#cfd mini update

~

Lord Alejandro has been talking for almost an hour now. He gestures excitedly, badly mimicking the low, mournful moaning of the emperor on the battlefield. Fallon wasn’t at the battle, of course, so he has no real frame of reference, but somehow he thinks that emperors sound just a little bit more impressive than that. 

But Thea is demanding more details and Alejandro is only too happy to provide. Emiliano isn’t paying attention and Fallon would much rather all talk of emperors stopped forever, but he doesn’t want to speak up about it. This is a guardian kingdom. He doesn’t want to draw attention to his species and its weakness, no matter how uncomfortable the discussion makes him. 

So he excuses himself, as politely as possible, and flees the room. Alejandro’s house is large and ornate and brand new. There’s plenty of rooms to explore while the guardians all discuss emperors. 

He finds a safe in Alejandro’s private study, right out there in the open. Begging to be cracked. 

Well, okay, the study is locked, but locked doors mean nothing to Fallon. A challenge is a challenge and he can’t resist, though he promises himself that he’d never actually take anything substantial. He’d get caught. 

It takes him about five minutes. He’s a little rusty. But soon enough the thick metal door of the wall safe is swinging open, revealing a minor fortune in gems piled up inside. 

Fallon takes one. A trophy. It’s just one gem, no one will notice, it’s fine. He slips it into his pocket and shuts the safe. 

~

There’s always a frosty sort of silence between Corin and his father these days. Corin is grown now, or so he’d like to think. The innocence - and embarrassing, blinding stupidity - of youth is gone. Corin has a lot to be ashamed of, and trusting Atropa enough to let him take him out of the Court is top of the list. 

Now, though, all illusions of a friendly father-son relationship have disappeared. Corin exchanges a curt nod with his father as he walks to his tutor’s room every morning, and that’s about the extent of their interaction. Atropa doesn’t make any special effort to make up with his son. The boy is here, in the southern fortress, as ordered. 

But sometimes, Atropa has to intervene. 

“Where are you going?” he says, extending an arm to block Corin’s passage down the fortress corridor. 

Corin refuses to meet his father’s eyes. He squares his shoulders and glances away as if he doesn’t truly care. “Uncle Alaric invited me over for a game of cards,” he says sullenly.

Atropa closes his eyes briefly, as if in prayer. “Will he be serving refreshments?” 

“I guess? Why does it matter?” Corin’s voice is raised now. He has no patience left for the fortress and its rules. It’s embarrassing enough that he has to go and play boring games with his weird uncle to pass the time. 

Atropa pauses to think. He plans his words very carefully. But he doesn’t get a chance to say anything, because Corin ducks under his arm and continues on his way down the corridor, his narrow shoulders high and tight. 

“Don’t eat the meat,” Atropa says instead, loud enough to startle a passing servant. 

~

The Cú na Mara is still stuck in the ice that bridges the gap between the Southern Icefields and the Shifting Expanse, but news still reaches the clan. The Greenskeeper Gathering is here and the clan has never felt less prepared for a festival, which is saying something. 

A few haphazard green banners are strung up along the deck, but no nature dragon volunteers to lead the festival. Rúth won’t even consider it. So Leo goes to Luke instead.

“You’re basically a nature dragon, right?” Leo says. “You’re like.. a tree or something?” He stands well back from the starboard edge, but for once Luke isn’t in the mood to push him overboard. 

“No,” Luke says, affronted. “Fuck you, I’m a dragon like everyone else.” It isn’t quite true any more, but it’s not a fun topic to think of. 

Leo doesn’t seem convinced. “Are you? You’re an, uh... a bogsn-”

“A guardian,” Luke says tersely. Wishful thinking. 

Leo clearly senses the struck nerve. A sly grin appears by magic on his scarred face. “Oh yeah? Where’s your charge?” 

Luke’s hand drifts to their side, missing the heavy, secure weight of the spellbook. Rúth has it now more often than not. Leo snorts at this moment of hesitation. 

“Look, whatever,” he says. “You’re some kind of plant monster and that’s naturey enough for us. You can lead the festival.” 

It isn’t often that Luke actually wants to play the paladin card. They open their mouth to argue, to say that as an emissary of the Lightweaver it would be an insult to both gods to lead the Gathering, but the words never come. Luke doesn’t play the paladin card because they aren’t sure if they still have one. 

Leo nods, job done, and leaves. Luke stares at a whorl in the wooden deck.