A.N.

So this is the closest thing I've come to a real plot that I'm absolutely determined to finish. How it's going to end, I have no idea. 'Twill probably end up around...oh, thirty chapters, but I'm not guaranteeing anything.

Two things: First of all, I own this. This is the one thing that I'm absolutely certain I own everything. Please don't steal it. (However, there are a few things here and there that are probably closer to public domain than my ownership.)

Secondly, there's a reason I avoid multi-chapter anythings. That reason is that I can't ever be counted upon to do anything in a timely manner unless forced into it. (There's also the reason that I'm working on my last year of high-school, but, y'know. Details.)

Thirdly (aha, gotcha! You thought I was done, didn't you?), I'm looking for a skilled beta to make sure that everything's believable and it's not just me.

Fourth: enjoy my world. I've had fun making it. Suggestions are always welcome. (Read: please review. ;D)

Tap-tap-tap.

The woman at the massive, well-worn desk laid down her pen. Carefully shaking sand over the wet ink, she called, "Come in, Finny."

Creeeeeak.

Age-dark wood protested the motion, but opened to admit Fineagus Mark, who carefully dropped to one knee. "My liege."

High Queen J'katia Barrab, the Keeper of the Sword, Upholder of Peace, Lady of the Colors, and Tamer of Chaos motioned absently, though not unkindly, at her oldest advisor. "Oh, Finny. I told you not to bother with bowing and scraping. Your knees can't take it." Tucking a strand of dark brownish-red hair back into its loose braid, she gestured to a chair. "I suppose we'd better get this over with."

Fineagus rose stiffly to his feet and remained upright. "Propriety, my Lady. Nobody may sit in the High Queen's presence unless she so decrees." His brown eyes, sharp despite their age, remained fixed on a point above J'katia's head, but a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. Both Queen and subject knew what she would say next. They had had this exchange so often that the words had become a ritual to both.

J'katia gave a half-exasperated sigh. "Finny. Sit." This time, she pointed a beckoning finger, and a chair scuttled up behind Fineagus, gently bumping the backs of his knees.

"Yes, my Lady." He obediently sat and opened his box of papers. Glancing up, he sighed internally: the Queen was already bent back over her maps and orders. "My Lady?"

"Hmm?" J'katia looked up absently. "Ah. Yes. The daily reports." Her tone of voice equated the words with muck out the garderobes or embroider samplers. Leaning back, she laced her fingers behind her head. "Fire away, Finny."

"Yes, my Lady." Picking up the first sheet of paper, Fineagus began. "This was brought by courier this morning. According to Lord Pyfath's report, a dragon has taken up residence in his hunting woods and made off with several of his best brachets."

J'katia snorted in a most unlady-like manner. "Pyfath's always been a pompous old mouse – probably nothing bigger than a drake. But, still. Better safe than sorry. Have Laprar go snoop around down there when he gets back from taking care of that bridge troll."

"As you wish, my Lady." Fineagus made a swift note on the paper, using a pencil drawn from its perch behind one ear. Sometimes, the Queen changed her mind – it never hurt to use a pencil instead of a pen. "The next report is of an outbreak of lycanthropox in the shire Callaighny…"

And so an hour crawled by as J'katia and Fineagus dealt with all the problems that come with ruling a kingdom. Finally, Fineagus replaced the last sheet in the box and closed it.

J'katia sighed in relief. "Is that all, Finny?" She waited expectantly for his reply of, "Yes, my Lady," and his creaky exit. To her surprise, though, the old man remained where he was.

"No, my Lady. There is one other thing."

One second, two seconds, six seconds, half a minute ticked past as Fineagan struggled to find the words he wanted, the way to couch his thought so J'katia would not reject them out of hand. Failing, he finally blurted out, "You need to get married."

Thud!

J'katia's booted feet dropped abruptly from where they had rested on the corner of the desk and hit the flagstone floor. The queen's face darkened as she stood, her nearly six-foot frame towering over the wizened advisor. "No." Shoving her chair out of the way, she paced over to the tall window, dark eyes cold. "I can't."

"My Lady -"

"I said no." A raised hand halted Fineagus's words just as surely as her tone of voice. "No, Finny." Tone softening on the nickname, J'katia leaned her hands on the windowsill, gazing out over her kingdom as the sun clouded over. "I can't get married. Not now."

A soft spatter of rain began to fall, gilding the woods to the south and east of the castle with silver.

J'katia rubbed her eyes tiredly with one hand. "There's a plague of banshees that's been causing trouble out Rannish way. I told Lady Wynn that I'd come out and dispose of them properly."

The words were rhetorical, mere regurgitation of fact to support argument. Fineagus knew that only the Tamer of Chaos could permanently destroy banshees, but he also knew that the best way to win a debate with J'katia was to stay silent until she ran out of breath. He watched her from the side, saying nothing.

"Then there've been reports of more mudslides in Ellworn. Unless I go and ride herd on whomever the current "Lord" is out there, there's no way that retaining walls will get built." She was silent a moment, gripping the stone tightly. "And I need to plan some sort of public appearance of gaiety during the Sunweek to keep morale up…ughhhh." Dropping her head into her hands, J'katia ran scarred fingers through her hair. A single strand came loose, and she stared at it absently, twisting the silver thread until it left white lines across her skin. "Go ahead, Finny, I'm finished."

"Thank you, my Lady." Fineagus carefully placed his box of papers on a table before standing. "May I speak plainly, my Lady?"

That drew a half-pained, half-bitter laugh from the queen. "You always can, Finny. I'm not going to order you hanged for speaking your mind."

Drawing a breath, the advisor quietly moved behind the shelter provided by a hefty chair. "You are getting old, my Lady." He ducked and waited anxiously for the blast of force and anger that was certain to explode at his statement.

Instead, the gray hair broke under the tension, loose ends fluttering in the rising breeze. "I know," she replied quietly, opening her hand. The wind immediately took the strand and whisked it out of sight.

The unexpected response made Fineagus blink. "My Lady?"

J'katia whirled suddenly. The smell of singing leather cushions plucked at the inside of Finny's nose. "I said I know. I know I'm getting old, all right?" Bootsteps echoed off the ceiling as she advanced on the chair, eyes hard and hot, that Fineagus sheltered behind. "I'm the one that looks in the mirror every morning and sees a dozen new gray hairs, the one that has to ignore the matrons whispering about my age and lack of husband. I have to put up with 'King' Lorenz's snide insinuations that a woman isn't fit to rule, and the Empress's lack of respect for someone who hasn't yet 'brought a man to heel,' as she puts it."

Fineagus swallowed, hard, and ducked as a bar of pure heat shot through the back of the chair. Perhaps his decision to broach the topic hadn't been the wisest choice. "M-my apologies, my Lady."

Cushions whooshed as J'katia knelt on the chair and leaned over. "Apology –" she sighed "- apology accepted, Finny." She ruffled his fringe of white hair with one hand. "I ask your forgiveness as well – I shouldn't have lost control like that." She extended a hand.

"Forgiveness granted, my Lady." Fineagus accepted her help up, pushing off of stiff knees to stand upright. "However, my point remains. You are not getting any younger, and there are no immediate heirs."

Rolling deep blue eyes, J'katia folded her arms. "I have a cousin."

"If you'll pardon my forwardness, my Lady…do you really consider 'Little Loro' capable of ruling the Swards?"

"No," she admitted reluctantly. "He knows nothing but wine and his dusty old books."

"Exactly, my Lady. It is your duty to the Swards to have a child that will continue the Barrab line. Otherwise, the country will fall into chaos." Fineagus held his breath, hoping that he had played his cards right. J'katia's sense of duty was one of the strongest forces in her already powerful character, and as Tamer of Chaos, she had a responsibility to prevent just that.

J'katia scowled and stalked across the room to sit back at her desk. "That was underhanded, Finny…but I see your point." Idly picking up a quill, she twirled it between thumb and forefinger for a moment before dipping the point in a pot of ink. Rapidly scratching the pen across a clean sheet of rough paper, she ignored the flecks of ink that spotted her hands and tunic as Fineagus looked on in confusion. As soon as J'katia was done, she stood, blowing on the brown letters to dry them, and handed the paper to him.

"Here. That should do the trick." One hard hand on Fineagus's elbow was sufficient to propel him toward the door as he attempted to get a word in edgewise.

"My Lady -"

"Have the scribes make a couple hundred copies of that, and then send the couriers out to distribute them. Oh, and make sure the steward knows. She'll need the time to prepare." A final three steps, and the elderly advisor was in the hall. J'katia winked at him. "Thought you'd never get through to me, eh, Finny?"

Thump!

Before Fineagus could reply, the heavy door was closed sharply. The Queen could be heard whistling airily as he looked down at the scroll in his hand.

LET IT BE KNOWN

throughout the Swards that the

HIGH QUEEN J'KATIA BARRAB,

the Keeper of the Sword, Upholder of Peace,

Lady of the Colors, and Tamer of Chaos,

has issued a CHALLENGE to all

MEN who think themselves worthy:

ANYONE who can satisfactorily COMPLETE

the Challenge will receive a DUKEDOM and

the QUEEN'S HAND IN MARRIAGE

Fineagus's jaw dropped before he could stop himself, and he did a sort of capering little victory dance in the hall.

"Twenty-five years, Finny my boy, twenty-five years you've been after that woman, and she finally listens!" The aged advisor paused a moment as a thought came to him. "Thank goodness her instincts on ruling are better than her instincts on matrimony, or nothing would ever get done around here…"

He turned and headed for the scribes' hall, still grinning uncontrollably.