Yet Another Morning After

[Glenn]

They spoke. He ate, or supped. That would be a better word for it. His throat was still raw. Eating was a purely physical act, one he rarely took much joy from, a necessity; the queen was right about that. It would be a steady motion then, one that included no positive or negative expression. It was mechanical, but he was doing it. There had been no quip about accepting food from fairies or meandering about how the fact that this was his home would shift the notion of guest right to himself and he was therefore protected because he was apparently his own guest now that they'd taken the place. Nothing like that. They were past the point of such things, with a small army here and his nights to be spent in the Hoard and a dream boy who wished to tear day and night asunder in a pique of angst. There were less onerous and more poetic ways to beguile or bewitch him than this. Before he invoked shrouds of mercy and fairness and outright satisfaction to convince the Queen it was worthwhile staying her hand, that the fruit would taste sweeter for the work put into it or at least that it would be far too sour if she took shortcuts, shortcuts which were simply the language of all things for her people. Now it was a different sort of inevitability. She had brought to Myrken a show of force (but was this not his direct fault on some level for raising concern; even if she would turn its attention to her current goal as opposed to her current well-being). He would not rail against that so openly.

"I'm allowed free communication. She's keeping up appearances. No more." He had certain freedoms, but privacy did not seem to be one. So it was that he paused for a very long moment, using the pause to sup once again, before shrugging slightly, and continuing on. There was a certain difficulty in treating all of this with the care he might have before his trudge through the fairyland of her dreams. "The question is what appearance and for her. Is it for her own people, to show that she has the situation well in hand? Is it for my appearance, a warning? Is it for Gloria's appearance, so that I might have an excuse to why I am not acting?" He had to pause again, but his eyes stayed directly on Benedict's, rude but an indication he was not yet done. "In no case, is it any measure to actually stop me. In every case, it's meant to slow me down, have me think twice and reconsider what's truly necessary, to buy her time, either with her people or with me or with her plans. You think she'd be thankful enough that I gave her a nine day head start, no?"

[Niabh]

The raven wondered who exactly was the blabbermouth here, considering that Glenn was blabbing all this in front of two—well, technically three—members of the lady’s coterie. Acorn probably didn’t know enough to pay attention even if she could understand what was being said. Meg was close-faced, puttering around with her medicines while projecting a single-minded intensity the raven recognized as his own when he was trying to sneak up on a shiny object while pretending he hadn’t noticed it. Determined not to understand the little she was capable of understanding, and steering well clear of any business but her own. Five in a room was three too many for Meg, who would prefer to be alone with a patient.

Bo was a hard read. She remained at the foot of the bed, no longer interested in Glenn, but now smiling at Acorn, who had flopped back down on the floor with her skirts hiked over her knees. The raven had no idea how much Bo understood, for all the fact that she seemed to be grasping better Standard than Meg. He wondered if her understanding was why she’d been assigned. Her careful silence, and the faint impression that she might abruptly break out of her stillness to leap, set the raven on edge.

Grimly he plowed through it. “If you’re capable of figgerin’ that out, then someone else in camp’s capable of comin’ to the same conclusion. The bard, at least. That bard knows every move the lady makes. If the lady didn’t want you wonderin’ about it, she could have done something in nine days to keep you from undermining her. Hell, she could’ve sent me back to Cnoch-na-Niall.” Both the women understood Cnoch-na-Niall; both of them glanced over, Meg with suspicion, Bo with a casual lift of her black eyebrows. The raven hunched over, his voice a harsh whisper, for all the privacy it provided. “And she wouldn’t need to warn you, because you’re pointless to warn. You don’t learn lessons; you’re not going to be all ‘oh, the mighty and merciful Queen has spared me; I’ll watch my step hereafter.’ No. You’re going to wake up and have the same goals and determination you had before you went to sleep. I know that, you know that. If she doesn’t know that, she’s deluded, and I don’t think she’s deluded, wanker.”

Acorn brightened. “Hallo, wanker!”

“Yeah, hi, kiddo.” He still thought that was pretty funny, even if Glenn didn’t. She reminded him of a new fledgling, repeating words before she could string them together autonomously. “Gloria, I don’t know. I’m about ready to go find Gloria my own self and let her in on this whole worms’ nest. Except that what with the clan here, that’s the best way to get someone dead. I suppose you know that as well. You’re kinda…what is it called when what you say doesn’t matter? Persona non something. You’re that around here. All you could do if you told Gloria is spark the tinder. You couldn’t tell anyone not to act on it. So if anything bad happened—to either side—it’d be on your head. I think that might be what the lady is counting on, more than anything: you still think you can resolve this between just you two, without involving Gloria or the town or anyone else.”

[Glenn]

Perhaps he did it to shock. Perhaps he did it to gauge reactions. More likely, there was a sense of inevitability to it all. Most likely, it was an effect of exhaustion and exasperation. It had been nine days in a coma for him but months in the Hoard or traversing through the biome she created to corral and captivate Brown. It was not enough to just to awaken and wipe the dust of slumber from his eyes. It was lived experience and while his bones ached due to inactivity, his spirit was heavy from the opposite. That did not even add in the emotional weight of being so far along the road with the Queen only to reach this particular, frustrating juncture. Maybe he was simply past the point of caring about who heard him. Maybe it was good for all to hear certain truths. Maybe that's exactly what she deserved, even if it wasn't at all what Benedict deserved.

Still, he was willing to listen, if only because there was broth to sup and a raw throat that would need at least occasional rest if he were to try to start negotiations sooner than not. So he would be silent as Benedict spoke and his response was not the voluminous thing it would have surely otherwise been. "Lines you won't cross. Things you can't endure. She's not wrong, but she's not entirely right either. If we take out the last nine days, it's not been long at all since I learned her plans. I learned and then I thought we came to an accord. I learned that it was no accord at all and I acted directly and immediately to disrupt her plans as only I could. Now, however, I know that she's not bound by an accord for the second time, so I'll meet with her once more to try to firm this up, even if it ties my own hands moving forward."

And if that too failed? Well, some things need not be spoken aloud. They could be implied well enough and likely no one in this room save for Benedict and maybe one other would understand it. "Sometimes, rarely yes, but made all the more potent due to its rareness, you have to make a moral decision instead of a practical one."

[Niabh]

“That is why I asked you what’s the worst thing that could happen if we just let her have the kid,” the raven muttered, all too aware that the statement itself was tantamount to treason. Let her have the kid? As if they stood between the Queen and anything? Glenn was an intellectual barrier, if anything. “Look, for whatever reason, she’s trying to convince you. Her trying to convince you is probably the only thing that kept you alive.” He hesitated. “Nah, that’s not fair. She’s trying to convince you because she likes you. A Queen’s favor is a powerful safeguard, only it’s…what’s the word? Capricious. It’s practically legendary, what happens when you’re out of favor. I don’t know if she’s told you about Mabhe ni Niall and the High Queen back before they fell out but whew-boy. So on one end, we got your moral point, and then on the other end, we have the Queen’s patience. And she has been patient above and beyond the call of Queendom for you. I don’t know why.”

Except he did know why, sort of, dimly. He knew how lonely the Queen had been before he came. He didn’t think she was lying about that. She had Catch, but Catch…didn’t give anything back, really. He took and took, an inexhaustible sponge soaking up her adulation, and she only too pleased to give it. The raven didn’t exactly get the dynamic between her and Glenn, but if you pushed Glenn, he pushed back. What a relief that must be, what a refuge.

He regarded Acorn, who had tottered back to her feet to hold open a bag for her mother. “If it were anything other than a kid, Glenn, I think she might come around. I really don’t know if there’s any accord to be made with a kid at stake. She’s feckin’ furious at the idea of having to play fair and compete against Gloria for it, because in her wee brain, she has the moral decision: she can get one kid out of this sticky, stupid tultharian world of yours where people get old and sick and die and give her…well, what she has. Young and pretty and endlessly entertained, forever.”

He hesitated again, unwilling to voice a thought Glenn had probably already had. “You do realize, don’t you, that’s what she’d do to you if she thought you’d go along with it?”

[Glenn]

"You may want to leave the room." This to all of them. Healer, swordswoman, scamp. "Between the lot of you, I imagine there are at least three sensitive ears out of the six." Somehow, he didn't think any of them would take him up on this though. He'd already spoken of things that would very likely put him at no little personal risk, so one could only imagine what might come next.

Whether anyone left the room or not (so long as Benedict himself did not fly off for all of their sake), he would continue. "First, the moral choice is mine, not hers. If this goes on much longer and I cannot negotiate an accord, I have to tell Gloria. It's as simple as that. There are practical reasons to do it and practical reasons not to do it but sometimes we must make moral decisions and sometimes those decisions are not the best practical ones. All we can do is prepare for the consequences." Too much of that. Too much to explain, or half explain for he gave no reasons or rationale behind anything he had just said, when it wasn't even the most important issue at hand. More supping, a consistently steady gaze so that Benedict might not interject. Still, best to add one small thing to ensure that. "As for her...." He said it and left it there as he took in broth and worked to recover his voice for the next assault.

And soon enough, there it was. "What regard she gives me is primarily because I treat her like a person. I care about her as a person, not a queen, not Tuatha, not for her power, not for her wealth, not even for her presence, for most of the time I have corresponded with her, it was not with any of that." By this point, he was beginning to struggle, beginning to feel a stabbing pain in his throat once more. It did not stop him. It did not even slow him. "With everyone else she has ever encountered, she has to question it. Was it because of her position? Was it because of what she was and the wrenching force of generations within her blood? Was it even because of her beauty or her skill with glamour? With me, it's been words on a page. I do not deny the existence her title, but to me, it does not define her. With me, she need never doubt, as she must doubt everyone and everything else that she has encountered. And as for what I say, well, I am stubbornly consistent." Save for Catch, who was true and pure and consistent but also a one way street in a way both bird and man understood but that neither mentioned. "She'll live her centuries or longer still and never encounter many others like me. Later on in life, she'll never be in the position to."

Which brought him to another pause, finally. He could go on no further, not without at least a few moments of rest, more broth, some restraint so he did not hurt his ability to speak before he truly needed it. Still, after the tiniest slurp, he tried to succinctly engage with his friend's final point. "Were she to give me all of that, any of that, everything I just told you would be worthless to her. I much prefer the entertainment and intellectual stimulation she provides now anyway. It's a greater treasure than your weight in gold, certainly, and I've seen you eat."

[Niabh]

“For all I keep harpin’ on tellin’ Gloria, since I have this feeling that maybe it’s better for her to be told than have her find out on her own. I mean, she’s still my Queen, you know? She’s the Niall. It’s one thing to squeal her business to you, because I know all you’re gonner do is talk at her and the worst she’ll do is say fiddle-dee-dee and ignore you. But Gloria…she’s town. She’s got the Inquistionatory or whatever in back of her. The one big rule we’ve always followed, the lady and me, is to keep the town out of it at all costs, because if the town got involved, people were going to get hurt.” He whistled sadly. “All I can say is I hope you know something I don’t. Last time Gloria got involved, the whole thing went pear-shaped, half the Woods got burnt up, the Lady went agly, and Catch got involved. And this time there’s even more people involved—our people.” He caught himself with some surprise. Somewhere along the line, he’d forgotten that Glenn wasn’t clan. “Well. Her people.” He swung back to focus, beady eyes sharpening. His black claws kneaded at the blanket, drawing up puffs and snags. “Exactly how do you plan on informing Gloria about this? Let’s presume it’s a given, because it basically is now. Do you think she’d act on her own, or is she going to summon the hounds?”

Juniper briefly closed her eyes and pressed her lips tight, trying hard to ignore the rill of conversation behind her. Her own throat burned as if she’d swallowed too large a lump of hot meat without chewing, and swallow as hard as she might, she still felt it stuck in her gullet like a stone. He’d been much easier to deal with when he’d been asleep and all she need worry about was if he stopped breathing. Now she rather wished he would. Her grip tightened on the edge of her tray and she slammed the edge down on the table, causing everything to rattle. The raven jumped; Acorn goggled, wide-eyed. Only Bo remained unaffected, even looking a little bored, as though such a reaction were predictable.

Juniper twisted at the waist and rattled off a short harangue toward the raven, her voice jangling higher and more vehement until she cut herself off, clearly still boiling, gasping for breath. From the way her mouth turned down, she looked as though she might cry, but her eyes glittered dry and pitiless.

The raven edged away from her. “Uh…she is now blaming me for keepin’ you talking, probably because she doesn’t know you very well. She also says something along the lines of how dare we conspire against her Queen right in front of her with…with impunity, and that I, or both of us actually, are a graceless, ungrateful pair of criminals. Only it sounded a lot worse the way she put it.” Criminals had been the raven’s hasty translation for a word with no exact equivalent in Human. What confused him most was that Meg’s use of the word implied that Glenn was being a poor guest in his own house. While he was wondering that, Meg caught his eye and snapped out one last remark, which he regretfully translated to Glenn. “She’s your doctor, and you owe her courtesy. That means following instructions. If you can’t do that, she’ll leave you to it.”

And indeed, it seemed that the raven’s last word was her own as well. Juniper scooped up Acorn in the crook of one arm, paused once more to scoop up Acorn’s abandoned shoes and stockings in her free hand, and sailed out the door in a whisper of skirts, leaving the door wide-open behind her and the green cones wafting their rills of silvery smoke.

[Glenn]

Benedict said quite a bit on his own. Then there was Juniper finally having enough. If nothing else, it meant a good rest for Burnie's throat. The broth was a slow ordeal and that suited him at the present for it gave him something to hide behind. Being called a criminal or worse was exactly the sort of thing to draw a rare grin to his face. "The last hour is the most I've willingly rested my throat in months, years even." Benedict knew that He knew that. Juniper would likely not be sympathetic and anyway she was gone. The door had been left opened wide and as he placed down the bowl, he looked to Bo and pointed a finger outwards. "Right through there. You'd never catch me. Like the wind."

Bowl safely stashed, quips made, healer and child gone, he sank back into the bed. Benedict had asked questions. He'd raised concerns. He'd blurred lines. All Juniper may had seen was black and white, but what the bird had offered was anything but. "One, I'm of the people, if not the town. Or the future people. The idea of people. Finn is my friend. Gloria is someone I have some responsibility to given a great many things. I want to find a path forward for everyone, for my own sake and for everyone's sake." Short sentences. He meant to stop somewhere in the middle but the situation was simply too complicated.

"Remember, Gloria acted when it was less personal and less dire. On suspicion. She did not intend the outcome and there may have been another hand at play, but that was when the stakes were far lower." Once had so recently been a grin now was but a thin smile. Laying as he was, it was easy to shut his eyes. "Benedict, here's the driving impetus. Gloria will learn. If not today, or tomorrow, or the next day, she will learn. I have one last chance to resolve things with Finn. For certain terms in Gloria's favor, I will negotiate away my ability to tell her. If that fails, I will have to tell her, because whatever may happen now because of it, no matter how bloody or disastrous, will be far less severe and horrible than what will happen if she learns on her own later." Glenn Burnie was a man of certainty, a man sure of almost every word that came out of his mouth. In all the time they had known each other, never had he sounded more certain of anything.

[Niabh]

Bo blinked slowly at him, like a cat, her gaze fixed on his face and not the finger he pointed, or the door at which he pointed. Nevertheless, she casually sauntered over and swung the door closed, then leaned her back against it with finality. Her expression did not change, but there was a sense of deep pleasure. She may as well have leaned forward and tweaked his nose when she did it. Only upon reflection might one realize she had not made a single sound. The door whined when she shut it, and the latch snicked into place with her weight against it, but from her, there was not a single tread upon the floor nor a shift of fabric from her clothes.

The raven shuddered. Creepy.

“That woman who just stomped out of here? Probably has more influence on the Queen than you’ve ever had. I know, I know, she’s not you, but she changed the Queen’s nappies and that gives her some authority. Paugh, you are going to fall flat on your face at Court if you can’t figure out who to suck up to.” Not that he could imagine Glenn sucking up to anyone; he’d just expounded on his logic for not sucking up to the Queen. Then of course, his lack of up-sucking had somehow, perversely, landed him in the Lady’s favor anyway. Maybe he suspected it worked on everyone. “Meg’s frightened. She hates it Here. The only thing that was keepin’ her steady was that she had a job to do and that job’s nearly done. Do not give her any more reasons than necessary to be afraid of you. She’s a good inroad. Lugh’s balls, I feel like your counsellor, or something.”

The idea of being Glenn’s counsellor amused him. He puffed out his chest and pulled up straight, like a tiny barrister in a black frock coat. “Here’s what you got going for you. I think the Lady’s going to come around enough to be interested in protecting her own people. From what I understand from Meg, the Lady’s absolutely spittin’ nails that they showed up here to begin with; the first thing she did was try to order them back home. How that didn’t happen, I have no idea. Usually the Queen’s command would be the be-all end-all, but I guess either the bard or Meg or someone talked her down. I think if you gotter, you can leverage that. She already knows what will happen if the town finds out they’re there. You warn her anyway. Double down on it, drive it home for her. And here’s the thing: you cover your own arse when you do it. Let her know it's gonner happen whether you do anything about it or not. Sayin’ that you could put her folks in danger might be the thing that uses up all her good grace toward you. You could really get yourself killed. If not by her, then by His Lordship. Ah.” He rumpled a bit, glancing toward Bo’s impassive interest, then back to Glenn. “That’s the other thing you probably need to know about.”

[Glenn]

It wasn't the most Benedict had ever said at once, but it was close to that, and Burnie not only said nothing throughout (though he'd managed to at least half sit up, ending in some rather awkward looking position and sip at the broth once or twice, respecting his doctor's wishes at least in some small way). When Benedict was done, Burnie continue to say nothing. He glanced for a moment to the swordswoman, his apparent jailer, but never to Benedict. "Upon my return from Golben, and my physical recover that followed, one that was far, far worse than this. Far worse, even with Catch's intervention." Concern that he might repeat the words 'far worse' a few more times may well have been warranted, but he did not. Instead, more silence, "I was diminished in many ways. Rhaena died. I had experienced a severe physical trauma. Betrayal before that. Certainly failure of my own making." Here, there was another pause, as he gave his throat or some other part of him a rest. There was no point in Benedict interjecting though, for there was very little to interject to as of yet. "I continued as Governor but I was a shadow of myself, empty, dragging myself forward, not looking down for if I did I would fall. After years of being incapable of introspection in a literal sense, I lacked the will and the drive, the strength, to do it. I had lost so much. Moreover, I was lost. In continuing on, I lost even more."

It was not a very encouraging or uplifting response to the raven's initial foray into scheming. "I know you were there with me for parts of what just occurred, Benedict, but you saw the beginning and the end of it. The middle was no small thing and I am afraid to admit that I do not think myself well. My body will recover in days and weeks but my dreams will remain afflicted and it will take some time to fully deal with the year for me that was but a few days for you." Here a pause, and no turn of a gaze towards the bird to stall him. He had to take it on faith that he would be allowed to continue. Another sup at the broth and many long breaths and then, with a sort of reluctance Benedict had not much seen of him, a ragged continuation. "Notwithstanding the added difficulty of her 'father,' be he here, which would be foolish, because then who would be there? Notwithstanding, if I am to move forward as you envision me, it'll be a quick path to disaster. No bluffs. No threats. No canny manipulation. For now, what I touch would turn to ruin. I need try to negotiate simple terms with her. Hold her to what she has twice agreed but has never yet been bound." There was another pause here, but it was a shorter one, just enough to allow him his breath back. "Five years. No harming or beguiling Gloria except for in self-defense. In return, not just my silence but my absolute inability to communicate any of this to Gloria. No direct interference in the challenge from me otherwise. Then, maybe in a few months time of rest and hearty exercise," there, a final glance to the swordswoman, who he had said every single word of this in front of, "I can move some pieces on the board once again. For now, I need be out of it, no matter what I may want. I'm no good for it right now, Benedict. You know I would not say that lightly, not in the face of your determination, and certainly not in this company."

Of course, all that raised the question of what would be the alternative if she did not accept such a deal.

[Niabh]

The raven felt an inner twitch and a yank across all his flesh as his quills pinched. He let his head dangle forward, as though his neck were broken, for just a moment. “Hey, let’s pretend I already feel as bad as I can possibly feel about puttin’ you in that situation and move on, what? I didn’t know what else to do with you. I wasn’t really sure the whole thing was even real.”

He still wasn’t sure, yet here were the repercussions before him: Glenn laid up, Meg fussing about whether he might stop breathing. It was real enough for that, like a dream you couldn’t quite wake up from—or more like waking up to find you’d dragged some of a dream’s detritus into the nest with you. Sometimes the raven dreamed of pearls and jewels, a quivering mountain of them, and himself free to take as much as he liked. He woke up almost believing those treasures were still there with him. This was like that, only terrible.

He clucked with soft sympathy, like a broody hen. “You get your shit together for now. The clan showing up will tangle her up worse than you ever could. For now, she’s Queen of something again and that means responsibility, things to organize. Gonner have to figger out how to feed ’em all, for starters. That’ll slow her down as far as the kid-thing goes. Not forever, but long enough for you to get on your feet again.” Without much hope, he added, pleading, “And by the Morrigan’s three names, be nice to Meg? I don’t think that woman’s slept a full night since she’s been here.”

For once, he looked directly at Glenn, boldly, nearly like a very small person—all quick flutters and twitches of his sleek, sharp head. “What do you need me to do? If you need me to deliver anything to the Lady, I can try. Worse she can do is kick me out.”

He hoped. There was the ever-so-slight possibility of being shot on sight now. He didn’t want to think she was capable of it. But the lady was proving capable of a lot of things.

[Glenn]

Burnie was currently limited, limited in motion, limited in his emotional state, limited in reactions. When Benedict showed such recrimination, visible, audible, undeniable, Glenn let out a small groan. "I don't blame you for it. I asked you for an impossible solution and you gave me one. Impossible solutions have repercussions and costs. I've been a part of too many in my life. You found a way to give me something when there was nothing to give. I'll blame her or myself, dependent on my mood, not you." Every word had a cost right now too, and he had just spent a great many on explaining why he was not bounding off to scheme and meddle and interject. Still, out of the pool yet remaining, he found some to try to reassure his friend.

That left practicalities. "I'll speak with Meg when she gets back." In normal times, it may well have been easier for him to play the game and lean on formalities than to show some honest kindness to a woman that he would likely never connect with, but these were not normal times, and he'd just have to find a way to lean on kindness without it collapsing under the weight of his awareness. "I'm confident than she will. I have no intention of trying to manipulate her though. She's not my inroad to Finn."

And if she wasn't, then who was? "Busy as she may be, she'll be expecting a message from me through you. We'll work on it together tomorrow, you and I, after I've rested for a time, including my voice."

[Niabh]

“I didn’t say speak to her, just be nice to her. With you, those are two different things sometimes.” He hated to be blunt, what with Glenn in vulnerable circumstances, unable either to wriggle free of ridicule or to talk his way around it. Well, no, he didn’t hate it. Someone had to be blunt. If anything, he resented it being him. “Don’t be shitty to someone who’s stuck doing you a favor. The lady was shitty to me and look how I turned out.”

He could joke about it, but the wound was still raw. With all his bravery, he kept his eyes on Glenn. Two equals, for once. His natural instincts prevented him from sustaining it long. “I don’t know how many times over the years I’ve told you you look like shit, but you look like shit. Exponentially more so than usual. Get as much rest as you can. I know you. Your brain’s gonner be tick-tick-ticking even if the rest of you’s flat on your back, but you're gonner sound like a crow if you keep this up. I brought you your stuff. It’s…uh, somewhere.”

He transferred himself to the table and, with his beak, slid aside a cup, a leather pouch, to reveal a round jar of ink with a crusted black rim, sitting atop a meticulously stacked pile of paper. Its presence amid the sickroom detritus was pathetically hopeful. Someone had been so hopeful of Glenn’s recovery that they placed all his tools close at hand, for when he would need them. “Here’s your voice. When you’re ready.”

[Glenn]

On that first night, Glenn Burnie did not dream. It may have been exhaustion. It may have been a defense mechanism. It may have been a willful decision. It may have been the result of previous damage only recently overcome. It does not matter. There was no sleep. There was no Hoard. There was simply rest.

There was no rush upon awakening. No rush to rise. No rush to test his hands. No rush to test his voice. There was a steady patience. He had no desire to rush into his next interaction with the Queen. He had no desire to rush into whatever his conscience and general sense of doom told him he must do with Gloria he could not make certain things "square" if not "right." Perhaps conscience should have been in quotes as well?

Finally, a purely clinical thing. "No dreams yet." Was there less of a rasp? Probably not yet, even if there might be as the day unfolded for sleep both helped in the long run and made things even trickier in the short run. "News?" He seemed willing to accept any update from anyone in the room, apparently about any thing.

[Niabh]

Minus sword and jacket, Bo sat on the floor with her back against the closed door and her forehead nearly resting on her knees, eyes closed—not a particularly comfortable position, but then, she was only resting. Comfortable was counterproductive. She stirred when he stirred, with a deep inhale to clear her head and get her blood circulating. When he asked his question, she stretched her legs and rolled to her feet without so much as an uncertain wobble, wide awake, with only a half-heartbeat’s distraction to make sure her sword still leaned against the wall where she’d left it, near at hand.

Under normal circumstances, she was a soldier, not a guard. It felt a little odd, if not an outright imposition, to watch someone while they slept. One watched sleeping children, or lovers, or the very sick. With those, there was an element of vulnerability and affection that alleviated tedium. Outwardly he looked like nothing much, a bit scruffy and sleep-wrinkled, and without that self-same bond of affection and vulnerability, one could feel very little but derision or even contempt at the sight of a man with his eyes wadded shut and his jaw yawning slack, making whistling noises with his nose. She had little to buoy her through the long hours of the night save curiosity. The Queen had interest in this tultharian. Her interest made him interesting.

Then, too, he was mortal. That gave the watching a speck of piquancy, bringing as it did the possibility that the vile whistling might cease, that he might simply stop. Any moment she shared with him could be his last. A soldier understood that bond had power. It deepened her curiosity and honed her focus.

“Lady Meg be in the town. For the food.” She doled out words as though they had weight, as though he might not be able to juggle too many at once. The heavy, quilted men's garb only emphasized her gracile bones, but her hands, folded in front of her, looked overlarge and knobby, with tendons standing out. “You have freedom of the house. D’you need help to the pot?”

[Glenn]

Six-hundred words slammed up his beleaguered throat and towards his teeth. Lips were shut but that never stopped them before. Other things occasionally did. Here, they crashed into an upright tongue, which was brushing idly against a top tooth. It was a chemical collision. They could not be destroyed by such a thing, but they could be dissuaded, redirected. They stormed upwards into his mind instead, having separated into two parties.

The first reached backwards, wondered if Bo had been the one to carry him to this bed eventually. It was unlikely as the timing was all off. It was likely the queen herself then. She was strong enough, given the time. It would mean that all she knew of him was what she had seen underneath blankets. She had no feel of him.

The second pulled sideways, pondering responses. A woman of strength might see weakness in him so quickly accepting help. A woman of seriousness would note that it had already been offered and would easily identify the foolishness of refusing it when it was needed. There were cultural issues at play, and her profession as well. There might have been a whole dance to it but he was past the point of dancing. Wasn't that what he had told Benedict. Maybe it was a good thing that he was already thinking otherwise? Probably not. Something to keep an eye on regardless.

There was a loss of dignity in struggling and failing. There was a loss of dignity in accepting help and succeeding. Thankfully, the notion of dignity did not move him as it once did. In the face of two fairly equal drives, practicality won out. "Help would make everything quicker. Where's Benedict? The raven."