Kyou Kara Maou – The Ghosts of Trondheim

Summary: When the royal family goes on winter holiday to Trondheim, Yuuri and Murata must face the ghosts of Shinou and Daikenja's most tragic mistake.

Chapter 14 – The Royal Consort

"Well, in my considered healer's opinion – your idiot husband's still asleep," said Manfred, holding a glass of water to dribble into Yuuri's mouth. Since no one else had thought to water the sleeping man, Yuuri drank a third of the glass. Manfred waved a candle ablaze in the bathroom. "Leave the light on. With luck he'll stumble in there instead of wetting the bed. Now, come help me in the nursery, mopey vixen."

"I can't just leave him! It's our honeymoon!" wailed Wolfram, still sitting erect on a hard chair, clutching Yuuri's hand.

"Mm, mine, too!" said Manfred. "Son, I love you deeply, and it makes me proud the way you've inherited my narcissism. Aren't you afraid that if you sit there pouting too long, your face will puff up, and your ass get so flabby that Yuuri won't want it anymore? Get. Up."

Wolfram rocketed to his feet, sputtering mad.

Conrad, who'd been applying great kindness and sensitivity to get Wolfram out of the room for the past half hour, couldn't quite stifle a laugh. Wolfram wheeled on him. "You've personal experience with this problem, have you, Weller?"

"He said it! I didn't say it!" objected Conrad. "Here, hold a baby." For Conrad had been playing with Dannikin while Manfred poked at Yuuri. In fire talent and attitude, the baby ogre reminded him greatly of a baby brother he once knew.

"Oof," said Wolfram, as the hefty child settled into his arms. "Hm. Are you hungry, little Dannikin? He's growing fast. We should try him on some cereal."

Manfred frowned thoughtfully. "I think troll babies stick to meat and milk for a few years."

"No," said Wolfram flatly. "Troll-ogre ancestry is less fangy than pure troll. I think they're more truly omnivores, like demons. Aren't you, Dannikin?" Wolfram didn't notice that he was making up a true story, back-figuring from something he simply knew was true – Dannikin wanted cereal, not meat.

Manfred and Conrad exchanged a glance, remembering something Wolfram had told them, about how Tariel 'adjusted' Wolfram's fire healer maryoku. That Wolfram had a flair for simply knowing what animals needed. Or perhaps – other animals in general?

At the nurseries, the three men split, Manfred to find out exactly what Dietrich and Efram 'experimenting on the babies' meant, Conrad to find Commander Griesel, and Wolfram to the ogre nursery to hand off Dannikin to someone with cereal. This last took some time, since the nurses hadn't expected to feed the babies cereal ever, much less the day they were born! But eventually some powdered oatmeal was produced, and the ogre babies loved it.

"So, are there any problems in here?" Wolfram asked a nurse casually, while she poured oatmeal fortified milk into an enthusiastic Dannikin.

She rolled her eyes. "Nothing but problems in here," she said, wagging a naughty-naughty finger at Dannikin. The baby ignored her, eyes squeezed shut in blissful enjoyment of his gloppy bottle. The ogre nursery was a dark room – now Wolfram was the one wearing glasses, not Dannikin. "These ogre babies are hellions! Except for little Princess over there. She's so good – never makes a squeak."

The nurse meant it as a compliment. But Wolfram frowned, and checked on the girl ogre. She lay almost inert, eyes half open, uninterested in anything, a striking contrast to gusty little Dannikin. Wolfram picked her up and cuddled her. Not nearly as hefty as Dannikin either, he thought in concern. There was a piece of paper attached to her crib. The writing was in a childishly neat Shin Makoku hand, initialed DvB – Dietrich, Aldrich's young son. The page didn't say much. Ogre baby girl #14, called Princess, the date, and her weight today. Definitely lighter than Dannikin.

Dietrich's best friend Trenton, heir to Gratz, wandered in, leaving his scale by the door, and started adding something to the charts. Wolfram borrowed the scale, and weighed Dannikin and Princess again. She's lost two ounces. In how long? And she's three pounds lighter than Dannikin.

"Which one's he?" asked Trenton. "And how much does he weigh?"

The nurse showed him Dannikin's crib, and Trenton started a new sheet of paper for him, Ogre baby boy #20, called Dannikin, TvG. "Wow, I think he's the biggest. Unless they've all grown a pound in the past hour."

Wolfram had traded back to cuddling Princess, trying to coax her with some oatmeal-fortified milk. "May I see, Trenton? The master charts?"

"Dietrich has 'em," said Trenton. "Pixie room, sunny side two doors left. Could you tell him about Ogre #20? Manfred asked me to chart the time for all the dark rooms."

"Sure. Keep up the good work, Trent!" Wolfram ruffled his blond hair.

Wolfram found Dietrich with the charts, carefully filling in the new time field Manfred had requested. Wolfram added Dannikin to the ogre chart, and an extra weighing and time for Princess. Sure enough, the girl was way behind her peer group, though she did seem to be gaining interest in her bottle and her surroundings. Wolfram kept petting and stroking and murmuring to her, in between other things.

Manfred and Efram rejoined them from some other room. "Sure enough, the elf babies are growing much faster than elves normally do," Manfred said, then frowned at Princess. "Is that… a troll baby?"

"Chichiue! No, she's an ogre. But she's not doing well."

"No one said anything," said Manfred, taking the girl. "What's the problem, hm?"

"Oh, just blinders," said Wolfram. "She acts like a cooperative little demon baby, all quiet and sleepy. They thought she was the best baby in the ogre room. I think she's in trouble."

"Hm," said Manfred, handing the baby back to Wolfram, with a searching look at his son. "What do you think her problem is, Wolfram?"

"Me? You're the healer!"

"So are you."

"But I don't know anything about ogre babies! Except, well – it's interesting that the baby thriving the most is Dannikin, who gets the most attention. And ogre babies act out so much, demanding attention. I think maybe… they need it?"

Manfred nodded thoughtfully. "What do you recommend?"

"Me? Um." Wolfram panicked a little at the idea that it might be on his head, whether little Princess thrived or not. But then… it might really be on his head... "I think ogre babies need constant attention, touching. They shouldn't be left in their cribs. They need to be in someone's arms."

"Worth a try, well done," said Manfred. "Once you get that happening, I'd appreciate it if you'd examine the dragon eggs, too, Wolfram."

Wolfram noticed that in this discussion, his father had not once called him 'son' or 'pretty vixen', but only by name. This was such a rare event, he wasn't sure what to make of it. "But, Chichiue – I don't have any authority with these people!"

"Neither do I. Wolfram, do you remember that lecture I gave your public health class, while you were getting your nobility degree?"

Wolfram met his father's eye and nodded thoughtfully. "Our ability to do any good, in public health policy or in politics, is limited by our ability to persuade the people we're trying to help. But Chichiue, you're a reknowned healer…" Wolfram's voice died out as he was saying it. It's not as though his father started out famous. He earned it. "Alright. If I can't persuade them, I'll come back and ask your help."

Manfred smiled and nodded. "Well, if you'll excuse me, Pixie Girl #7 isn't keeping her food down."

-oOo-

"See, this is the 'control' chart, Chichiue," Dietrich explained to Aldrich, come up to visit during a break from his yardwork. "Chichiue Manfred interviewed the elves to make it. See how much faster our baby elves are growing than normal?" Aldrich looked impressed, and nodded a salute of respect at his stepson Efram over Dietrich's head.

Wolfram wandered by, explaining to a nurse, "Just like chicken eggs. If you want them to hatch, you keep them warm. If you want them to keep awhile, you keep them cool. Believe me, we don't want ten baby dragons hatching, just before Kristbane comes for them. Dragons bond instantly to whoever they're with when they hatch. It happened to my husband and me once. And I've spoken with Kristbane before – she has no sense of humor."

"You've seen a dragon hatch? And you talk to dragons?" said the nurse. "Wow, you really do know what to do about the eggs!"

Wolfram nodded confidently. "They'll be fine. Just room temperature - don't warm them. Kristbane should be here soon. What I'd like you to do is pack them carefully, in a single layer, for carrying." He caught his liege lord Aldrich's thoughtful eye on him and said, "Did you need me for something?" Aldrich shook his head, and Wolfram bustled off on his next mission.

"Our charts helped Wolfram fix the ogre babies," confided Dietrich.

"Oh, good for you, Diet, Efram! How'd they do that?" asked Aldrich.

Diet explained. He drew Aldrich by the hand, first to the troll nursery for comparison. There all the babies were happily swaddled in their cribs, sleeping or humming along while a very large troll woman sang to them. Very troll. Next Diet pulled his father to the ogre nursery. Each baby ogre was now glued to an adult, happily looking around and involved in life, immune to their nurses' dull suggestions that good little nocturnals were asleep at this hour.

By now, the nurses laughed at each other when they got zapped with ogre baby majutsu. "Aha! You weren't paying her enough attention, were you?" Princess, an earth maryoku ogre, had a troll-ogre woman as her personal love slave, and was now 'Ornk'ing away happily with all the rest.

"See? She's put on three ounces," said Dietrich, proudly showing his father the cribside chart. "It was Efram's idea to do growth charts, and Wolfram figured out what was wrong, but… Trent and I really helped."

"You really did, Diet," said Aldrich, giving his son a big hug. "You and Trent led us to decide what kind of babies to ask for, too, didn't you? You've made major contributions this trip!"

Dietrich grinned, happy to have earned the praise. Trenton crashed in, yelling, "Hey, Diet! The healers need sour fruits from the greenhouse. Come on!" Aldrich nodded, smiling, and the boys scampered away on their next important task.

Aldrich poked his head into a few more rooms. Greta was bossing goblins around, saying that her Chichiue Wolfram said the gnomes belonged in the garden, not a dark room. A thoughtful Aldrich left Greta to it.

Manfred was busy with another sick infant. So Aldrich sighed and got to work himself. He fetched a couple of his father's trained assistants up to the nursery and explained, in Trond concepts, how the charts worked, and why the boys were doing it. Efram intently studied how Aldrich explained things to a Trond viewpoint. Even a simple x,y plot was foreign quasi-religious territory to them. But Aldrich impressed them with the results so far, and convinced them that Friedrich and the other mathemagicians could find meaning in the numbers. Duly impressed, Friedrich's assistants accompanied Efram to study and practice the new arcane art of charting.

And Manfred was still busy. Apparently it was still unclear whether sour fruits helped Pixie#7's digestion, and Wolfram was on that situation. But in the meantime Faun#9 and Centaur#6 had a collision, and broken bones and cracked hooves needed repair. Out of ideas for Lordly support services to render for the moment, Aldrich happily sat down next to his husband and healed the adorable faun.

As the babies cantered off to crash into some more things, Aldrich said to Manfred, "You know, that son of yours…"

"Efram? Yeah, he's done well."

"Efram, too! But I was speaking of Wolfram –"

"Dragons!" called a goblin at the door. "Lady Alana wants you, Lord Aldrich!"

Manfred chuckled. "Be sure to send up the foster parents before you get to talking, please, love?" Aldrich agreed with a rueful dimple, and set off.

-oOo-

Wolfram left the crates of dragon eggs in the Tariel greenhouse, then he and Aldrich joined the others to greet the dragon Kristbane, just coming in for a landing. Garena had apparently stopped and picked up Ted von Trondheim on the way down to Kriegsbad, to help round up the foster parents and secure them on the dragon's back. After a subdued Ted shared brief embraces with his family, Aldrich bade him escort the foster parents straight up to the nursery.

Wolfram stepped forward to talk to Kristbane, the daunting lady war-chief of the dragons, who'd enforced the peace in Kriegsbad much of the past year. "/ We have your ten dragon eggs. It is cold, so I left them in there. How do you want to proceed? Are there nests and foster parents ready, or should we keep them while you prepare? /"

"/ Show me! /" demanded Kristbane. She sidled up to the greenhouse, to gaze longingly down at the eggs within. "/ You are right. Keep them slightly warm, like a spring day. One dragon at a time must come for the eggs. We need nesting grounds. Garena says we are invited to nest here. /"

"/ This needs discussion, /" said Wolfram.

"/ There is no time. Nests must be built, and sitting-in begin, or the eggs die. /"

Wolfram bowed understanding. "/ Then we discuss quickly. /"

Fortunately, Brendan Lord Gratz and Erick Lord Trondheim had already spent some time hashing out the details. And since time was pressing, Conrad and Wolfram were willing to make commitments on Gwendal and Yuuri's behalf. Soon Wolfram turned back to Kristbane.

"/ We offer nesting grounds in return for help protecting the passes, protecting the rare races, rescue operations, and keeping the northern pass open in winter. These are not dragon reservations, but job offers. Understanding? /"

Kristbane snorted fire. Wolfram didn't blame her – it wasn't as though they had any easy way to enforce the agreement should the dragons outstay their welcome. Nevertheless, he believed Kristbane would honor her word. And as the most powerful of the dragons, she was their leader, to some extent. "/ In return for eggs and nesting grounds and food, we work. We agree. /"

"/ No, /" clarified Wolfram. "/ The eggs are yours, wherever you nest. We also offer ten nests and food in exchange for work. Those who take nests, work for and obey Erick Lord Trondheim. Understanding? /"

Kristbane blinked long and slow, considering this. "/ Where nests? /"

Wolfram decided it was a good sign that she was thinking more carefully about the deal. Yuuri may have been right – if Kristbane had agreed only in order to get the eggs, she might have felt perfectly justified double-crossing them, since the demons had no right to dragon eggs. He replied, "/ Four nests each along Kriegsbad and Gratz Passes, two on the Escarpment. /"

"/ Three each on Passes, two Escarpment, two internal. One between here and troll reservation, one troll reservation far side. One extra nest each of those places, five more nests total. For dragon without egg. Yet. And if work for Erick, Erick needs translator. /"

Wolfram consulted with the others. It was a hefty increase in habitat demand, but reasonable from Kristbane's perspective of dragon security. They agreed, and Erick stepped forward, with Friedrich as his translator, to seal the deal. Kristbane conveyed her own chosen nesting spot – the hottest of them all, at the base of Kriegsbad Pass, with a second nest for a friend facing hers across the Pass – and to their surprise, demanded her egg now.

Wolfram went in and pointed at several eggs, until Kristbane nodded at the one she wanted. He brought it out to her with a bow. "/ Congratulations on your baby, Kristbane. I wish you both great happiness in your new home. /"

Kristbane narrowed her eyes and inclined her vast head in respect. "/ Friend you call Liesl arrives at midnight with pixie foster mother and priestess. She is happy if you bring her egg then. /"

Wolfram's eyes widened. "/ Little Liesl? Thank you for telling me! /"

Kristbane then took her precious egg in her mouth, and flew off into the night. She hadn't bothered to mention it, but fully half of those nests were already built, during the Dragon Insurrection. One just didn't feel quite safe, sleeping on duty station.

-oOo-

Commander Griesel left the Lords to their negotiations with Kristbane, once it was clear that the dragons would be part of the security equation. He eagerly headed up to the nursery to find Ted, holding up a wall in inscrutable contemplation of baby kobolds and gnomes. Wolfram was right, the shrill little gnome foster mother wanted greenhouse space.

Griesel snapped to attention with a grin, and saluted once-General Teodor von Trondheim smartly. "Good to see you, Sir!"

Ted looked away, with a face of stone. "The regular army does not salute local militia, Commander." Disgraced or not, and though never quite the pedant General von Dienst could be, Ted couldn't unbend enough to accept an improper salute, or being called 'Sir!'

In fact, it hurt like hell.

"Ah, sorry, S – Lord von Trondheim," Griesel backpedaled. Ted acknowledged this with a curt nod. "I – It's just not right. The army misses you, S – Lord."

Sergeant Griesel had served under Ted for a decade, and considered him an outstanding officer. Maybe not as good as von Dienst, and perhaps not quite the right man for the top job – Ted's trollish imperturbability didn't have quite the pizzazz to get men fired up to fight and die. But, Ted knew that, and worked well with his limitations as well as his strengths. He stood behind, the calm assured man-in-charge, absolutely dependable, and let his subordinates do the rabble-rousing. And Wolfram's machinations had provided Ted with Gregor von Dienst as one of those subordinates, within a year of Ted inheriting the top job, after Adelbert's treason. If von Dienst had studied Ted carefully, the reverse was equally true – Ted had mastered many of Adelbert and von Dienst's strengths. After Troll Mother entrolled Ted into deserting his post to be her General instead, to lead her armies against Shin Makoku, that was one of the worst problems von Dienst had to face – just how much the army had depended on Ted. His commanders were demoralized and struck stupid with feeling betrayed.

"I'm surprised the General didn't have me executed," replied Ted. "I'm not sure I'd have been so generous, had our roles been reversed. Adelbert's exile certainly wasn't negotiable. At first."

Griesel saw that Ted… almost wished von Dienst had executed him. And he didn't know what to say. After a long silence, he cleared his throat. "The General sent me with a detachment to strengthen your militia, Lord Teodor. I imagine you'll wish to consult with Lord Trondheim before meeting with me, but, I await your convenience. I hope to discuss how to deploy, coordinate, and possibly combine forces." He drew a letter from his tunic and smartly extended it to Ted.

"Thank you, Commander," said Ted. He nodded dismissal, then winced. "Old habits. Excuse me, Commander."

Griesel nodded. "I undestand exactly, S- Lord. At your convenience, then." He bowed to Lord Teodor, and departed.

Ted glanced at von Dienst's habitually tiny, crabbed handwriting, sighed, and thrust the letter into his tunic. Sure his eyes were made for nocturnal sight. He wore protective contacts in daylight, flicking them in and out with such practiced ease that most never noticed. But night-vision worked with very little light, so Trondish was written in large, blocky writing. He'd need a serious magnifying glass before he could hope to decipher this.

Manfred watched the exchange with growing concern, half his mind still on getting the gnome foster mother established. But at this point, he decisively excused himself from the gnome and walked over to Ted, first boffing shoulders with his old friend, then insisting on an embrace.

"I haven't sat down to eat all day," announced Manfred. "Share a meal with me, Ted."

"Nah, Manfred. You're busy here."

"Eh, plenty of good Trondheim nurses and healers, and I need a break. I've missed having you around. Got used to your company again, while we both lived at Blood Pledge, you know? Like old times." Though fifteen years older than Adelbert and Manfred, Ted joined the military at the same time, because the blonds signed up at the ridiculously young age of forty-five – unseemly for aristocrats. The three of them were nearly inseparable, until Manfred's injury forced him to retire around age ninety, when Wolfram was a baby. "C'mon, feed me."

Despite the demoralized Ted's best efforts, Manfred would not be brushed off. In the end, Ted introduced Manfred to his favorite mammoth stew joint down on the main concourse. The local specialty was rich, with chunks of Aldrich's signature Bielenfeld blue potatoes.

Ted had been living in a tent out in the snow for a week. He tried to use this as an excuse to escape to a hot bath before he got called on the carpet by his nephew Lord Erick. But Manfred just dragged him to the seven-tank men's mixed-racial baths. Manfred hadn't been to public baths in nearly a century. In fact, the last time was these very baths, when the adolescent military trio took their last stag vacation together, just before Shinou instructed Maou Cecilie von Spitzweg to conceive her third child with an obscure young officer from Bielenfeld.

"Erick's changed, Ted. He's not going to 'call you on the carpet'," suggested Manfred, rocking a wooden toy duck that floated by.

"Because he's got his soul back together? Nah, Manfred, that just makes you more truly yourself, whole. I mean, I'm happy for him – he'll be a stronger and happier man for it. But never underestimate Erick, Manfred. He can be surprisingly ruthless."

Manfred frowned slightly. "Back up. Your soul 'back together… more truly yourself'… You sound like you're speaking from experience."

Ted nodded, with a sad smile. "Big sister's first and bestest guinea pig. Yeah, Ilya sent me on a quest to reintegrate – the hard way."

"Wait, was this about ten years before I demobbed?" Manfred asked thoughtfully. Ted had been a month late getting back from vacation, said he'd fallen ill and had to lay over in Twinhall, coming back from the troll reservation. He'd changed then, changed a lot. He still looked bland and affable and trollish, but inside, he wasn't anymore. Before, he'd taken orders from Adelbert and Franklin like a puppy dog, eager to please. After, nobody pushed him around. After one 'frank exchange of opinions', Manfred was fairly sure Franklin's black eye was authored by Ted's fist. If Manfred recalled correctly, the frank opinions were about the family disowning Ilya for joining Shinou's temple. After that, Ted made it clear that he was pursuing his life and career down below. He never broke with the family as Ilya did, but he insisted on adult respect and career backing from his family – and got it.

And it was this troll – the most successful open troll in all Shin Makoku, one of the most independent and self-determined trolls anywhere – whom Troll Mother had entrolled into committing treason, throwing away his life and career. She'd destroyed him without a second thought.

"It's a crime now, what Troll Mother did to you, Ted," Manfred said. "Your Aunt Anmari was sentenced last night to glanding and branding, for attempting to force Erick's will. Would have been executed for terrorism, too. But Erick left her a knife and a choice."

Ted nodded slowly. "Yeah, well. I'm sure he still has the knife."

Manfred stared at him. "That wasn't my point."

"But it was mine, Manfred," Ted asserted, in his mild steel way. "Speaking of which, this time, I'm leaving. Time for me to dress and face the music."

Manfred's steps dawdled on the way back to the nursery. He veered toward the Tariel greenhouse, and saw that Erick, Aldrich, and Wolfram were still there, with others. He'd thought to hand the matter of Ted to Aldrich, as usual. But his eye fell on Wolfram instead. He beckoned his son aside from the group, and told him his concerns.

Wolfram nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder if that doesn't turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy." At his father's questioning glance, he elaborated, "A man of Ted's talent, turned away by Shin Makoku, not able to mesh back into Trondheim. If he doesn't become part of the solution as a friend, he might be pushed into joining the enemy in truth." At his father's look of outrage, Wolfram waved this away. "Just musing out loud. Alright, I agree. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Lord Wolfram," Manfred said quietly, and headed back to the nursery. He said it so naturally that Wolfram simply turned to rejoin the others. Only after a moment did his head whiplash back over his shoulder in surprise. First, calling me Wolfram. Now, 'Lord Wolfram'!? Huh…

Erick was talking to Conrad, and Wolfram joined them. "Lord Erick, a word, if I may? The Maou was talking to Conrad and me about your uncle Ted on the trip here. He was very much looking forward to seeing him. Ted's rehabilitation is on his mind. There are… details to work out. But your uncle has Yuuri's absolute trust and confidence. Yuuri would consider it a personal favor, if you would work toward reconciling Ted and the Shin Makoku army."

This was a bald-faced lie. Yuuri had spoken of Ted on the way up – to Conrad, while Wolfram drifted in a dramamine haze. What he'd said, was that he hoped Ted wouldn't be at Trond Hall. Yuuri had promised General von Dienst that there would be no reconciliation for at least a year. And though he liked Ted, and felt bad for him, he wasn't sure how they'd be able to trust him again. Conrad had listened sympathetically, though he was more than a little surprised to hear Yuuri doubting whether he could trust a friend.

Aldrich overheard a little of this and shot a sharp glance at Wolfram. But on second thought, he decided to un-hear and walk away.

Conrad didn't skip a beat. "Yes, Yuuri's trust is legendary. A powerful force for good."

Erick nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I do thank you for mentioning it, Lord Wolfram. I'm… surprised. Alright, then, perhaps we should insist on local control of the borrowed forces from Shin Makoku. We do have a highly capable general, with local expertise…"

Wolfram nodded solemn gratitude on the Maou's behalf. "Ah! Excuse me, Lord Erick, my next dragon is here. Come, Conrad, surely you remember Liesel?"

Of the many things done in Yuuri's name while he was asleep, this act of the Royal Consort gave him the most pause. Firstly, that his beloved had deliberately and exactly reversed his wishes, in Yuuri's name. And secondly, that he'd done so in such a way to be more bravely… Yuuri… than Yuuri himself was willing to be in this instance. The firstly and secondly tended to chase each other around his head, like a puppy chasing his own tail, getting nowhere. So Yuuri ended up not really discussing the matter with Wolfram. Though of course, he spent an excruciatingly long time on it with the irate General Gregor von Dienst. Thankfully, Gwendal elected not to touch the topic with a ten-foot stick.

Wolfram's leap of faith was not misplaced. No one would ever entroll Teodor von Trondheim again. Troll women were warned, in Erick's monthly newsletter, and by Ted's staff, that the General always kept troll-proof aides by his side, never gave an order without them, and they had standing authority to overrule any order he gave that might have been influenced. One would be well advised to not so much as soothe a child's temper tantrum where Ted might see it. His own mother disowned him for his attitude. And he didn't give a damn. And Alana and Erick backed him 100 percent.

-oOo-

The next day and night were equally eventful. Ilya arrived from Shinou's temple, on the same dragon who'd flown to the Khrennikov Fire Islands to pick up a fire pixie foster mom. She was most definitely not the 'ticked-off brainy adolescent' who'd left so many years before, just as Friedrich had promised Alana. In fact, the two women's age difference – only 75 years – had melted into insignificance. They soon became fast friends, Alana entranced by the advances Ilya had made in shamanistic theology. Aldrich and Murata spent long hours with them, hammering out the practicalities of widespread soul reintegration, without requiring Yuuri to remain in person. Ilya fell in love with a baby troll girl, and adopted her, home to stay in Trond Hall at last.

Erick protested loudly, each time yet another person said he was sure to adopt Dannikin. Erick wanted a girl ogre to go with his little son Vlad. But when Guya too fell to Dannikin's charms, Erick at last found time to visit the ogre nursery. He was laughing out loud with Dannikin in minutes, and relented. They adopted him on the spot.

Manfred was unsurprised to find that little Vlad'k'vriel von Trondheim was not on the same fast-track growth curve as the ghost babies. He was developing perfectly normally for an original, reincarnated Mazoku baby – which is to say, imperceptibly slowly. Little Dannikin was already over twice his size, and growing like a weed. But for whatever reason, Dannikin and Vlad seemed to hit it off from the start, provided of course that Dannikin never ever lacked for attention. But he flamed the adults for failures in that department, not his rival Vlad.

Once the greenhouse was ready, the fauns and centaurs moved out there, along with all the gnomes and pixies. Wolfram had been right about Pixie#7 – her stomach didn't have enough acid. Her foster mom needed only to make minor further adjustments to her food, and kept her strictly upright for a day, no lying down, and Pixie#7 was growing like all the rest.

Tariel and Salix moved a number of trees into the field greenhouse, including a dogwood and pussy willow from other glass pyramids. And though she was too shy to talk, and still rather disoriented from her revival, the field nymph Edelweiss could often be glimpsed visiting. Regardless of the deep winter outside, she ensured that, just for this year, inside that greenhouse it remained alpine spring. People generally didn't go into the field folk's home without an invitation, but the Trond Hall general public was entranced. The tropical pyramid next door got rather crowded with onlookers. The faun Freerie demanded a few walls here and there, for privacy. The pixie and gnome foster mothers got increasingly unhappy with how pushy Freerie was, and moved into a flower pyramid together, leaving the fieldhouse for the hoofy ones. They preferred gardens to fields, anyway.

-oOo-

In a quiet moment, Aldrich pulled his vassal Wolfram aside for a chat. A year ago, following Wolfram and Yuuri's brief meltdown and reconciliation, Wolfram promised Aldrich that he'd find a career outside his rather neurotically Yuuri-centric castle life. These good intentions had been derailed by Troll Mother and the Dragon Insurrection. Aldrich said he intended to speak with Wolfram about concrete plans when they returned to Blood Pledge Castle, to get that initiative off stall.

"Wolfram, you amazed me yesterday, in the nursery, with the dragons, with Erick and Ted. This clinging to Yuuri – I just don't buy it anymore. And now that Manfred's on his feet again, I can't tell you how many requests I get for him to consult on public health and welfare. You would excel at that, especially for these rare races. And – face it. You're young. Yeah, I live a nice settled middle-aged lifestyle in my castle, puttering in my garden. But you and Yuuri should get out more, enjoy some adventures. You two love that stuff. So enjoy it while you're young! And in public health – it can be your work, and sometimes Yuuri tags along for a change, hm? Think about it."

"But… with another baby on the way… and they're little for such a short time!" Wolfram objected.

"Bullshit. Mazoku children take forever to grow up. And with children, believe me, absence really does make the heart grow fonder. Cross-foster 'em, Bielenfeld style. It's great for them, great for you, great for the parents you swap off with. In fact, with all this baby action going on, I think Manfred and I may line up some cross-fosterings while we're here. You and Yuuri might not even bother – you've got them built in, with Gwendal and Annissina and Adelbert. Anyway… think about it. We're on vacation now. But I'd like us to work on solid plans when we get back."

Wolfram tried to talk himself into being insulted at Aldrich's heavy-handedness. But it didn't work. In truth, it felt good – really good! – to have his father call him 'Lord Wolfram' as an equal, Conrad follow his lead, nurses and Erick take his counsel. He never intended to… hide behind Yuuri. And Aldrich was only asking that he find a way to be a Lord in his own right, make his own noble contribution to society. And though Wolfram would never put such ahead of Yuuri or his children, it really was what he wanted for himself.

So he did think about it. He thought about it a lot. And he started thinking about it out loud, with Greta, and of course she talked about it with Efram and the boys.

-oOo-

That next night was also the one Troll Mother arrived. She absent-mindedly confirmed Ted's suspicions about a cabal forming amidst the Daughters, in strong reaction to Troll Mother considering whether to dissolve the boundaries of the troll reservation and just blend into Trondheim again, as Yuuri had offered to allow.

But Troll Mother wasn't terribly interested in the question. She was too entranced by the babies, rapt at the explanations of what the ghosts were, how they came to be, and how Ilya and Murata hoped to fix it, for all the ghosts, not just these few, and to heal the souls of all the already incarnate Tronds as well.

Tariel and Salix quietly joined the group talking to Troll Mother along the way. When the sky lightened toward dawn, and Troll Mother headed for her very large bedroom in lower Trond Hall, Tariel gave her a warm embrace and a kiss on the check.

Troll Mother smiled, dimples stretching her face wide. "Yes, yes. It is redeemed at last, isn't it, Tariel? Redeemed at last. Ah, I'm so tired. It will be good to lay this down. Too long, too long. I'm so glad you have Salix now, sweet Tariel."

"Sleep well, Tanya, my best friend," said Tariel, with a rare warm smile.

Princess Tanya Troll Mother died in her sleep that morning, at the astonishing old age of four thousand one hundred and seventeen, having finally seen what she had waited and worked so long for. Though trolls could hibernate, and that's how Troll Mother had managed it, even so it was remarkable for a troll to live to age one thousand. Only her indomitable will, her absolute refusal to accept anything less than the restoration of her people, had kept her going for so very, very long.

But as she'd said, now it was redeemed.

Alana decided not to have Tanya rendered as sausage. It was winter – fresh meat could be transported safely. It was better that everyone who wished to, could partake in this death feast. Sausage was just too limiting. For Troll Mother was very literally the mother of her people. Anyone with troll blood, had it from her. And the other races of Trondheim joined in death feasts as well, the shamanistic ritual of taking on one's share of the departed's roles in life. So Troll Mother was cut into pieces and delivered throughout the land, so that even the smallest halls got a piece, to be made into soup. A date was set one week hence, for a simultaneous death feast throughout Trondheim at midnight.

But that first morning, and until summer, the dogwood and pussy willow bloomed in the field house, to honor her passing.

-oOo-

OK, hopefully one or two more chapters and this one's a wrap. If you have anything in particular you want included, speak now…

Although, actually this chapter might work as an ending… A bit short shrift on the honeymoon aspect, though.

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed!

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