A Note from the Author: Welcome and thanks for stopping by! A quick note to say that I am basing this in the Studio Ghibli movie's universe, though I have taken certain factoids from the books (not read, but researched). This is my first HMC fic; I hope you enjoy!


Chapter 1: Daughter Suliman

"Ma'am, your daughter is at the door," said one page that had appeared in the dim light.

"You sent for her," another reminded.

Madame Suliman put down her quill, looking up from her desk. "Send her in," she said, and lifted her small reading glasses to wipe her eyes. She wondered what time it was.

The small footfalls of the pages padded away over the lacquered floor of her study, dark except for the two stained-glass oil lamps that sat at either end of her desk and cast a circle of multicolored light that fell only a few feet or so off the edge. She sat back in her wheelchair upon hearing the door open. A different kind of light - muted, like a candle glow on water - entered the room in the form of a young woman, and walked toward the desk. She stopped just out of reach of the lamps' light and waited.

"Come closer, ĺde," Madame Suliman invited, her voice soft and warm and amused by the formality ĺde still retained after all these years. She glanced at the pages lingering at the door, "Leave us."

ĺde entered the light, which was eaten by the dark folds of her dress but made her skin glow like a pearl and the caramel-blonde of her loose hair shine like oil. She sat down in one of the chairs opposite, as poised as a work of art. "Is something the matter, Mother?" she asked.

"It's late, I know," Madame Suliman said and picked up her quill, finishing her thought on the paper in front of her.

"Not very," ĺde said, her voice treading on disinterested.

"His Majesty took his time, as always, in letting me know that there's to be a visit from Prince Justin of Strangia tomorrow. I thought I would let you know so you might be present with me to greet him and his wife and son." Not wholly the truth - while the King did take a while to tell Madame Suliman about the visit, she knew it wouldn't have done much good to tell ĺde too far in advance; she'd likely have forgotten by the time the day came. It was an accepted after-effect of the amnesia charms to which Madame Suliman had learned to adapt.

"Of course."

"Good - I'll have you called in the morning, when I'm told they're to arrive."

This close to ĺde, Madame Suliman felt the magic within her strengthen immensely, like a deep breath when one has been holding it too long without realizing. As disappointing as it was for a diplomatic visit to interrupt it, she was looking forward to continuing her research into using ĺde's own magic to restore the older woman's use of her legs, and perhaps more. Her health had already improved immensely ever since her...acquisition of ĺde several years ago - it could only get better from here.

She glanced up at ĺde, straight into her blue-green eyes. She received a small smile, as though ĺde was half-asleep - which, Madame Suliman supposed she was, in a way - and returned it. She couldn't deny she had grown a little fond of her 'adopted daughter', despite her best efforts; ĺde was only a means to an end, she had to remind herself, no matter her devotion. She looked away.

"It's due to rain tomorrow, and no doubt the King would be pleased if you could clear the sky. You should rest," she said, though she knew a demon hardly had need of it.

"If you'd like," ĺde said, and rose.


ĺde pulled the door to her mother's study closed behind her, and made her way back to her rooms in the palace via the rooftop garden that formed a courtyard between them. The cool of the clear night, the warmest it'd been this winter, enveloped her as soon as she stepped outside, and a few paces into its carefully-tended beds and topiary she stopped to look up at the myriad of stars. A breeze sifted pleasantly through her hair, streaking it across her face.

A clearing of a throat caught her attention, and she located its source: the youngest Captain of the Guard to have ever been appointed, Tristan De Leon, on a stone bench nearby with a glass-paned lantern beside him. He held a small book closed in one hand with a finger to mark his page. He rose and bowed to her, "Miss Suliman." His breath fogged in the air.

"Captain," she greeted in turn and pulled the hair out of her face. She could see that he was off-duty by his lack of uniform; why he chose to spend his free time here in the place of his employment spoke too well of his love for work and concern for his monarch. She found it unusual to find such dedication in a man as young as he was - to her knowledge, he was only a handful of years older than herself.

"Do you ever sleep, Miss Suliman?" he asked, with a trace of good-natured derision.

"Do you, Captain De Leon?"

The two shared a small smile of defeat. Although it had been her mother's wish that ĺde form a friendship of sorts with the Captain in case it was ever politically useful - and, she suspected, he had done the same with her for the sake of keeping an eye on her mother - over the past couple of years it had become more genuine if still reluctant. ĺde found the Captain was one of the few figures in her strange life that she could remember in any great detail from day to day, and enjoyed his rare company. He treated her differently than most - with less fear, less awe.

"My mother sent for me," she said in answer to his previous question.

He made a noise, as though something about her reply made him dubious.

ĺde walked closer to better assess his expression; indeed, she could see the barely-hidden skepticism in the way his forehead creased and his brown eyes narrowed, making his already-stern face that much more so. "What?" she asked with a smile.

"Nothing," he said. "You've heard of Prince Justin's visit, I take it?"

"I have. It'll be something to liven up our dreary trudge out of winter into spring," she said.

"You're not going to give us a spring festival this year, Miss Suliman?"

"Soon. But even I can't force what isn't ready." She glanced around her at the ornamental trees, still skeletal but studded with burgeoning buds, and then at the book in the Captain's gloveless hand. "Is it such a good read, that it can make you ignore the cold?"

He tipped forward a little to look down at the book, which made his brown ponytail slip over his shoulder. "I've never minded the cold much, but your breath isn't even fogging. Is that a witch's talent?"

ĺde folded her hands in front of her. She wasn't sure how to answer - she didn't want to tell him that in contrast, most of her life consisted of fog.

It must have shown on her face because he said, "Forget I said anything - it's not my business."

"No, it's all right. It must be my speciality in water magic. In any event I don't mind the cold either." When there was too long a pause, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Captain. Goodnight."

"Here," he said, and picked up the lantern from the bench and handed it to her. "To light your way."

Not wanting to insult him by saying she did not need it, ĺde took it. "Thank you."

"Goodnight, Miss Suliman."


(The next morning)

Tristan and the King stood at the top of the palace steps under the cover of its ornamental eaves; it was after dawn, but one couldn't tell too well on account of the storm that sent sheets of rain over the marble steps. Beside them hovered the palace staff, their hands full of rolled banners, bunting and garlands of greenery.

"Yes, I think that will do nicely," the King said, and gestured again at the rails and topiary either side of the steps. "And if we can get some above the gate there, all the better."

"As you wish, Sire."

"Sorry to keep you waiting, your Majesty."

The two men turned; Miss Suliman joined them.

"Excellent," said the King. He waved a hand at the sky as lightning streaked across it, "Daughter Suliman, if you'd be so kind as to get rid of this mess I'd be grateful to you. It'll make the airships' flight a lot smoother on the descent." He excused himself and disappeared back into the bowels of the waking palace.

The King had barely finished speaking and the witch was already stepping out into the rain, walking down the steps. She headed for the small plateau midway through the stairway and was soaked through in an instant, her loose hair darkening to a dull honey color between her shoulderblades. Had he not known better Tristan would have been worried that she would catch cold, but Miss Suliman didn't seem in the least bit bothered. In contrast, he noticed her beginning to glow - something she'd always seemed to have at least faintly, but on these occasions the luminosity of her skin would strengthen to a gleam like pale fire. He'd not seen anything like it, even among witches and wizards.

Miss Suliman raised a hand and suddenly, all rain froze in midair from her body outward, rippling like a swift wave through the palace grounds, the city, and finally the larger valley that held Ingary in its palm. Her hand remained still, too, while her other then rose above her head and made a stirring motion at the towering bruise-colored clouds. Tristan watched in awe as the lacework of a frozen lightning burst retreated to its origin point, and the clouds began to swirl with the motion of her hand, thinning and paling. More light began to fall upon the land as the clouds shredded themselves like pulled cotton; she flung her hand to the west and what remained of the now-rainless clouds fled there to linger low among the foothills of the mountains.

Sunshine blazed over Ingary, turning the frozen raindrops into sparkling diamonds. Miss Suliman at last moved her stilled hand, and as though conducting an orchestra, the orphaned rain began to lazily divide, spiral and sail like glittering, translucent serpents with minds of their own. With a flick of her wrists they began to travel by themselves without her instruction; she turned back to the palace.

"Where are you sending them?" Tristan found himself asking, a little dazed though this wasn't the first time he'd seen her use her magic.

"The rivers, the streams, the ponds and the wells," she said. "Anywhere useful."

Tristan averted his eyes as she ascended the stairs - the rather diaphanous sky-blue dress she wore was clinging to her body on account of being wet still, turning her into a drenched flower. Instead he turned to the staff and jerked his head at the stairwell, sending them out to begin preparations.

"The ground will be dry by the time the Prince arrives - the sun will take care of that," she said.

He glanced back at her as she passed; she had dried herself instantly some kind of way, leaving a trail of shining droplets in her wake that floated out and up. Miss Suliman disappeared back into the shadow of the palace, taking her diminishing glow with her.

Tristan often wondered how Madame Suliman had found someone like ĺde with such magical talent. Purportedly, she had kept ĺde during childhood in a private residence somewhere until she had her abilities under control to make her joining her adoptive mother in the palace acceptable, which had coincided with the Madame's instatement as Royal Sorcerer. Otherwise, the pair's history had remained cryptic to him and the younger Suliman did not volunteer much. Wizards and witches of various talents and ability had come and gone under Tristan's nose since then - either as an infantryman, a Lieutenant, or Captain - but none had demonstrated such thorough affinity with a base element. Sometimes he wasn't even sure she was a witch, exactly, but couldn't begin to guess at what she could be instead.


"Mama, mama!"

Sophie finally looked down at the incessant tugging on her apron, "What is it, Morgan?" She swept the last of the ashes out of the hearth into the dustpan, in turn tipping them into the metal bin beside her before clamping down its lid.

"When Daddy gets back, can we go to the parade?"

Sophie squashed her impatience. "That's the fifth time you've asked me that, darling - yes, we'll go to the parade when Daddy gets home." She propped up the dustpan and brush in their spot by the fireplace, and then turned to the four year-old beside her with her hands on her hips, "Have you picked up your toys?"

He nodded.

"Put your shoes back where they belong?"

He nodded.

She raised an eyebrow. "Finished your breakfast?"

Morgan's face brightened. "Even the eggs and they were cold!"

Sophie hummed to herself and passed a hand through his inky hair. "I knew you took after me," she whispered conspiratorially and tickled him. She walked over to the dining table to begin picking up the plates from breakfast an hour ago.

"Will we see Prince Justin?" Morgan asked and tried to push in his chair, though Sophie had to help him.

"I'm sure we will. And if you're very good, maybe he'll come to dinner and you can play with Edward."

Morgan whined. "Edward's boring. He never wants to play chase or climb or -"

Sophie cut him a sharp look, "Don't be rude, Morgan. He can't play those things on account of his health, you know that. I know it's frustrating, but there are other things you can play with him, hmm?" She crouched next to him, plates in hand, and tilted her head to get him to look up out of his sulk, "You're not going to make many friends like this. What do you think you can do with Edward?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. Take a moment and think," she encouraged.

Morgan thought for a moment, and that alone made his frustration dissipate a little. "I can show him my fossil collection," he suggested.

"There you go! What a good idea! And you thought of it all by yourself." She stood. "Let me put these up and then let's go ahead and get you changed; your father will be home soon."


The colorful parade containing the carriage of Prince Justin and his family finally finished its sweep up the streets of Ingary and entered the gates of the palace grounds; Tristan watched with satisfaction as his soldiers fanned out perfectly and repositioned themselves to accommodate for the new surroundings or fall back, while those stationed at the gate or on the steps leading up to the palace snapped to attention. He was eager for the pomp and circumstance to be over - they'd been standing out here ever since the airship from Strangia docked over an hour ago and while he'd wait for as long as it took, he had more productive things he could be doing with his time.

He stood to the royal family's right, on the last step below them, and looked at them in profile; Madame Suliman's wheelchair was positioned directly beside them on their left like another member of the family herself and had one not known better, judging by the formality of her attire one might think she was. Tristan disliked such assumptions. Miss Suliman meanwhile was immediately opposite him, an arm's reach away from her mother on the next step down. Although everyone standing had shifted tiredly feet several times over, Miss Suliman had barely moved, as though made of ice or stone - the picture of absolute composure, which he envied despite having heard similar comments about himself. She wore a gown of stiff plum-colored brocade that covered her chin to toe, and her hair had been elegantly coiffed; he had to remind himself that she was the Witch of the Waters rather than some noblewoman, but it was in a different sentiment than he did with her mother. She noticed him staring and smiled, nodded left and down to divert his attention back to where it belonged.

Below them, at the foot of the steps, the carriage had pulled to a stop and its door opened, allowing Prince Justin, his wife the Princess Beatrice, and their son Edward to spill out. From another carriage further back a handmaid and a butler hurried forward to follow the family up the stairs. Halfway up the butler picked up the frail Edward - whom, as Tristan understood it, had a breathing condition - and carried him the rest of the way.

"Uncle! So good to see you again!" Prince Justin called as they reached the top. The two families greeted each other.

"It's been too long, dear nephew. I trust your journey was uneventful?" the King asked.

"It was comfortable, thank you. And we had the good fortune of getting over the mountain in time to see your Royal Sorcerers here disperse the storms, didn't we, Edward?"

Edward nodded excitedly as the butler put him down. He beamed at Madame and Miss Suliman, "You even stopped the lightning!"

Madame Suliman chuckled. "In a way. But all the credit must go to my daughter," she raised a hand in Miss Suliman's direction, who curtsied deeply at the attention.

"You have a great talent, Daughter Suliman, to have removed so large a storm so quickly," Princess Beatrice complimented.

"Thank you, your Highness."

"Shall we go in? I'm sure you're hungry for lunch by now," the King suggested and the doors to the palace opened; they began to file inside.


A(nother) Note from the Author: I've compromised what I feel to be an generation issue between the movie and the books in terms of the King of Ingary and Prince Justin, whom in the books are supposed to be brothers - here, I've made them uncle and nephew to better-fit the movie-verse but still remain true to them being related. Similarly, for lack of any information I've named Justin and Beatrice's son Edward.