Three:
Rest For the Wicked

Victoria had never been the most patient of women. Despite the calming nature of the pale walls and large windows in the medical ward, she was bristling. She hadn't had cause to be so angry in years, but, as she paced the far end of the ward, it was a struggle to keep her mood from spilling out into the world around her. She needed, wanted, answers and she needed them soon. Victoria had tried speaking with Samuel, Brightwall Academy's head librarian, but, despite both of their best efforts, she could find no information on why a siren would inexplicably walk into her throne room and collapse after killing a good deal of soldiers that had been hired to protect the very person the siren had wanted to talk to. There was also no explanation for a strangely shaped mark the doctor had found carved into the siren's skin—a mark that, in Victoria's opinion, resembled something like a curly version of a child's rendition of the sun—except for a tiny sketch beside a notation on an ancient scroll that neither of them could read. From there, Victoria had decided to play this incident as safely as possible and reach out to allied countries for possible aid in the event that something was, yet again, coming to destroy Albion. Her plea was almost instantly denied by almost every one of the other rulers. Victoria's only saving grace was that one of the others, an elderly queen that she was on exceptionally good terms with, had revealed in confidence that she would have her best scholars begin work on anything that could potentially be useful.

However, a week had passed and there was still no sign of news. Annoyed, she threw herself down into one of the chairs that had been placed beside an empty cot and crossed her arms. She barely resisted the urge to tap her foot, as well. Luckily for her nerves, the nurse entered but a moment later.

Nurse Nina "Nanny" Andrews was a plump, matronly woman who looked like someone's very severe grandmother. Nanny shot the young queen a disapproving look as she wheeled a gurney into the room. "Have ye gone about hurtin' yerself again, Milady?"

"Hmm? Oh; no," Victoria said quickly, flocking to the older woman's side. She glanced down at the gurney where the siren—still wet from spending the last twelve hours in a large tub full of sea water—was sleeping soundly. "Has she awoken at all? Has she said anything?"

Nanny sighed, frowning, and pursed her lips. "She hasn't woken up yet, Miss. Nor's she said nothin'. Now, ma'am, I do know I said I'd let ye know when she had woken. There be no need for ye to sit about waiting."

Victoria repressed a sigh of frustration, remembering that she'd just told herself to not take her frustration out on others only a few minutes ago. Didn't Nanny understand that she had to know? What if something terrible was about to happen? What if no one knew and it as the worst thing imaginable? She swallowed her fears, ignoring the nervous lump in her throat and tried to keep her pessimism and paranoia from causing any harm, and nodded. "Very well, then.

Nanny gave her a good natured smile. "Thank ye kindly, Milady. Now, would ye be so kind as to help me get her in bed? She weights 'bout a sack o' stones."

Blinking slightly in surprise at actually being asked to help, Victoria nodded. She moved towards the siren's feet and got ready to lift her.

Victoria stared blankly down at the paperwork on her desk without really seeing it. It was maddening, all this meaningless work. No one around her seemed to care about the siren, other than the possibility that she might have had the potential to hurt them. Victoria, on the other hand, didn't think the siren had been a danger to them at all. She had only targeted people who had tried to restrain her, those that had gotten out of the siren's way had been ignored in the throne room. It seemed highly unlikely that the siren would have gone out of her way to attack people if she had so readily ignored them. (Unfortunately, she doubted she would ever have confirmation of that fact; there was an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of her stomach that kept reminding her it was unlikely the siren would wake.)

Eyes burning from the strain, Victoria tossed her pen down upon her papers in disgust. So tired for so long. She needed…she needed…. Victoria cut off her train of thought with a huff. Frowning at the petition she had just received to raise the legal alcohol purchase limit, she decided that, sometimes, she just really didn't understand the people of Albion. If someone was attempting to harm them or those around them, they said hardly a word about it unless their opinion was asked in a private setting—and, even then, it was only vehemently given half of the time. However, if someone even mentioned in passing that they disliked liquor, everyone around them nearly rioted. There had to be something wrong with them as a society if liquor was more important than human lives.

The study door opened. Scarlet and Hobson entered, clearly ignoring each other. As soon as the door had closed, Scarlet removed her silver mask to reveal an older woman with greying hair and amber eyes. She seemed calm, but Hobson looked more harried than usual. Victoria felt her mood take a dip. Though Hobson had been slightly less annoying ever since they'd first ventured to Ravenscar Keep, she still didn't care for him. But Jasper had elected to forgo living in the castle to act as Sanctuary's permanent keeper and Victoria needed someone with experience to help with her work in the castle. As sleazy as Hobson was, he was surprisingly good at his job. That said, she was certain he had his hands in the pockets every major noble family, both for the families in an attempt to make themselves look better and for Hobson's personal gain. And she had a list as long as her arm of who could have worked so hard to place him there, just in case it became essential to investigate. (Reaver was near the top of the list—she didn't care how unlike Reaver it seemed or what Hobson said: no one had that much interest in what Reaver was doing except Reaver himself…and maybe Benjamina, but that was another thing entirely.)

"Your Majesty," Hobson greeted as cheerfully as he could manage.

Victoria sighed and, exhausted, said, "Not today, Hobson."

Hobson's beady eyes went wide. "But—"

"But nothing," the queen replied, too tired to speak above an even tone. She needed to get away from it all—to have a way to distance herself from all this chaos—and to just relax. She needed…Grim. "Clear my schedule. I'm going to be leaving Bowerstone for a while."

It was Scarlet's turn to be concerned. Her eyes narrowed. "Where to, Ma'am?"

Victoria stared longingly out the window, knowing she was really being asked why no one had informed them sooner. "Driftwood. I'm going to Driftwood for a while."

The clatter of hoof beats broke through the still air as dirt, rocks, and clumps of grass were flung skyward behind the horses and their riders. The fresh air was invigorating as it flooded through her lungs and whipped through her hair and, for the first time in a long time, Victoria felt mostly calm. It was heavenly to be out of the castle and away from Bowerstone after so long. Victoria hadn't felt this free and light in ages.

"Faster, Brewer, we're gaining on them!" she heard Walter shout from somewhere behind her.

Victoria could feel Grim was beginning to lag with each harsh breath. Every collision of his hooves against the ground was like a shock of thunder. He wasn't used to being worked this hard. Deciding it was better to forfeit the race than harm her horse, she slowed the Andalusian to a halt and dismounted.

"There's a good boy," she murmured, running her fingers comfortingly through his thick, wavy mane as she looked over him critically. Pleased that she could see nothing worrisome, she patted his flank affectionately. "Yeah, you're alright, aren't you? You're just a big softie."

Grim snorted and tossed his head, prancing in place for a brief second as though disagreeing with Victoria's assessment. The setting sun made his black hair look almost like a dark, chocolaty brown as she patted him soothingly.

Hoof beats from behind alerted her to Walter's approach and she half turned to him when he finally drew his own horse to a stop. No matter how many times she saw it, the sight of Sir Walter Beck on a horse was amusing. Tall, muscular, and possessing a very large belly, he simply didn't look the part. And, frankly, Victoria was still surprised that Brewer—a very old, very plump shire horse—could still carry her friend and mentor with such ease. Walter had elected to join her as soon as she'd announced her plan to leave the castle for a few days and, even though he'd only joined her out of almost paternal worry for her safety, Victoria was exceedingly grateful for his company.

Walter, however, looked concerned as he looked down at her. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine," she answered with a half-smile. "Would you mind terribly if we head in?"

Walter assured her that he wouldn't mind and they slowly made their way back.

They'd been out in the country the past few days, staying longer than anticipated after Walter had informed her how much healthier she looked without the stress of the castle crowding in on her. Letters and paperwork still found their way to her, naturally, but at least she could work on them in peace and the unseasonably warm sunshine instead of the claustrophobic confines of her office. If the town's people wouldn't have minded, Victoria might have considered making Driftwood Albion's new capital. As it was…well, she doubted it would work out very well.

Their cabin was empty but for its housekeeper when they had returned; an apologetic note rested on the kitchen table from Scarlet, who was extremely guilty that the full moon had called her away to be with her family. Victoria understood well enough to not mind—actually, Victoria was happy to let her go with her family for the full moon; the last time they'd been together for it…well, unsettling was putting the experience mildly. There was honestly nothing like seeing the head of your guard turn into a balverine for the first time to put you off going on a quest with them.

After a quick wash, Victoria and Walter spent the evening amid a chorus of laughter and good food. Walter regaled the vagabonds of the town with stories of the old Hero King. Each tale was more florid and ludicrous than the last to the point where even Victoria was doubled over in laughter. She honestly hoped most of these stories weren't true and that her father hadn't really been mad enough to try and teach a hobbe to dance. (Though, given his behaviour at times, she would admit that he probably had been.)

Despite the constant demands from children for "just one more story", the pair soon retired to the front stoop of their cabin; Walter indulging in a pipe as Victoria sipped her somewhat ritual cup of tea. Nero settled in beside them, snuggling up to his mistress; at eleven years old, the collie was arthritic and unable to travel often, which made it a treat when he could join her on a trip. The night dissolved peacefully around them. The scent of Earth, growing things, and ocean water perfumed the air, only to mix pleasantly with the scents of cooking grease and wood smoke. Owls hooted dully in the trees around them and frogs and toads croaked back and forth to each other like gossiping old women at tea. A couple of early-blooming crickets had even dared to venture forth and chirp their songs.

"We're going to have to go back soon, won't we?" Victoria asked, staring pensively into her delicate, flower-shaped cup.

"Yes. We can't avoid the court forever."

Though she knew Walter was telling the truth, it wasn't something she wanted to think about. Sometimes…sometimes she truly hated being queen. Regretted it, even. She knew, realistically, that there were few others she would trust with the duty of wearing her family's crown. Walter and Jasper, yes, but they were getting on in years and neither of them wanted that kind of power. Ben? Page? Sabine? No. She trusted them, yes, but Ben wasn't the leader type, Page was unable to make the truly difficult choices it took to lead, and Sabine…well, aside from his age, he had people to rule already. And then there was Reaver. Victoria mentally snorted to herself. If she refused to marry the man, she wasn't about to let him rule her country; she knew him too well. It would be a disaster of epic proportions. Albion probably wouldn't survive it.

She wished Logan was still there to give her some brotherly advice. If anyone would understand the weight of being a ruler, it would have been him.

Victoria sipped her tea in silence, occasionally flicking tiny pebbles through the smoke rings Walter was attempting to blow. The small disk at her waist began to glow and hum with energy, making her jump. Though she'd owned the guild seal for almost a decade, it never failed to surprise her when it suddenly flared to life.

"Ah, uh…madam? Madam? Can you hear me?" came Jasper's slightly nervous voice through the seal.

"I can hear you, Jasper," Victoria replied soothingly. "Walter is the only one around, if you want to let him hear the news, as well."

"News?" Walter mouthed, perplexed.

Victoria shrugged in reply.

"Ah, yes. Good evening to you both. I—I do realise the timing is most abrupt, but something very odd is happening to the Sanctuary's map table," Jasper told them succinctly.

Victoria hesitated. "What sort of…odd?"

"It's difficult to say, madam. But it would appear someone is…calling for help."

"Help?" Walter echoed. "I know I'm mostly unfamiliar with how the table works, but shouldn't Victoria just receive a new quest if someone really does need help?"

"Normally, well…yes. But…it would appear they are using a guild seal or something similar to call," Jasper clarified, sounding extremely uncomfortable with the situation.

Victoria sat up straighter, suddenly alert. Someone else with a guild seal? Could it possibly be that Albion had another Hero? Or was it some poor fool who'd come across an old artefact and was now in over their head? "Do you know where they are now?"

"Yes, madam; I have been tracking their movements since the first sign of distress." Jasper paused for a moment; then, as if realizing they were waiting for him to continue, went on: "They are directly northeast of you, at the far edge of Brightwood and moving west toward Bowerstone. They look to be a little over a day's ride from you."

"Got it, Jasper."

"And, do hurry, madam. I believe something is stalking them."

AN: Short but we're about to go into plot, soooo... -confetti- Interaction, as usual, is appreciated.

Dev. Notes: I feel like, in fiction in particular, it's important to show characters fucking up, making horrible choices (or choices that are just dumb), and other essentially "bad" things alongside whatever "good" growth they've had so far. We're taught growth is a linear path, but it's really not. And Fable's tagline really highlights that, in my opinion: "for every choice, a consequence". For every choice. People can choose to be good, but that doesn't mean those choices are going to have a good outcome. Or that they'll be happy in the end. And Victoria, despite all efforts to make better choices in her life, is not happy. Her selfless choices drag her down, her selfish choices end up coming back to bite her...in ways she can't imagine yet. So I just felt it was important to bring that up. (She really needs to find something that makes her happy, though...I wonder if there's a volunteer somewhere out there in Albion, willing to help her out...)