the speech. She folded her hands in her lap, eyes never leaving Faeril. "Mmm, I see," she said after a long pause in which Faeril didn't speak. Fatima did not entirely see, to be perfectly honest. There were a lot of missing puzzle pieces. Couldn't people be more straightforward?

"Could you live with yourself if you'd let the village die? I think we'd be having an entirely different conversation yet intrinsically the same." She shook her head. "That's not what is important right now. I need to make sure you are okay."

The Black Widow didn’t answer as she closed her eyes. Her mouth tightening into an ugly line, as she felt tears run down her cheeks. “I wish I had.” Yet, she knew she had chosen the best of the two choices in the long run. Pragmatic thinking did not ease her weeping though as more tears flowed down her cheeks and her shoulders shook slightly. “I-I will be alright. Time…” Time would at least help her cover the wound that still bled in her soul.

Fatima snorted in a most unlady like fashion. "Time doesn't do shit and you and I both know it. There are some hurts that you can't heal. But can be born more easily when distributed among friends." She reached out and squeezed Faeril's hand. "It's not wrong for you to feel the way you do." Fatima was doing her best to comfort with what vague information she had. Who died? Ah well, not really her business was it?

Fatima’s hand was knocked away, as icy eyes locked onto the Hyallian Queen. The mug was at her feet and spilled, the liquor spreading over the dusty cobbles over the courtyard. ”You mean well, but this is something beyond you, child. Time will not heal this wound, but it will allow me to collect myself to serve in your Court. To end this madness that threatens to consume us all, no matter the cost.” Her voice was chilly and the air about her became cold as the Black Widow turned her anguished face from Fatima. The hand that had knocked away the Queen's, she gripped with her own. The dangerous snake tooth of the widows laying against the dark skin of the Queen. Releasing the hand, she flexed her hand and the delicate poisoned weapon slipped under her fourth finger.

”Pardon me.” The pardon was hardly a question. Turning her head from the Grey Queen in dismissal.

Jandar stood by while Mikhail and Dareen sat, joining them on the sidelines, but keenly observing the conversation between Fatima and Faeril. He almost sprung into action when he noted an obvious moment of tension between the two females, but restrained himself. However, he did unobtrusively inch somewhat closer to them. When Faeril dismissed Fatima, he properly approached his Queen. “My Lady,” he murmured. Though his tone was soft, it carried far enough that the rest of his companions could easily hear him should they choose to do so. “I have met a Priestess here, and she can open a path to Kaeleer through the Dark Gates,” he confessed. His shoulders loosened somewhat as he finally relayed this key bit of information he’d found, and it was apparent that it represented a kernel of hope to him.

Denvar growled as he slipped out the door to the courtyard where he had seen Faeril flee to. Not that he would call that retreat such to her face. The younger brother liked to think he got the sense of the family that Gen generally lacked at the moment. Giving an apologetic look towards Fatima, the Eyrien tried to think of how to phrase an apology. Mother Dark, Gen wasn't going to apologize for a while. The Warlord had his temper up and not without reason, but still! Jandar beat him to it, however, and Denvar found himself grateful for the interruption. If it distracted from the situation, then it was all the better in his mind. Though looking at Faeril and the way she was holding everything at a distance... He flinched. The last thing anyone needed was a Black Widow who was suffering a mortal wound to her spirit. "I don't want to be the Eyrien of bad news, but what's the catch? Last I was around a Dark Gate the Queen of Pruul had them under heavy guard. No one came, no one left. Of course, that was three centuries ago..." He gave an apologetic look to the group. "We didn't want to risk attention, and lost contact with the Hourglass." Shrugged his winged shoulders, he wanted Faeril to take the conversation but the witch seemed lost in the past and the pain. Not even designing to explain that the Hourglass was the Black Widow's coven of witches. Their subtle society that outsiders were usually aware of, or had been at one point, but those same outsiders were careful to remain politely and pointedly oblivious of the coven lest they draw the ire of the witches whose caste were entwined with it.

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She was surprised at the vehemence with which her empathy was met. She sat in stunned silence and looked up at the Eyrien woman. Faeril had gone so far as to call her a child. That was quite rude. Fatima wasn't a spring chicken by any means. She was so prickly, just like the brothers. She did not respond to the woman's leaving. What was there to say? Nothing else came to her mind. And it appeared she had already fucked it up enough. Fatima clasped her hands in her lap, gently massaging her palm when Jandar broke her from her thoughts.

She turned white-gold eyes upon him and smiled. "Hello, enjoy eavesdropping?" she teased but this was quickly changed to interest with the statement of the priestess and dark gates. Her eyebrows raised and she whistled softly. The tension seemed to melt from him as he unburdened his secret. "Well, that certainly is news. How did you meet this person? I don't imagine that priestesses just go about advertising on the streets. Can she be trusted?"

Dareen kept doodling, her drawings eventually fading into nonchalant scribbles. It was hard to not to eavesdrop. Unfortunately, she hadn't figured out the Craft needed to turn off her ears. Body language was also readable even from a distance. So Dareen frowned when even the most sociable of them, Fatima, seemed to be rebuked by whatever Fatima was going through.

"Hmm," she hummed quietly in response. "My commander used to say that people were like wars, conversations like battlefields. Do the right thing, victory is assured. Make a mistake, and it can never be undone. Everyone has a set of words that will make them kill you on sight, or be loyal as a family member. The trick is not overplaying your hand, and finding the right phrases to get people to like you. To get what you want." Dareen said. She tapped the pages of her diary, her eyes staring into the middle distance.

Then she glanced over at Mikhail, and then she looked to Jandar as he spoke. Raising her eyebrows she gestured over to Jandar's back as he spoke. "That's something. We want to go there, right?" She murmered, almost to herself but she left it open for Mikhail to comment.

Jandar glanced at the departing Faeril, but didn’t spare her much thought – especially not since Fatima had questions for him.

“I met her by chance, and followed her to her home, helped her with some groceries,” he explained. “I am not sure about the Gates, but at least her place wasn’t guarded. She did mention that a younger assistant of hers was in the local Queen’s circle. The city-folk seemed to know the priestess I met as well; they were both respectful and wary of her. So, I cannot say how trustworthy she truly is, but she seemed alright to me,” he replied.

Briefly turning to Dareen, he added, “Yes, I do believe heading to Kaeleer could be good. Depending on what our over-arching plan is, what we currently want to achieve, whether we still have business in Terreille et cetera et cetera,” he told her.

Despite the talk going on between Fatima, Faeril and the others who had just joined them, such as Jandar and even Denvar, who seemed to be able to free himself from the discussion inside the tavern, Mikhail knew that he he probably wouldn't have anything to add in the conversation so he kept simply sitting down nearby Dareen, watching her drawing in silence. Still old habits were hard to ignore and as such, Mikhail ended up paying attention at what they were talking about anyways, particularly the moment when Jandar joined the conversation. Despite his apparent lack of interest, the moment Jandar mentioned Kaeeler, his ears twitched a bit as he unconsciously paid more attention at his words.

Truth be told, Mikhail had... mixed feelings about returning to Kaeeler. It was where his past was, the life that he left behind and now with his memories coming back in lapses, he feared that he might remember something he doesn't want to.

"Wise words. From your commander, I mean." Mikhail replied to Dareen.

"Words can indeed be as sharp as any sword depending on the occasion..." Mikhail said with a somewhat sad stare.

It was obvious that he was referring to Faeril and what Gennar had told her. Sadly enough, he wasn't as well versed in this 'battlefield of words' than others and couldn't do anything to help the black widow. A few moments were spent in silence before Dareen pointed towards Jandar, muttering if they wanted to go Kaeeler, just as Jandar had said.

"Kaeeler... Can't say I'm looking forward returning there but... It is still the best option we have at the moment." Mikhail said to Dareen, just after Jandar turned to Dareen, replying to her comment.

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It did seem sound enough to Denvar, though he wished Faeril or Gen could have not thrown their little fit. The two of them knew far more about Kaeleer than he. Shrugging, he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly trying to figure out if there was anything he could add to the conversation and coming up short. Damn Gen for having to bring up Faeril's loss! They didn't have the time for it and watching Faeril from the corner of his eye, she was getting back to herself but he doubted there would be any warmth from the Black Widow to anyone other than Dunny or Thom. "Well with any luck, we'll get to Kaeleer and be able to find a foot hold there." His smile was less than convincing, but he tried. Bellinar had disappeared somewhere again and Denvar wasn't about to lie. He was worried about his other brother. Bellinar had grown distant in recent months, his trips out and about growing longer and what he brought back was less. Of course, things were getting worse. Everyone expected that, but Bellinar dismissed it. Was it their blindness that they didn't want to see their brother giving up on their cause so easily? While he would give up, surely he wouldn't give in. That was absurd.

Denvar's train of thought was cut off as the sharp tap of running feet careened into the courtyard. A young looking man with a messenger's satchel was paused in entrance to the inn's courtyard where carriage and a horse or two could be kept. Where their carriage actually was kept. The sandy haired fellow looked to be a cross of the natives to Winton and the Chaillot islanders, a young Warlord not quite in the old enough to be a man but certainly not a boy. "I'm looking for a Lady Fatima? Got a message from some giant winged-" His words cut off as he took in the tension of the yard and two 'winged' figures. "Ah, well, got a message for the Lady." He offered looking about the faces hopeful that one of them would be kind enough to claim it.

The letter, or rather short message, itself was in the scrawl of Xandar's handwriting. 'I've gotten an invitation to visit the Lady Alice. I will do some looking around, and see if we can convince her to be our friend.' It was a brief note, short and concise. Denvar gritted his teeth as he kept his face passive. The fool was doing what? Could they even risk trusting this 'Alice'? A priestess and now a Queen? Oh, he did not like this at all, but arguing what he did and did not like with an Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince wasn't a good idea in the long run.

Elsewhere, Alice was smiling as she played with her bouncy blond curls. "Should I wear the green dress or the blue dress?" She wondered, not really expecting an answer as she looked over at her favored servant with a sultry pout. Well, he was on loan truth be told. Her dear friend Tamerial had made the offer for the exchange of letting one of her Warlords have a pretty little priestess that Alice had kept about. Her mind wiggled about that uncomfortable thought. Now short a priestess if she wanted anything official done, she'd have to go deal with the old hag at her shrine. The Warlord Princes she controlled always cajoled her to visit the woman rather than summoning her. She was a Queen! The Priestess should come to her! Kicking her small feet in irritation, the Queen of Winton glared at her reflection. "I do hope that Eyrien proves entertaining! Why are all the men around here so boring!" The Queen sighed and let her maid finish painting her nails a delicate white. The paint slightly grazing the Queen's skin. "Watch what you are doing you cow-faced wench!" The woman went pale and began stammering apologies as Alice glowered at the servant. "No! No you will not finish! Servant, you do my nails. Bitch? Get out of my sight." She ordered sharply, her already done and perfect hand slapping the maid. Leaving the woman to scurry out the door like a pathetic mouse. "Really, everyone is so useless!"

Mikhail was in silence as the other continued talking or doing their own business. Even though he was looking at Dareen watching, his eyes were distant, absent. The idea of returning to Kaeleer wasn't one he was that sure about. Even though Faeril was treating him and it was a fact that he wasn't having nightmares anymore, the lapses of memory he had from time to time were getting much more vivid and real. He knew very well that it was part of the treatment as Faeril's words often came to his mind that his mind needed to be healed first before being erased but he didn't wanted to face those memories. He feared that going back to Kaeleer might trigger those lapses in memory happen more frequently and making him remember things he doesn't wish to have.

Even though Mikhail was distracted with his own problems, he did notice the messenger that came looking for Fatima. Since Fatima was currently talking with Jandar, the messenger choose to not interrupt, simply waiting until someone took the message from him. Although it's contents were a mystery for Mikhail, he didn't really care about it that much, at least at the moment, since he had his mind filled with other worries. By Denvar's reaction to the letter though, it appeared to be something worrying, worthy for Mikhail to inquiry about afterwards.

Dareen nodded silently as Jandar and Denvar said that going to Kaeleer was the best plan. Indeed, it was hard to build up a resistance while in enemy territory. If they could escape and find help, at the very least regain their composure, that would be a good move. It was also an exciting prospect, because she had never been to Kaeleer before.

"All right. Well, I'll tag along if you'll have me. I've no where better to be." She said with a small smile. She was also secretly relieved that Xandar would not be following them. At least for now. He always made her somewhat uncomfortable. So if he was off doing his own thing, than so be it. He certainly was handy in a fight, but...the same could be said about a rabid bear.

"So, Kaeleer, huh? I've only heard stories. What's it like there? Good weather?" She asked, still sitting down against the wall. The task ahead was daunting, but Dareen was calm and ready to undertake it. She had spent her life fighting for reasons she didn't totally understand or grasp. The only difference now was that she was sure this was the right thing. That she was fighting for more than herself and those around her. It was a new feeling, and perhaps it suited her.

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She smiled kindly at Dareen, her offer of what she assumed was empathy for her dilemma with Faeril. She knew the woman would get over it, Faeril was tough as nails. She was lucky to have been able to have a moment past her barrier. She had just poked a wound in the wrong way, she supposed. Just as Dareen said, though perhaps with more nuance of violence.

Fatima considered this connection to the Queen of Winton and was not feeling great about it. Her stomach churned at the thought of that of some pampered bitch laying her hands on any of her new family. She chewed her cheek as she listened. It seemed all had finished putting their input forward and Fatima was about to reply when the young lad showed up.

"I am Fatima," she said softly and stood, approaching the boy. Worry swam in her gut. She didn't like this one bit. She took the letter from him and offered a small coin for his hard work. "Thank you." She opened the missive and frowned before handing it off to whoever deigned to take it. "Fuck," she whispered. "Xandar has decided to go off on his own. Idiot. Wants to make friends with the Queen." She snorted derisively. She hoped he would be safe. She hoped his misplaced trust would be rewarded. She rubbed her hands over her face and produced a huge sigh worthy of an tragic actress on stage.

"I am wary of trusting this priestess, however I do think it important we find a safe haven. We need a base of operations, someplace outside of the reach of a certain someone-" she did not wish to speak Dorothea's name lest it bring foul luck to Xandar. She dropped her hands to her sides and looked at her motley crew of rebels. A smile took hold of her lips. "If we all agree, I would be amenable to taking a leap of faith. It seems we are all in agreement? Of course I would have you Dareen, always." She looked to Mikhail. "I don't know about the weather, we'd have to ask our friendly neighborhood assassin," she teased lightly.

Sybl stood to the side, out of the way and as small as possible despite his tall, willowy frame. He had his arms across over his chest. Her wore a loose fitting shirt with billowy sleeves and left unbuttoned to expose his chest. This was tucked into black, soft beaten leather which clung to his hips and legs in a rather suggestive way. Around his neck was a black scarf made of light fabric and with golden beads sewn into it to make sun patterns at each end. His eyes were half lidded as he mired himself in deep thought, letting the room exist only in his periphery.

Alice's voice chimed lovely and sweet, bringing him back to this reality. A soft haze clouded his mind slightly - the brandy he had consumed with breakfast. Just enough to make life sweet but not enough that he should slurr or fall. A smile tugged the corners of his pale lips and he let his eyes rest on the blonde Queen. He responded in the quiet rasp that was a voice with deeply damaged vocal cords. "My Queen, you would look devastatingly beautiful in anything you would drape over your body. However, if you were to wear the green you would match with my eyes." He unfolded his arms and stood more upright.

He did not blame or hate her for her words. In truth he probably was boring. Too compliant perhaps? Maybe he should learn better music for her joy? He did not flinch when she slapped the maid. She was within her full right to do so. "It would be my honor," he responded as he crossed the room. He knelt on the floor in front of her and took her hand into his own. His fingers lightly moved over her skin and he brought the back of her hand to his lips. Sybl brushed a light kiss across her knuckles before starting on painting her nails. The maid had done a tolerable job so far but it was quite boring. He applied the coats of paint and added embellishments of color to the nails. Little flowers of gold and blue. Something befitting of his Queen.

He had to admit to himself, he was thinking as he painted, that he had not felt the pull with this Queen. He hadn't felt them with any Queen he'd served so far. He hoped maybe it would develop. Maybe it would come out of the blue and he could find the court he was always meant to serve. For now her would do his duty to his lady and pray that if she were not his Queen that the next would be.