Worry

As the last flickers of the evening sunset disappeared over the horizon, the tournament was yet to cease in its festivities--and, thoroughly inebriated by the stench of blood and violence, it didn't seem like the audience had grown tired of its spectacle quite yet. With the first round of the night's illustrious secondary bracket cleared, crowds clamoured around the city's bulletin boards which openly advertised the contenders who had emerged victorious from their duels, and the imminent matchups of their future endeavours.

Dorma vs. Manyu

Shilahi vs. Witilla

Insofar, the seeded bracket had suffered zero upsets, much to the dismay of gamblers from the lowest districts to the noblest of estates--and much to the pleasure of their bookmakers. As expected, both Dorma and Shilahi had proceeded with ease, but rumours quickly began to spread like wildfire of their future competitors' hidden strengths. Manyu, with his flagrant use of dark magic, and Witilla, who had captivated the audience with her display of ice, had gathered up their own loyal groups of supporters.

But what gripped the minds of Gria's citizens more than the outcome of mere duels was the whereabouts of the so-called Hero of Legend, who they had been promised by the king himself would appear to challenge the top contender. Truthfully, not one of them had any idea of what Barion looked like, and so they could hardly take matters into their own hands even if the idea tickled their fancy. But it wasn't only the common folk who found themselves asking after Barion's whereabouts.

"No doubt the man is resting in his bedchambers." A voice answered in a distracted tone, "Why not ask His Majesty?"

"Too busy attending to the organisation of this tournament." Dorma answered, "Is Barion not interested in spectating?"

"You had best ask him yourself."

"...Are you quite alright, Sir Lotte?"

"How do you mean?"

"Frankly, if I had been bested by the Great Hermit herself, I would be more concerned with mending my wounds than tending to the alchemy lab."

The room Dorma and Lotte stood in was a boiling maze of alembics and distillers. Foul odours wafted openly from countless flasks balancing precariously on wooden tables while many of the great stone bricks upon the walls had been corroded away with wicked chemical spills. A number of unfinished and esoteric magical items--mostly fashioned by Fusala, were arranged incomprehensibly on a worktop in the corner.

"I believe I'm on the verge of a major breakthrough." Lotte replied, "Observe."

Draped over the table in front of him was a pelt out of some kind of nightmare--turgid skin inflamed with boils and perforated with clusters of holes where maggots had broken through the surface. Though it had been dried, a stench like no other dissuaded Dorma from looking its way for too long. With a shard of adamantite no larger than a pea, Lotte hovered his hand above the hellish leather, smirking as a collection of magical particles, green with the power of wind, seemed to travel from the pelt to the crystal.

"Wind particles?" Dorma waved a hand in front of her face, "Is this the skin of some magical beast? Couldn't you have sourced a more… tolerable sample?"

"You should know even better than I that it's impossible to source charged magical particles from the dead, Lady Dorma." Lotte began, "But it seems the bodies of the Four Heavenly Kings are unrestrained by such laws."

"Bodies?" She repeated, "...You don't meant to tell me-"

"Skinning even this much from Tiamat was quite the undertaking." He interrupted, "But don't you see what this means? If a magical focus can be infused with charged particles simply from being in close proximity to Tiamat's long-rotten flesh, we could provide our soldiers with the means to cast spells without even the slightest understanding of sorcery!"

"Isn't this a tad… dangerous? I can't imagine His Majesty will look too fondly upon this."

"No. He has expressed his displeasure with the idea quite thoroughly." Lotte frowned, "-But, surely a sorceress of your repute can appreciate the ramifications this could have on our society? Imagine a mill being blown without wind--homes warmed without firewood. Not to mention the power of Leviathan's lightning… imagine the chance to study the energies of the heavens themselves!"

"-Providing we can supply every man and woman in the country with an adamantite crystal."

"Well, we needn't use the finest materials. Simple quartz foci amplified with lenses will work well enough to make a difference for the average family. Far safer, too. I certainly wouldn't entrust the average farmer with the ability to throw fireballs around."

"And you'd continue working on this plan despite His Majesty's protests?"

"I will." He declared, "King's permission or not, I see little reason why we shouldn't be exploiting every opportunity to gain an upper hand on Demonkind. You've been alive for centuries, Dorma--surely you've seen your share of rulers making poor decisions?"

"Perhaps. But Granda is better than most, in that regard." Dorma paused, "-Even so, I do agree with your thinking. The world cannot rely on Heroes to deliver them from evil forever. Once we nip the problem of Demonkind in the bud, the matter of the realm's future will become our highest priority. Or, I should say, yours."

"Hm. You're not planning on sticking around once all of this terrible business is wrapped up?"

"I have travelled across the entire world--slain Demons in the thousands, and bore witness to travesties and horrors more afflicting than you could ever comprehend." She retold, "-And yet, I often find myself thinking that several lifetimes of political congress have tested my sanity in ways even more unforgiving."

"Starting to grow tired of it all, are you?" Lotte asked.

"By my estimate, the potions of longevity we three consumed as a method of guiding the world beyond the reach of our mortal lifespans should last us a few more centuries yet." Dorma explained, "I would like to spend those remaining centuries in a lonely, faraway place--preferably one as quiet as possible, and with a lovely view of the sunset each evening. Goddess willing, I will find some way to bring Barion along with me as well, even if I need to drag him kicking and screaming away from the tiresome conflicts of this world."

"You're quite frank about your love for that man, aren't you?"

"Yes, well…" She paused, "Try living for a millenia and more and see how honest you become about your own desires."

"One lifetime is more than enough for me." He replied, "I understand this isn't being said in good faith, but please don't inform His Majesty that my research into harnessing the power of Demonkind is continuing against his wishes."

"Don't expect me to come to your aid when he finally discovers what you're doing." Dorma warned, "I'll leave you to your work. Good night, Lotte."

"And you, Dorma."

…

..

.

The castle's grandiose bedchambers had long accommodated diplomats and nobles of particular repute. A single room was almost as large as the average commoner's home, decorated with some of the finest furniture and vanities gold could buy. But even so, Barion couldn't help but feel out of place in the presence of such luxury--just as he'd felt all that time ago, when Gria had been the base of their stand against Demonkind.

There was a rapping at the door, one he hadn't been expecting but felt would be more than welcome.

"Come in." He beckoned.

Dorma was the visitor he anticipated, but as the door creaked open, it turned out to be a face he hadn't seen in quite a number of weeks.

"...Din?" Barion blinked.

The Elven girl who had attempted to rob him on his long-ago journey to Branda carried herself with more dignity than she had as a blackguard, although the wary scowl she wore with nonchalance hadn't changed a bit. The tray she carried lended the impression of a servant girl--an impersonation that couldn't be any more ill-fitting.

"Her Majesty supposed that you'd like something to drink." She explained.

"Larion? That's kind of her." Barion replied, "But I'm not too fond of tea, if I have to be honest."

"I'll just enjoy it myself, then."

"Is that really something a servant should be saying?"

The Elven girl didn't answer him, and instead set the tray down on a nearby table before pouring herself a cup.

"Seems you've moved up in the world ever since we parted ways." Barion noticed, "Going from a thief to Larion's personal handmaiden in a matter of weeks is pretty impressive."

"It was surprising for me, too." She replied, "The guards were very interested in speaking to me after you left. I thought they might have had me pegged for what I was, but all they wanted to know about was you. When I told them your name, they practically dragged me to the spire."

"You see, that's why I didn't want to loiter about for too long."

"I had an audience with Her Majesty. She was surprised to hear you were still alive--not that she ever told me who you actually were until I learned the truth from Lady Dorma." Din continued, "She must have taken a liking to me, because I was suddenly being invited for afternoon tea just about every other day. Our conversations eventually drifted from you to ourselves, and…"

"-And you fell in love with her?"

"Mm…" She lowered her head, "Is that… something you don't approve of?"

"Ah, I understand now." Barion crossed his arms, "Larion never sent you here at all, did she?"

"...What do you mean?"

"She thought I might need a drink, did she?" He smirked, "Awfully considerate, but I'm still quite capable of fetching myself water despite being over 500 years old."

"Hah…" Din sighed, "I've been found out."

"You don't need to go looking for my approval." Barion reassured, "I'm flattered that it's worth something to you, but the truth of the matter is that I'm barely Larion's father. If she's got a taste for women and courage enough to seek them out, then I could care less about who she beds at the end of the day."

"You don't worry at all about her wellbeing?"

"I regret being irresponsible enough to curse her with a bastard's lineage, but it seems she's grown into a fine woman despite that. I wouldn't expect any less from a daughter of mine." He answered, "Do I care for her? Certainly. She's my blood, after all. But do I worry? No."

"The circumstances of her birth are already undermining her legitimacy as the true Elven Queen…" Din muttered, "If it was revealed that she loves a woman--and a commoner, at that… support for the abolishment of the throne would gain even more traction."

"That's news to me." Barion admitted, "Growing up, I was taught that Elves were the sort to fuck a tree if it had enough holes."

"No! What sort of textbooks did you read as a child!?"

"Well, my parents were Beastkin, so they didn't have a clue about what they were talking about. Probably just told me that so I would stop asking." He reminisced, "...So, what's the problem?"

"The problem is that Lar- Her Majesty could be ousted and replaced by a council of nobles who would have no interest in joining the Holy Alliance, or helping humanity at all, for that matter."

"Why's that? I'd say this alliance is the cleanest we've ever had, and Elves have been welcomed warmly enough in the city, haven't they? His Majesty even vowed to more strictly enforce the abolishment of slavery, and promised that Elves would be granted the peninsula when this war is over."

"To a traditionalist, his vows are nothing but lies to coax us out into the open."

"Sounds to me like they're not abiding diplomacy in good faith." Barion replied, "I'm no politician, Din--Dorma's always been my better when it comes to these sorts of things, but a council of supposed nobles who wish for nothing else but to make everyone's lives harder shouldn't be given the power to make changes in the first place."

"Do you think that vicious words like those will stop them? Being silenced will only rile them up even more. They'll claim that the pure bloodline of our ruling family is being corrupted by a Queen giving in to the demands of humans, and that their rights of opinion are being infringed."

"Do these traditionalists have a large following?"

"Not especially. But as I just mentioned, Lari- Her Majesty-"

"Just call her Larion, Din. She's probably bothered by the fact that you don't."

"Hah… Larion is worried that trying to suppress their supporters will only have the opposite effect."

"For as long as rulers have existed, there have been dissenters to oppose them, whether through rebellions or council or assassinations--believe me, I've seen just about every type." He recounted, "I know this terrible new world of politics must be overwhelming, but the truth is that Larion has probably spent her entire life resisting their kind. Certainly, recent events might have lit a fire under them, but like all things, it'll pass with time."

"But…" Din muttered, "What am I supposed to do about that?"

"I have a feeling that you've already helped in more ways than you can imagine." Barion assured, "Larion loves you. Love is… well, it's a powerful thing. I'm surprised she managed to last this long without anyone to support her. She's got more on her plate now than she's ever had before, and without you by her side, she may very well end up reaching her limit."

"...That's what Dorma said, too."

"I understand how you're feeling. You want to help, rather than being some kind of stress reliever or companion." He continued, "If that's the case, then bury your nose in political theory or pick up a spear and start training. Whether a soldier or scholar, you can make Larion's life easier, and carve a path for yourself while you're at it."

"Is that really possible?"

"Not a clue."

"Th-That's not what I wanted to hear…"

"I won't say it'll all work out--because it might not, and then who are you going to blame?" Barion smirked, "But if you take it one step at a time, then improvement will come. With a spear, I mean. If you want advice on becoming a diplomat, then you're speaking to the wrong man."

"That's… not a very satisfying answer."

"Well, rarely is life ever satisfying. But it's the truth."

"I know." Din nodded, "Maybe I just needed to hear it for myself. Thank you, Barion."

"How is the tournament going?"

"Aren't you spectating it?"

He shook his head, "Granda wants my appearance to be a surprise, or so he tells me. Don't understand the point, really--it's not like anyone would recognise me."

Just then, the door to those lofty bedchambers opened, albeit more fiercely than when Din had entered. Through the doorway entered Dorma, with a conflicted look on her face.

"...Not like you to enter without knocking, Dorma." Barion noticed.

"Haven't you heard? Hello there, Din." She addressed both of them at once, "Fusala's duel ended in a loss--against a woman who commanded the power of ice without having to rely on a focus?"

"How do you mean?" Barion tilted his head, "You think she's Lilith or something?"

"I was hoping you could deliver a diagnosis. Manyu seems convinced otherwise." She replied, "Could you make your way to the chapel by the arena?"

"I'll take any opportunity to leave this old castle." Barion stood up from the oversized bed, "Din--thank you for coming. Think a little about what we spoke about."

"I-I will…" The girl answered, a tad overwhelmed by the intrusion, "Sorry, but… did you say Lilith?"

"The Heavenly Kings are certainly revealing themselves with more urgency than before." He replied, stretching his arms, "Well, Goddess willing, we'll have three out of four defeated before the day is up, eh?"