----

As Curufinwe had come to expect, the king and queen were quite thoroughly wrapped around each other when they arrived.

It was an interesting feature of the pair that he’d noted, soon after the situation had become more normalised, more political and less military - rarely did they accompany each other without such demonstrative behaviour, whether to a social function or a matter of state. One’s perogative, Curufinwe supposed, when you’d reached power enough to launch a successful invasion of the Blessed Realm.

Even the monarchs of Anadune, Umbar, and the New Western Territories , however, needed to bow to physics; and with the doors to Hyellinde’s townhouse no wider than any of the others in the older parts of Tirion, they were forced to unlink their twined arms as they stepped across the doorway into the sitting room. Curufinwe exchanged pleasantries with the pair of them as they unlaced their boots; by the time they’d exchanged them for slippers, Hyellinde had arrived to welcome them properly. And the queen had joined herself back to Azulzir’s side even as she sunk into a gracious curtsey, thanking Hyellinde for her hospitality.

Occasionally when Curufinwe felt like amusing himself, he thought of the reaction he’d likely get if he were to mention to Azulzir how charmingly elven of a couple they seemed - a scowl complete with wrinkled nose, a sneer shaped by actual irritation, a muttered I’ll show you exactly how elvish I am in my relationships, arrogant eleda. (Sometimes his imagination continued, to a kiss demonstrating precisely Azulzir’s point - ah yes look I am exceedingly exclusive - but he should not go too far past the point of an easily controlled expression.)

As his thoughts drifted back to his exterior surroundings, the four of them took their semi-practised places at Hyellinde’s table, already heaped with steaming plates and pots of the new dishes she’d instructed her servants to learn for the evening. Curufinwe could tell Azulzir’s appreciation from the subtle flicker in his expression; Arosse was more direct, with a distinctly honest (if begrudging - it was always begrudging, between them) compliment to Hyellinde for the thought and execution.

“I did ask my sister if she had any recommendations,” was Hyellinde’s gracious (and barbed) reply; and then came the smile that always made her look as though she were ten steps ahead of you whenever she felt like it. Arosse gave an irritated flick of her expression (one that, with its frequency of used, managed to thankfully dispose of the thoroughly saccharine impression her features would otherwise have); Azulzir tried to hide a short laugh before he sobered, collecting himself and looking up at the pair of them sitting opposite.

“I do bring official matters to discuss, unfortunately,” he said. He placed his hands, clasped, on the table in front of him; Curufinwe could hear the cadence of his voice change slightly. It was something that always happened when he switched topics, even when they were only speaking privately like this.

“My staff and I have had… petitions, you see, from some of the Umbarans, who wish to emigrate and settle towns here in Aman just as our Aduna families have. Which I would grant, save for the… obvious issues. Which, despite their nature as a metaphysical constraint rather than a choice I have made, would pose a political threat that my detractors would simply love to tear me apart for, as it would be clearly the opposite of the panhuman solidarity I have thusfar advocated…”

He tilted his head, frowning in thought. Curufinwe raised an eyebrow. “You want a solution to the problem of mortal decay in Aman,” he guessed.

“It would be ideal,” Azulzir conceded. He did look a bit pained – still, Curufinwe assumed, less than thrilled with the notion of asking elves for help en masse. Not that he could blame him.

Hyellinde cut a bite of the lamb from her plate. “I shall speak with representatives from the ritualist guilds on the matter, then.”

“And I my father – Atar and his colleagues should have some thoughts, I’m certain.”

With a look at her husband and a brush of her hand to his, Arosse sighed. “Very well, and I suppose you’ll consider this you being entirely correct here?” she asked icily.

Azulzir went quiet. A bubble encasing himself and Arosse, separating them from the other two, seemed to have come into existence in the space between an eye’s blink. “It’s not that of a sudden I have a wholehearted trust for them all, ‘Rosse,” he murmured.

That didn’t stop her lips from pursing. “We’ve our own scientists, if you’ve forgotten, buried in all your awe for Feanor’s things - “

"You eat at this table just as I do," he said, a bit quick, a bit tight. From the corner of his eye, Curufinwe chanced a look at Hyellinde, who it seemed had done the same. Neither of them were much used to hearing such outbursts openly before them, he surmised.

"You eat at this table because adaptation is a mark of growth and survival," Azulzir continued; less sharp now but still strained. He gestured with one hand at the scene spread before them. "And you eat our food here, made by Eldar well enough for you to give your compliments.” He inhaled slightly, looking down. “‘Rosse, please.”

Arosse looked away from both her husband and her hosts as well, cheeks reddened. It was hardly that Curufinwe should wish to admit such a thing, but - he had sympathy enough for her position, for once. His had been a similar one… And yet now here he was, acknowledging as much, if only to himself.

For all those thoughts, the silence heavy between them was broken first by Hyellinde - a resolution that did not surprise Curufinwe in the least. “None of us here intend aught but respect, Highness,” she stated; low, calm, melodiously soothing. “Though speaking personally - I should also like to mention my pleasure at your complimentary appraisal earlier.”

“And it seems the fishermen are out again”, remarked a slight figure wearing the distinctive dark blue uniform of a K-Science officer. The white-sailed skiffs were just visible from the mirrored windows of the command center.

“You say that as if you didn’t expect it, Dr. Astarië.”

“I grew up in Eldalondë. I remember the first attacks. And it’s Arossë.”

“Really? Because my personnel list says –“

“Arossë.”  When the Mission Control officer saw the look in her eyes, he nearly fell backwards over the railing. “And before you insist on mangling my name, I’ll thank you to remember that I’ve interrupted my critical work in Kaiju neurobiology as a courtesy to you and your apparently incompetent supervisor.”

The officer stared fixedly at his hands, which were twisting the edges of his dress shirt in fits of nervous energy. “I may be incompetent, Dr. – Dr. Arossë, but not the Princess!”

“Her request would seem to suggest otherwise. Neural handshake facilitation, really? With this data?”

By this point, Arossë’s companion was sweating profusely. His eyes darted upwards to a point just over her shoulder. “Oh, no. I’m sure there must have been some mistake. S…she’s very clever. And brave. And …and-“

“Present?”  The tall woman at bridge controls turned to examine the new arrivals. Her hair was worn up (as per regulation), but the style was held in place by a set of ornate gold and silver hairpins. They made an elegant contrast with the severe lines of her Marshall’s uniform. Her cane beat steadily on the floor as she approached, and her enigmatic half-smile did not waver. “I commend your loyalty, Abrazân. But I think I can take it from here.” She turned to Arossë, as the unfortunate Abrazân scurried away. “It seems you have already realized that the admittedly inane questions with which I requested your assistance were merely a pretence.”

Arossë glared at her, hoping that her blush was invisible. The impact was not lessened by the fact that she needed to balance on the tips of her toes to do so. “And I suppose I’m to be grateful that your royal highness has seen fit to interrupt my schedule in order to grant me the inestimable honor of conversing with her?”

“You may suppose what you wish. Walk with me.” The princess Lôminzil (for so she was) turned back onto the catwalk, motioning for her to follow. If she was offended, it was not apparent in her tone, which betrayed no emotion save for mild amusement.

Even after five years in the BDC, Arossë was always struck speechless by the sheer size of the hangar bay. In the far corner, a group of technicians worked furiously to repair the pearl finish of Alcarin Estel. Two pilots, the princess’s twin cousins, lounged nearby, visible only by their dark hair against the white paint. But even the most beautiful Jaeger in the force paled in comparison to the sight directly in front of her. 300 feet and over 2,000 tons of weaponry. The first Jaeger to take down a Kaiju solo, and still the record holder for unassisted Kaiju kills. The symbol of the resistance. Arossë could still remember the news reports, Tar-Ardamin’s brave children defending the Gift with their own lives, fierce and brilliant and utterly unstoppable. That is, until the day they weren’t.

“Anadûnê Zagar.”

Lôminzil nodded. “We’ve had it repaired, since …since our last mission.” The gold and cobalt patterns on the Jaeger’s body glistened, as if in agreement. “It should be fully operational.”

Arossë stopped herself from reaching out to touch her hand – but only just. Five years dissecting Kaiju brains, three years since she’d known him, and she’d never been introduced to the greatest legend of the long war. She remembered how beautiful the princess had looked in the posters, poised and, the glint of death in her eyes. She didn’t notice the catch in Lôminzil’s voice, or the way her hand went to her injured leg when she mentioned her final mission. It was a long time before the princess spoke again.

“Tell me about your relationship with my brother.”

Arossë wheeled on her. “It is none of your concern.” And then, more quietly: “How do you know about us?”

“Please. Azûlzir keeps no secrets from me. And he seems to have decided that you two are drift compatible. An unusual state of affairs, considering that you have no formal ranger training. So you will forgive me for deciding that it is all my concern.”

And suddenly, she understood. The mysterious summons, the princess’s sudden displeasure – “Your candidates didn’t pan out. Every one of them came back negative. And you can’t afford to keep Anadûnê Zagar out of commission.”

“We cannot afford to let any of our Jaegers stand idle.” Lôminzil’s hands were clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “Any more than we can afford to man them with untrained civilians.”

“Fuck you. I give up everything, I pour my heart and soul into your army, I’ve left this fucking building twice since I got my commission. And that’s what I am to you. A fucking civilian.” She did not notice that her voice was rising, until the techs had dropped their tools to stare at the two women on the walkway. She lowered her hands from Lôminzil’s throat. “You really can’t bear to give him up, can you?”

“You have no idea what I can bear.” Her can struck the metal railing, and Arossë fell silent. Lôminzil wiped a drop of blood from her lip. “Your training starts at 08:00 hours.”

“Yes, Princess.”