Dorius collapsed on a chaise in his guest room, stretching his legs down the length of if and resting his hands under his head.

Val stalked about the room, taking in the furnishings and checking for anything out of the ordinary, then gave the jug of water the Vigilants had left a quick sniff. The bathing tub she had seen through the door earlier had been removed, and their original clothing had been neatly piled on the dresser by the bed for them to collect.

She glanced over at Dorius, who was staring intently at the ceiling lost in his own thoughts, and concluded her formal work for the evening had completed. There was a spartan desk to one end of the room that seemed a suitable spot for her to sit.

“You think dragons are real?” asked Dorius idly, not looking at her.

Val hummed, and leaned on one hand on the desk, “It seems we are to find out.”

Dorius gave a dissatisfied grunt, ”You usually have more thoughts than that?”

Val sighed, and began to untie the strapping around her horn. “I…” she paused, unsure how to start the thoughts in her head. There was silence, Dorius did not prompt her further.

Eventually, “You did not have to do that,” said Val.

Dorius did not move from his contemplation of the ceiling, “Do what?” he asked innocently.

Val scratched the base of a horn, “Barter for me like that. Embarrass me in front of my own kind?”

Dorius sat up, “Your own kind? Is that what it is now? That Fae didn’t seem to think much of you.”

Val sniffed, but did not rise to the challenge, “What do you want from me?”

Dorius looked at her, his shoulders slumped in exasperation, “I would ask the same, I did what you asked for. You said you wanted to learn more about the Fae, you’ve expressed a desire to learn more of your magic. I have done my best to make this happen!” Despite himself, his voice rose in frustration.

Val glanced at him sideways, letting a bitter note enter her reply, “I should be thankful I guess.”

Dorius frowned, and rose to his feet now to approach her.

“You hope for too much,” he declared, reading her like a book, “You think they would welcome you with open arms? You think that I wouldn’t cut you free of my service to learn on your own if I could? We must make the best of the circumstances we have, even if we wish we could do things other ways.”

Val hated how close his aim had been to her thoughts, “As if you would ever cut me free?!” she accused instead.

Dorius narrowed his eyes and hissed his reply, “No, I wouldn’t. Don’t be naive.”

Val turned, and childishly refused to look at him. Dorius sighed and surprisingly came to the desk, sitting on it next to her. They were at eye level with her sitting.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently.

Val groaned, and slumped over the desk, face buried into her arms with a sigh.

“I am sorry too. My interactions with the Laons,” she tested the word, saying it for herself the first time, “have been odd. Some have been so kind to me, some almost seem scared, others still scornful. I seem to be something unusual to them, but I cannot tell if it is welcome or a threat. I’m not great at the best of times, talking with strangers, and I don’t know what to say or do when they provide no opening.”

Dorius laid a hand on her shoulder, “They called you alate, is that correct?”

Val nodded, not emerging from her sanctuary in her own arms.

“It is a term applied to insects,” he offered, “Like bees, many insects live in colonies and differentiate their roles physically - worker, drone, queen. Species of other insects also have soldiers or other more specialised roles. Alate is a term given to the winged members of some flightless species.”

Val emerged to look at him, Dorius had an odd thoughtful expression on his face. “We can probably assume Laon culture functions something like a bee hive then, with physical differences helping to differentiate the role each member occupies,” he continued, “but, I would be cautious to assume too much. You are obviously not… bees. And I doubt you’ve been hiding a set of wings.”

Val leaned on her arms, finding it oddly interesting to look up at him for once. “It is unclear to me what their relationship with the Vigilants is,” she mumbled.

Dorius removed his hand from her shoulder and instead fidgeted with the fold of his robes in his lap, “Yes, the Prime called it an exchange. But you seem to have some command of them?” he raised an eyebrow as he finished the question.

Val hummed, “Apparently. Call it instinct. I don’t think, phrased the right way, they can deny a direct order.”

“I suspect it matters from whom the order comes,” said Dorius. He continued to fidget with his robe.

Val huffed, “Bastian thought something of the same.”

Dorius seemed mildly perturbed at that comment, “He mentioned nothing to me.”

“He thought I might have a similar trait, that I could not disobey or that I was somehow bound to you in service.”

Dorius gave a startled chuckle of amusement, “Get me a drink then.”

Val stared at him with amused skepticism, but felt no compulsion to obey the order.

“See,” he continued, “You can disobey just fine.” Val watched him for a moment, studying his expression as he continued to play with the fold of his robes. “Bastian might worry a little too much,” he concluded, his blue eyes remaining fixed on his hands as they adjusted and reset the fold in the fabric on his lap.

“That is his job,” Val admitted. Then she pouted, an unusually expressive gesture for her, “I don’t mind being worried about. I dislike when he presumes to know what is best for me.”

Dorius inclined his head thoughtfully at that, it seemed their conversation had circled back to where it started. Dorius splayed his hands flat, smoothing the fold one last time. Val cocked her head slightly, waiting for him to collect his thoughts, as he had done for her.

“This magic…” he began slowly, “I want you to cultivate it.” His voice had a hesitant tone she rarely heard publicly.

“I’m fairly certain I’ve moved beyond burning half the stables down,” commented Val with a grunt.

“Do not joke,” bristled Dorius. Val leveled him an impassioned stare. She remembered clearly the moment of their exchange in the Vigil Chamber, the mix of fear and longing and guilt that Dorius had shared in a single glance.

“But, it would be useful to you, if I had better control of it,” she said.

Dorius let out a deep sigh, “Don’t do that,” he whispered, “Don’t make it like that.”

Val lectured him back with his own words, “We must make the best of the circumstances we have, even if we wish we could do things other ways.”

Dorius frowned, but did not respond.

She sat up, and looked him clearly in the eyes, then continued, “It aligns with my own wishes. It does not have to be an order. I will do my best.”

“You are like a sister to me, my mother named us both,” replied Dorius, “I would have things different if I could, Val. But, I need you, as my shield and my sword.”

From above them, the tolling of the bells began, an immediate cascade of sound unlike other times when it had built to melody. Val shot alert the moment the first peal came, head turning towards the bell tower.

“It seems too late for bells,” she said quietly.

The drone of the magic with the notes was strong, stronger than Val had previously felt. Her skin down her arms prickled. She was on her feet, and rushed to her axe. There would be no time to change and she had no armor with her anyway, so she used the strapping from her horn to tie up the hanging sleeves of the one long arm of her robe.

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“There is something wrong?” asked Dorius, watching her move about the room.

Val nodded, “The magic they are working is strong.” She dug through her clothing on the dresser for her harness and tugged it on with some difficulty over the decorative armor piece and wolf pelt, then hung her axe across her back.

“How can you tell?”

Val came to the door, leaning against it and straining the listen for any noise. The bells ringing overhead drowned out any chance of detecting movement outside.

“There is something of a feeling or a sound to it,” she explained, “It is like all my senses are trying to pick up something that they are not trained for.”

Dorius came close, as if to lean against the door and listen as well, but she held a hand out and kept him back.

“Can you tell what they do?” he asked.

Val shook her head, “No. I am unsure if I do not know enough, or if even with knowledge it would be impossible. It feels the same as previous times, just stronger.”

Val listened for a moment longer at the door, then gave Dorius a stern look, “Stay here.”

Dorius nodded, and watched her exit.

Val passed down the guest wing of the annex, checking the room she had been in earlier and finding no one. She moved on. As she found her way out onto the street again she spied the Laons who guarded the entrance of the Chapel.

“Soldier, to me,” she called. There was no hesitation in their response, both soldiers grabbed their halberds leaning on the wall behind them, and drew close in march with her. Val stalked to the edge of the main road and looked down towards the gate, there was the flicker of torches and dark bodies moving in the night. “What is happening?”

One of the soldiers inclined his head, this one's head horns were thicker than hers. It gave them an appearance more like the fell bulls than hers. “It seems a disturbance at the gate.”

Val growled low in her throat, “And the Vigilants?”

“We do not know what they do, but they are playing the bells.”

Val hummed, and started down the road, soldiers in tow. She gestured one of them back, “Get torches, and more men.”

A curt nod was all he gave before dispatching with his orders.

As she jogged down the main road she saw the townsfolk of High Haven dragging furniture from their houses to stack as barricades in the street about the gate, dimly lit by held torches and lanterns sprawled about the entryway. Gail stood within them all, torch held high, ordering the men back and forth. Beyond, something shook the gate on its hinges.

Horned heads drew prompt attention, and Gail turned, lip curled in rage, his eyes identifying Val immediately.

“You have done this!” he yelled, “You have riled them up.”

Val felt no uncertainty about what to do, this was no different to panicked merchant convoys on the road. She ignored the accusations and marched into the center of the commotion, eyes pinned on the gate. Whether it was her dress, still in the elegant martial robes the Vigilants had given her, or the general manner of her appearance and Laon in tow, men cleared her path without hesitation. Bells continued to toll uselessly, the buzzing that had started strong was fading as she listened, as if exhausting itself.

“What are they doing?” she demanded.

“You have broken the Vigilant’s orders and now they will turn on us all!” continued Gail in wild accusation.

Val turned on him, lifting him bodily off the ground with one fist wrapped in his tunic and snarled at the man, “Control yourself. Who is ‘they’?!”

Gail twisted at the end of her arm, beating her hands and wrists, “Put me down,” he screamed, “Someone stop this!”

The Laon soldier at her side leveled his halberd, sweeping it around himself in a broad gesture that demonstrated his reach and challenging any of the folk to come closer.

The townsfolk looked torn, many glancing at the glowing reflection of torches off their weapons and horns in the dark. They were many, but the two who stood against them were twice their size and deadly armed. On cue, more torches approached up the road from the Chapel, casting shadows of black horns and hulking soldiers against the stone roadway.

“The Prince has his guard stirred up,” called one of the folk finally over the sounds of Gail’s protests, “They’re trying to cut down the gate with axes.”

Val turned to inspect the gate, they’d be at it for hours in the dark, there was no risk of them breaking through anytime soon. It would be easiest to get a sense of what was happening from the gates wall, but oddly this ancient wall had no walkway nor structures to reach the top that she could identify in the dark. Whoever had built may not have had a need to prioritize placing men at the top. Then a terrible thought came to her, Bastian was out there… and the Prince knew the two of them were acquainted.

Gail continued his flailing and accusations, beating her still. She dropped him roughly, and he could not place his feet beneath him in time and fell to his behind, staring up at her.

“Form up on me,” she ordered to the horned soldiers, “Stay back,” she added to the townsfolk.

“You did this!” continued Gail, his peers coming forward to help him to his feet.

Val snarled down at him, the Laon soldiers now totaling six, including the broken horned one, drawing to her side, “And I will end it.”

Gail’s mouth hung gaping as his peers dragged him away.

Val drew her axe, gesturing the Laon into positions on each side of her with the head of the axe one-handed as she sized up the gate. She leveled the end of her axe at one of the men, “Open it, we will go out to settle this.”

As the humans rushed about her feet, she barked short orders of her expectations to the Laon soldiers. After her experience with the smaller male in the Chapel, no part of her doubted they would not follow her orders to the letter. Something felt reassuring about standing with warriors of her own height and capability, she need not try and factor into the situation her estimate of human abilities. With a planned approach, and the gate as a choke point, she was certain she alone could have handled the Prince’s entire retinue if needed, at least based on Bastian’s estimates from scouting and assuming she need not restrain herself from bloodshed. If the pilgrims turned on her as well, it was likely exhaustion she would be battling instead of any particular foe her equal. With the Laons at her flanks, she was also certain they could hold an opening like the shield walls did with the caravan and then she would work out where Bastian was once she had a sense of what was happening beyond the gate.

The gate gave a groan as it began to move, two Laons pressed close to the gap that appeared, their halberds at the ready.

“Make way!” boomed Val, letting her experience and that instinctual authority she used with sickle-horned Laon permeate her voice. She wished she knew the trick that could throw her voice like the Vigilants had demonstrated the day before.

One Laon grabbed a helmet in the opening gap and tossed the owner backwards. As the gap opened enough they pivoted to using the length of their halberds to push back the Citrine Prince’s retinue. Another grabbed an axe and pulled it from its owner’s grasp tossing it back at knee height into the square. The human guards beyond quickly realized they were against something far stronger than themselves and withdrew before they were all disarmed or tossed aside.

“Lights, Torches!” order Val, motioning a few of the townsfolk forward, “Hold them up, high as you can!”

Several brave men followed her orders, her calm tone of voice lending them the confidence that she had the situation under control.

It was not long till she heard the familiar voice of the Citrine Prince yelling through the growing gap in the door, between the continued ringing of the bells. Val judged the gap to be about the size that three Laons could control, and snapped an order to hold the gate in place.

The three Laons holding the gate marched forward, the other three joining them and creating a ring of control large enough for Val to step through the gap of the gate and inspect what they were working against.

The Citrine Prince was at the fore, riding his black horse that danced skittishly beneath him as she inspected the pilgrims over the shoulders of the Laons. He seemed barely in control of the beast, wrestling one handed with the reins as he kept a sword levelled at her. Most of his retinue had pulled back, wood axes and swords loosely in hand. Beyond them, a crowd of pilgrims had been watching. In the flickering lights of torches she was unable to make out specific faces, or identify Bastian’s red hair anywhere. Val took a risk, and shouldered through the wall of Laons to stand clear and address the Prince herself.

“What is this insanity?” she accused, nose bunched in a sneer, he was barely taller than her on his steed. She leaned on her axe, deceptively relaxed.

The Prince almost lost his composure at being addressed first, and held his sword higher.

“I demand I am let through too Fae brute!” he cried, self-importance twisting his voice from authority to the petulant cry of a child.

“That is not my decision to make,” she replied mildly, then raised her head to look out at the pilgrims, “Off you go! Nothing to see here!”

The crowd shifted, faces watching curiously to see what the Prince would do next.

His face contorted into rage, and he kicked his heels into his steed with both feet voice rising into a yell as if he intended to charge and cut her down. Val gripped her axe with both hands, raised it over her head and bellowed a warning. The horse screamed and balked, whites showing in the corner of its eyes. As it spun, the Prince lost balance and fell clear, the horse belting off along the wall where there was a gap in the crowd.

Several guards came at her, one too eager. They completely underestimated her reach, well before the eager guard closed in on her she bought her axe down in a great swing.

The droning magic carried on the bells notes, just moments before barely a whisper, gasped to life as if starved for breath. She felt each clapper’s strike in her core, clear and authoritative. The fire at her heart was poised, coiled, smoldering with anticipation for her command. She felt control.

Val slammed the axe down from overhead into the first guard. The axe-head bit into their shoulder, grinding to a halt against a collarbone as the man began to scream. The second surged forward then, assuming her axe was trapped in their companion's shoulder. They misjudged her strength. Val braced, and aided with her second hand twisted and swung. The first guard's arm severed from their body, blood sprayed, and they clutched at their shoulder spinning free. The axe continued its momentum sideways into the second guard's chest, plate collapsing with the gristly wet squelch of flesh, and the body was sent flying - dark, gleaming blood flashing in the lantern light. The body crashed to the ground in front of the assembled guards and rolled limply once. All eyes turned to watch as it gave one death rattle from the grass, and fell silent. Val cracked her neck, and dared the Prince to try again with her eyes.