GW2 fic, Ch 36-42

[anghraine]

“Minister Arton’s not guilty; someone was framing him to take the fall if this treason was ever discovered.”

Logan nodded thoughtfully.

“It’s got to be someone else in the Ministry—someone with money, power, and ambition.”

“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” he said.

title: pro patria (36-42/?)
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Logan Thackeray, Deborah Fairchild; Ailoda Langmar, others; Althea & Logan, Althea & Deborah, Althea & Ailoda & Deborah
stuff that happens: Althea and Logan track down the enslaved survivors of Falcon Company.
chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35

THIRTY-SIX

1

“Does the haven often fall under attacks like that?”

Dansky seemed startled; whatever she might have expected, it was doubtless less inane.

“Not quite like that,” she said. “Those bandits caught us off guard, but”—she frowned—“they didn’t steal anything. It was as if they just wanted to kill people.”

I took a deep breath.

“I suspect they were here to kill you.”

2

She stared at me.

“I’m investigating accusations of treason related to the fall of Falcon Company,” I said.

To my own astonishment, she grinned.

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that!” she told me. “I always suspected Tervelan was rotten, but I had no proof.”

I still held myself ready for danger—this was Kessex, after all—but tension drained out of my body.

“What made you suspect him?”

3

She exhaled, her brief exuberance gone.

“Falcon Company,” she said, “was the finest unit I ever served with. If I hadn’t been recovering from an injury, I’d have been with them that day.”

I almost brought up Deborah, but I didn’t want to distract her; at this point, perhaps it would be better if she didn’t know I had a personal interest in the case.

“You must know something,” I said urgently. “Tell me, did you ever see Tervelan meet with a minister?”

She shook her head.

4

I’d never felt such a weight of disappointment in my life, and I wasn’t sure I could ever again. I nearly turned away; but some instinct told me to wait.

“My job was to deliver messages for the Seraph,” she said, dropping her voice further. Something of Hal’s haunted anxiety seemed to touch her. “The ones I brought from Tervelan were addressed to ‘Minister Arton’—but I know for a fact that Arton never got those letters.”

My head snapped up, Arton’s pained dignity fresh in my memory. It’d been so odd—what if—

5

Dansky blinked rapidly.

“After Falcon Company fell,” she went on, “I found out that the guy I’d been delivering them to didn’t even work in Arton’s office. Nobody’d ever seen him before.” She took off her gauntlet and rubbed some dirt off her face. I chose to believe it was dirt, anyway.

“I delivered Falcon Company’s last patrol to that guy, too. After the unit was attacked, I put it together … and I just couldn’t stay in the Seraph.”

6

“Understandably,” I said. “Do you know the route they were to patrol?”

She brightened a little. “Sure.”

Luckily, I’d brought a map with me to help make my way through Kessex Hills. She drew me over to a table, and inked out an oblong shape in red.

I stared down at the route, struggling to believe my own eyes—all this, the work of a day, after so many years of grief and confusion.

7

“One more thing,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Is there any chance that part of Falcon Company could still be alive?”

Unlike virtually everyone else, she didn’t immediately reject the idea, instead looking thoughtful.

“If the centaurs took them captive,” she said at last, “they’d sell the prisoners to human slavers. There’s a bandit camp to the east that dabbles in the slave trade—you could look there.”

Hope, so relentlessly quashed for so long, blazed within me like a star.

I said, “Thank you for your help.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

1

I sent another, slightly more detailed message to Logan, not expecting much more than quick affirmation that he’d received it, and an injunction to proceed carefully. Instead, minutes ticked by while I waited, anxious and increasingly impatient, for his reply. I had just decided that if I didn’t hear from him soon, I’d go ahead anyway, when an exhausted Seraph came running through the gates.

“A message from Captain Thackeray, for the hero of Shaemoor,” she gasped out.

The Lionguards glanced at each other in bewilderment, then at me.

I sighed.

“I’m the hero,” I said.

2

I tore Logan’s message open, then stared.

Althea —

Head to the bandit camp in an hour and a half from the sending of your first message. I’ll be there. Do not assault it on your own.

An hour and a half left just twenty-five minutes to reach the camp—and I had no idea how Logan could make it from Divinity’s Reach so quickly. Then again, I had no idea how Logan got anywhere, really.

I shoved the note into my pouch and with a garbled thanks, rushed out of the haven.

3

Once I found the camp, I snuck around its edges—and unsurprisingly, Logan was already there, skulking behind some trees in full armour, his white and gold surcoat all but glittering.

“Captain Thackeray, you made it,” I said, as professionally as I could, and caught him up on what I’d learned from Hal and Dansky. I concluded, “Minister Arton’s not guilty; someone was framing him to take the fall if this treason was ever discovered.”

Logan nodded thoughtfully.

“It’s got to be someone else in the Ministry—someone with money, power, and ambition.”

“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” he said.

I couldn’t disagree with him there.

4

He went on, “Destroying Falcon Company weakened the Seraph, and turned public opinion against the queen. It was a clever plan, and it almost worked.”

It had worked, for a time. I dug my nails into my palms.

“I want to see if these bandits have any answers,” I told him, “and, if Dwayna is smiling on us, find my sister. Let’s go.”

We crept closer.

5

We paused among a nearer stand of trees, where I—less obtrusive in blue and grey clothes—peered around to check for scouts.

“I don’t see any, just a couple of guards,” I said, hiding in the trees once more.

Logan shook his head. “So it’s come to this—people turning on each other when we need to be working together. If we can’t trust each other, we can’t possibly face the dragons.”

I’d done my best not to think about the dragons, in perfect honestly; it wasn’t difficult, with centaurs and bandits and Charr and gods knew what else at our throats. I supposed it was something of an honour that he’d bring them up to me, of all people—if rather an unfortunate moment for it.

6

“There will always be villains,” I whispered, thinking of Zamon, Tervelan, the camp just ahead of us. “I suppose that’s why there needs to be heroes.”

“Like me,” said Logan, his smile wry, but he sobered as he added, “and like you. You’ve done tremendous deeds for Kryta. They won’t be forgotten.”

I smiled back at him. If we didn’t make it out of this—I couldn’t see any way to attack except a frontward assault—then there were worse notes to die on.

7

“Thanks, Logan,” I told him, genuinely grateful, and peered around again. Several figures stood guard at what looked like another cave system, braced by wooden beams; to go by the rocky hill beside us, it couldn’t be nearly as deep as the one I’d fought through with Faren.

Neither guard had particularly good posture; one of them yawned, saying something in a bored drawl to the other. It must be nearly the end of their shift—I hoped.

“Is it time?” murmured Logan.

Sure enough, two figures emerged from the cave, speaking to the two tired ones.

“It’s time,” I said.

THIRTY-EIGHT

1

We rushed forward, Logan’s sword slashing at the guards, my own gleaming with aether as I blocked pistol fire with one hand and lashed chaos with the other.

“Intruders! Wake up!” one guard screamed, just before I killed him.

With that, we had a real fight on our hands, and an unpleasant one. Bandits, pistols, and small enclosed spaces made for an unfortunate combination at the best of times, and in this case, we had to do our best to shield the slaves in cages—gods—and others coughing and working at the rear of the cave.

I finally dodged behind Logan and switched out my sword and sceptre for a tall staff: a weapon I always carried, but almost never used. The others helped channel my magic; the staff distilled it, ordinary spells concentrating into near-uncontrollable blasts of aether—but if there was any time to use it, that time was now.

2

With a shout, my magic spread throughout the chamber, purplish lightning crackling as it struck down at our enemies. Only our enemies. With sweat pouring down my face, I bent the spell to my will for as long as I could, then cut off the flow of magic before it could threaten anyone else.

Logan was methodically cutting the throats of those struck down by the spell, holding off others with his shield, sword and shield ablaze with blue-white fire. I’d forgotten that he had magic of his own; it looked like he was pulling out all the stops, too.

“Stay here—don’t let them through,” shouted a large bandit, who seemed to be the leader. “Get up and fight!”

3

The surviving bandits rushed us, but it didn’t matter; Logan shouted something that lit half of them on fire, while I cast through the staff again, magic pouring out to encase us, even as blue light flashed out to protect us, blue and purple light mingling. His sword and my clones did the rest of the work.

In the back, someone cried, “I need your help!”

It seemed a bandit had the clever idea of holding someone hostage; I sent a clone after him, and with a flare of light, he dropped to the ground.

Logan was holding the last surviving bandit at swordpoint. He demanded,

“Who were you working for? Who set this up?”

4

“Caudecus,” she grunted, clutching at her stomach. “But you’ll never … prove it …”

She collapsed on the ground. I checked for a pulse, but she was gone.

Caudecus—of course! Zamon, Tervelan, all of it: they weren’t just signs of general corruption, though they certainly had their own guilt. This was Caudecus’s handiwork, though—all of it!

5

“Curse it all,” snarled Logan, as angry as I’d ever heard him, “that bandit’s testimony was the only evidence we had!”

“At least we know the truth,” I said, and remembering his weak spot, added, “and we can protect the queen. It’s not enough, but … it’ll have to do.”

He immediately calmed. “You’re right. We’ll figure out what to do after we free these prisoners and get them back to the city.”

I closed my eyes, fighting for my own calm, then opened them again; it was time to see who lived.

6

I slung my staff over my back and started opening cages as we headed towards the rear of the cave, where groups of slaves huddled or staggered. My heart thudded so hard that it felt like it might crack something, but this was more important.

I took out my sword and started cutting bindings and shackles, while Logan cast a series of spells that flashed white light and left injured prisoners standing upright again. I helped brace them as they struggled to their feet, I supported those with remaining injuries, reassuring one after another. They all mattered, not just—if she was here—somewhere—

Near the right-hand wall of the cave, another prisoner bent over with a coughing fit: a terribly thin woman, with faded blonde hair, and when she straightened up again, clear grey eyes.

“Deborah!”

7

She peered through the gloom, her face drawn beneath layers of grime and weariness—but I knew her, I’d know her anywhere.

“Althea?” she whispered incredulously, eyes wide, and stumbled forwards, nearly falling into my arms.

I caught her, dropping my sword and keeping my grip as gentle as I could; they all had bruises running up and down their arms and legs.

“Merciful gods,” I said, hardly able to believe my own eyes, my own hands, “you’re alive!”

Deborah—Deborah!—coughed into my shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay,” I promised, stroking her hair. “I’m here.”

THIRTY-NINE

1

I’d no sooner spoken than I remembered what sort of person I’d been when she got captured—how consumed with trivialities, foolish, near helpless. I’m here might not do much to reassure her of her safety, at least not until Logan made his way over.

Deborah didn’t say anything about that. She just lifted her head and whispered,

“Am I dreaming?” She coughed again. “Is that … Grenth torment me, is it really you?”

“Yes,” I said, almost crying, “it is.”

2

My senses quickly returned. If she was in a condition to think me a hallucination, then—

“Wait here, Debs,” I said, and ran for Logan. At his startled glance, I gasped out, “I found her, she’s alive, but … I don’t know, she needs help, she—”

Without a word, he followed me over to where Deborah leaned against the wall.

“You’re safe now, sergeant,” he said in his most official manner, but nearly staggered, himself, as he cast his glowing shield again. “Can you tell us what happened to the Falcons?”

3

As soon as he spoke, her tired eyes lifted up, widening at the sight of him.

“Captain Thackeray?” Somehow, she scrounged up the strength for a respectful salute. “Sir! We were ambushed by centaurs.” After another gasping cough, she went on, “They knew our patrol routes, our tactics—everything!”

The shield burst into scattered light, and Deborah finally took a clear breath.

4

“It’s all right, Debs,” I said, clasping one of her hands. “We’ll make sure all of you get back to Divinity’s Reach. The nightmare’s over.”

I could scarcely believe it myself.

She nodded, rubbing tears out of her eyes with her free hand. “Thank you. And thank you, Captain Thackeray.”

5

She looked from Logan back to me, still wide-eyed. “You’re both heroes.”

I could only imagine what it must be like for her: months of capture, suffering, and enslavement, and then out of nowhere, a Seraph and a lady showing up, wiping out the captors in a bloody battle, and then the Seraph turning out to be Logan Thackeray himself, and the lady—me! In her place, I’d be even more stunned than she seemed to be; as it was, I just tightened my grip on her hand, unable to think of a single thing to say.

“I’ll take these Seraph home and inform the queen so that Minister Arton can be released,” said Logan. “No more innocents will suffer from this treasonous plot.”

I hadn’t thought of Arton, the poor man—but I certainly agreed on the latter point.

6

With that, he started to turn away, but then jerked back to look at the two of us. Abruptly, he said,

“Good work—hero.”

Hero, I realized, meant more than Shaemoor now. I nodded my thanks, still at a loss for words.

“The truth came out and these Seraph were saved,” he went on, “all because of you.”

I was not normally one to refuse praise, but I could only reply,

“Not only me, captain.”

He paused, then inclined his head.

7

I led Deborah over to the other Seraph; it was time for her to go home. On the way, she murmured,

“You never gave up on me.”

But I did. We got that letter from godsdamned Tervelan and I believed it and did nothing until Logan asked me for help—

“Thank you,” she went on, turning her head to meet my eyes. A shade of her old humour flickered into her face. “I’m lucky to have a hero in the family!”

FORTY

1

“I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, Debs,” I told my sister. My sister, alive. “You are stronger than you know.”

Deborah gave a smile—a faint one, but it was there.

“I missed you, Althea,” she said simply.

I squeezed her hand. “I missed you, too.”

2

She re-joined her fellow soldiers, quickly taking the lead in their conversation and gesturing this way and that; Logan’s magic had done much of its work.

One soldier crept forward to peer out the cave entrance, then returned, reaching out to shake my hand.

“Sure am glad to see the colours of the Seraph,” he remarked. “If you and Captain Thackeray hadn’t shown up when you did, there wouldn’t be anything left of me to rescue—thanks!”

He was still wheezing.

“It’s okay,” I told him, “you’re safe now. Don’t try to talk.”

3

Another former prisoner, leaning against the back of the cave, grinned outright and said,

“Tell those centaurs slags I ain’t dead yet—they beat me, starved me, tortured me, and tried to sell me as a slave, but I’m still upright … with a little help from this wall here.”

To my horror, I almost laughed.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” I assured her. “You’re safe now.”

She nodded, turning grave. “Deborah always said her family’d never forget her.”

That much, I couldn’t deny, and had no desire to; of course we hadn’t forgotten her, couldn’t forget her—but if the thought had brought her comfort, then I was glad.

4

“There ain’t much left of Falcon Company,” the woman said, “but we’ll be back … thanks to you.”

Overwhelmed, I could only say,

“She was right. Get some rest, you’ll be home soon.”

I’d scarcely uttered the words than Logan returned, a good strong cart following him; I had no idea how he’d acquired it out here, but had long since given up wondering about such things. Logan and I both hurried to help the now only moderately-wounded Seraph into the cart.

“Nice work,” he told me, as if he hadn’t lavished me with praise already. “The Seraph will transport these injured soldiers to Divinity’s Reach—they’ll be given a hero’s welcome.”

5

“Thanks, Logan,” I told him, and felt my eyes burn. But I didn’t want Deborah to see me cry—least of all here and now. Instead, I held out my hand to him, bracing myself for his steely grip.

He took his gauntlet off and shook my hand, as if we were ordinary people meeting in the halls of the Maiden’s Whisper. But we’d never be ordinary again, would we?

I glanced at Deborah, then met his gaze squarely. “We’ll never forget what you did for us today.”

6

Logan looked exactly as I felt: gratified and very deeply uncomfortable. But it had to be said.

“It wasn’t just me,” he told me. “You said it—we did this together. And whatever comes, well, we’ll do that together, too.”

It had not, for a single moment, occurred to me that we might not.

“That’s right,” I said firmly.

7

With that, we got back to work, hoisting the last of the soldiers into the cart, and paying the Lionguard driving it (I didn’t ask). She would take us to Black Haven, Logan told me, where the soldiers could get cleaned up and healed beyond what he’d been able to offer. After they rested, we’d take the nearest waypoint back to Divinity’s Reach.

We did exactly that. By the time they’d healed and rested at the haven, Deborah and her companions were itching to go home.

“We’ll see our families again,” said the man I’d spoken to before, with a smile, “and the Seraph, and probably the queen.”

Deborah said, “Damned right we will.”

FORTY-ONE

1

Had there been any meaningful distance to travel, we would have continued in the cart, for a particularly odd triumphal arrival; as it was, Logan and I led the Seraph to the Delanian waypoint just north of Black Haven, and emerged in the courtyard immediately in front of the throne room and Seraph Headquarters. Several of the Falcons wept at the sight—to the clear astonishment of the people milling around—before dutifully following Logan into headquarters.

“Captain Thackeray,” began Lieutenant Groban, before catching sight of the others and nearly toppling over. “Can it—how—what—”

“Lieutenant, sir,” Deborah said. She saluted him.

“At ease, Sergeant Fairchild,” he said dazedly.

2

Whispers of Fairchild? and the Falcons! it’s them! raced around the room, and in an instant, every Seraph in the place clustered around, welcoming and exclaiming over them, a few wiping away tears while a handful of citizens watched in silent amazement. It took a good few minutes for Deborah to extricate herself.

“It’s time,” she said, dry-eyed but smiling.

After pulling on a hooded cloak that had been provided by the Lionguard, she followed me through the waypoint once again, the two of us stepping through to Salma. We climbed the stairs, Deborah refusing any help, and then—then we stood on the steps before our manor.

She lifted her face, taking in the courtyard and the house’s façade, her breaths harsh and unsteady.

Unnecessarily, I said, “Here we are.”

3

We made our way inside, Deborah still cloaked and hooded, both of us quiet. It was nearly evening, the tapers were lit, and the dim light of the entrance obscured what might have otherwise been glimpsed of her face. The handful of servants who passed by glanced at the mysterious figure in some bewilderment—but at this point used to my oddities, they simply continued about their business.

She looked around, taking in the little changes and familiar arching lines of the manor, her breaths evening out a little.

“Welcome home,” I told her.

“Home,” she repeated wonderingly. “I’m home.”

4

We had only wandered about for a few minutes, Deborah trailing her fingers over furniture and ornaments, when we heard the front doors open, followed by our mother’s voice.

“Yes, yes—that’s right—”

My sister drew a sharp breath.

“Come on,” I said, and led the way back to the entrance hall. Our mother had turned to slam the doors shut; she turned about again, catching sight of me—started to smile—then frowned at the cloaked figure beside me.

“Who is this, Althea?”

Deborah pushed her hood back.

5

Mother gasped. For a moment, she simply stared at her; then she took one hesitant step forward and whispered,

“Deborah?”

We nodded.

“Deborah!”

My mother ran towards us, and Deborah tore off the cloak and raced the rest of the way forwards, the two of them clasping each other in their arms. Mother ran her hands over Deborah’s cheeks, caught my sister’s face between her palms, kissed her hair and leaned her own face against it.

She cried openly; and Deborah, at long last, sobbed too.

6

“My girl—oh, Deborah—how—”

“Treason, Mama,” I said, drawing a little nearer. “Tervelan betrayed Falcon Company to the centaurs, but they sold Debs with some others.”

“My poor girl,” said Mother, clutching Deborah tighter. Then she looked over her head at me. “You found her? You did this?”

I hesitated, then answered, “Captain Thackeray helped.”

7

“Althea saved me,” Deborah insisted, sniffling.

“Sweetheart,” said Mother, and I didn’t even know who she meant—I wasn’t sure she did, either—but then she tugged me closer and put her arms about us both, and we were all crying, and I’d never been so happy in my life.

Once our tears dried, Mother led us over to her favourite parlour, sat us all down—though she kept her hands tightly clasped about ours—and urged us for an explanation. Deborah fell silent, and I could only imagine how little she wished to remember; instead, I quickly explained the plot and its discovery, and Logan’s role in all of it.

“May Kormir bless Captain Thackeray,” said Mother. Then, turning to me, she touched my cheek. “And may all the Six bless you, Althea.”

FORTY-TWO

1

For a week, Deborah slept on and off, while Mother hovered over her and I tried to quietly supply whatever she needed. It was easier for me in some ways; I’d grown used to something like the life Deborah had chosen, for something like the same reasons, and I’d been the one to rescue her. The mission, for all of its horrors, had given me a peace of soul—if not quite of mind—that our mother could not share.

It didn’t stop me from occasionally haunting Debs’s doorstep, of course. But Mother was in torment, now that she knew the whole truth, and now that nothing could be done for Deborah except keeping her fed and letting her rest.

“That’s exactly what she didn’t have before,” I said.

It didn’t help; Mother flinched and looked away.

2

The week passed in a blur for me. I stayed at Deborah's side when our mother, very reluctantly, went about Ministry business; I talked to Deborah of nothing in particular when she woke, making her eat and drink; I obeyed periodic summons from Logan and/or Anise, who were orchestrating the official return of Falcon Company alongside new plans for the queen’s protection.

When I had time to spare, I found myself unwilling to dwell very much on anything, yet unable to go out and attend events as if nothing had happened. Instead, I spent most of my free time in a training hall I’d fashioned (well, ordered fashioned) out of an abandoned gallery in the manor.

I practiced creating clones that would rush up and attack, clones that would protect me, clones that would generate spells themselves, all as indistinguishable as possible. I adjusted the details of illusionary images I made up to confuse people before I blasted them. I turned clones on myself to practice with my sword, my skin damp with sweat—did anything but think of what my sister had suffered.

3

I was there at the end of the week, tossing my sword from one hand to the other, trying very hard not to think about centaurs, and then only about vengeance. I took up a focus for my magic—all the more useful with the chaos magic I drew on—and held my sword in my main hand, imagining Tervelan and then Caudecus.

Slash, gash, stab. I ducked a bolt of chaos from the last clone and lashed out with a crippling curtain of light. Slash, gash, stab. Slash— the clone was down.

And behind me, someone clapped.

4

I whirled around, one hand tight on the focus, the other already lifting my sword for attack. The stranger stepped out of the shadows—

It was my sister.

“Very impressive,” she said.

Irrationally, I felt embarrassed. “I’m not anything to Anise.”

“Nobody is anything to Anise,” said Deborah.

5

“That’s why she’s Master Exemplar, but what you’re doing is nothing to sneeze at.” She paused. “Your magic looks like hers, even.”

“She trained me,” I replied, setting the focus down on a nearby table. Deborah was frowning a little, though I wasn’t sure why. I couldn’t read her.

“You’ve changed, Althea,” she said quietly.

6

I sheathed my sword, unsure of what to say.

Deborah headed for the door, gesturing for me to follow her. We walked a few steps through the high stone walls in silence. At last, I said,

“I had to.”

“No,” said Deborah, “you didn’t.”

Puzzled, I glanced at her. I had made my choices, of course, but it often seemed that each step I took followed inexorably from the one before it—however far those steps might have taken me, might take me in the future.

7

“It felt like it,” I told her. “After you—afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking of what you said when you joined the Seraph, about Ebonhawke and what it means to be a true Ascalonian, and I … I couldn’t ignore the rest of the world any more.”

“I wasn’t talking about you!” exclaimed Deborah, her eyes going wide.

“I know,” I said, and I did, though that had never helped much, “but I just wanted to do something—I had to do something—so I asked Anise to teach me, and then the centaurs came to Shaemoor, and … and I couldn’t be you, but I did want to be someone you would have been proud of.”

At her startled look, I hurried on,

“But I still like the same things, clothes and mapmaking and—I’m still myself, Debs.”

She grasped my arm and said, “You promise?”

“I promise.”