Chapter 40: Wherein the Queen shushes her hindbrain.

Summary: Never underestimate the mental fortitude of someone who has survived The Blitz.

An old, elegant lady drove the standard transmission Land Rover with the confidence born of knowing how to fix it if it broke. She drove around the road closure sign and past the official vehicles only sign and by the time she reached the official sign demarking the entrance to the Pendragon Preserve (temporarily closed to the public), she could see their escort sitting on the top of the sign, easily five feet in the air, swinging his feet as he waited. They had met before, but somehow today he looked younger and more carefree than before.

She looked in the side mirror of the car and was satisfied to see a medium sized lorry which had paced her for some time, approach quite close before stopping. The younger woman in the back seat got out of the car and went to go talk with the lorry driver.

The old, elegant lady watched as the extremely young man perched on top of the entrance sign gracefully hopped down from his perch, like a born athlete, and she wondered that he didn't open the gate before he approached the car, though he did pull a broomstick out from behind the sign where it had been sitting. As he approached the car, he leaned it against the bonnet in the front, presumably where the lorry driver could not see.

She rolled the window down.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty!" he chirped. "How was your drive?"

"Just fine, thank you."

"Is the lorry behind you lost?"

The old, elegant lady didn't bother to hide her smile. "No, my dear boy. It's bearing our presents to Hermione."

The boy whistled. "You mean business, don't you, Ma'am?"

"Usually," she deadpanned in a way she knew would make Charles smile on the inside, at least. "You'll be able to have someone come fetch them?"

"Erm…" the boy replied, obviously lost in thought. "Yes, Ma'am. As soon as he's gone, I'll call someone. Anything fragile or alive in there?"

"Some are quite fragile, yes."

"Pardon me for interrupting. I'll have the driver put the crates just here, unless there's a better place? Should we wait to load it onto their transport?" Thus spoke Pembroke, the ultra-efficient secretary.

"Mr. Potter?" the old, elegant lady asked, deferring to the man-child.

"Uh, no, right there's just fine. My transport guy can handle them from right there, though I will wait until the lorry is well out of sight, if you don't mind."

Charles drew Mr. Potter around the other side of the car for a chat to catch up and presumably discuss the last letters that neither had time to respond to in the busyness of the holidays and Pembroke left to reassure the lorry driver and sign his forms.

And the old, elegant lady waited.

She did as she was taught as a girl, a simple Indian breathing exercise. It had always been a rather calming and soothing way to pass the minutes. She hadn't always waited patiently as a girl and though her mother had been just as impatient as she, just better able to hide it, her father had figured out how to truly relax in a stressful moment, though he never seemed to employ it for middling stress, which had seemed to encompass all the rest of his brief life. Regardless, anything Papa had to teach was worth learning and Elizabeth had ignored this lesson no more than any other.

And so, she breathed. When the lorry finally drove away, she was even calmer than before. And when the boy started talking, she looked up, and listened, her breath still soft and gentle.

"Right then. Trip! It's safe to come here!"

With a tiny pop, a house elf appeared.

The boy bent down and had a quiet conversation with the elf, gesturing to the crates and undoubtedly explaining what must be done.

House Elves.

The First Tent Peg.

From all Hermione had said, it was as if the rest of the wizarding world treated them like the African slaves of two and three and four hundred years ago. Given Hermione's own African ancestry, it was hardly surprising she went on a crusade to free them all when she was a child, though of course, it would hardly require a biracial ethnicity to hold such views.

But if what she had said in her last letter after Christmas was true… well. It was almost entirely the opposite, then, wasn't it?

Magic given to humans was a bribe given to a small portion of humanity so they would stand watch against the rest to keep the sentient magical beings safe from other humans, and humans being humans had automatically considered that this made them supreme, promptly forgot all their promises and started in on their own rewritten history and attempts at world conquest. And so the house elves took one for the team and agreed to live with their human pets and be at their beck and call, rather like an average human would, with an extremely needy purebred dog or cat. All in order to keep them in line, and keeping to their side of the contract that the humans no longer remembered they had signed.

'Who is the potter and who is the pot?'

Elizabeth considered one of her favorite quotes as she looked at the small magical and entirely sentient creature who had more magic in his little pinky finger than all the witches and wizards she had ever met had, taken altogether.

And then the boy straightened and the house elf clicked his long fingers and he and the crates were gone in a little crack of air.

As if this were nothing at all remarkable, the boy grabbed his broom from the bonnet of the Land Rover.

"Mind if I put this on your roof, before I join you?" he asked brightly.

When she agreed, he just placed it gently, then pulled his wand and whispered a word as he gestured at it. He grinned and stowed his wand, then pushed his glasses up his nose ever so slightly. She waited as he got in the car and settled himself in with the door closed. Pembroke soon followed on the other side.

"Mr. Potter, the gate is still closed," she said patiently.

"Oh, sorry, ma'am. It's not, you know. Just an illusion. There's also a compulsion you're likely feeling, not wanting to approach, but that's all part of the wards. All you need to do is keep driving straight. Close your eyes if it gets too bad. The road is straight for a while, and no one is on it, on the other side."

"How practical," she murmured, putting the car into gear and easing forward. It was fascinating, knowing what was true, but all the same watching the dread within her continue to mount until some part of her, possibly her reptilian hindbrain, was absolutely convinced that a horror greater than death would come to pass if she made it past the gate.

Happily, she had lived through the Blitz and was fully conversant with mortal dread.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, told her hindbrain to shush, and put it into third.

Twenty feet past the gate that wasn't actually closed the tension broke and three out of the four people in the car could breathe again, though their adrenaline was high.

"Well," Charles said.

"Indeed," his mother agreed.

"I think I just faced death," her assistant, Ms. Henrietta Pembroke, said, from the seat behind, next to Mr. Potter.

"Good news, then," Mr. Potter replied. "You're still here."

The car was silent during the seven mile winding drive, but the forest around them was beautiful. They passed turns for visitor's information and the ranger's office and continued past a dead end sign and a no parking sign and an official vehicles only sign.

"You can pull through these crowds, ma'am, and park the car right outside that big standing stone up there, connected to the enclosure wall. The elves will move your car around the back and secure it, later."

The old, elegant lady drove through carnival folk, school children, oddly dressed people, normally dressed people, and occasionally staring people until the crowds diminished and the castle could be clearly seen.

From the side, it seemed so very small, just a short, rather squat and windowless tower surrounded by a wall that wouldn't do much to keep people out, though the New Palace in all its Roman splendour was quite something. Hermione had assured her that the castle was astonishingly spacious inside, and Elizabeth rather looked forward to a bit of a tour at some point.

Mr. Potter reminded them of the schedule of events as they walked through the much less crowded Enclosure and finally into Cair Paravel itself which seemed quite honestly as if it could hold bunk beds and no more.

And then, instead of walking into a tiny stone keep, Elizabeth walked into a Great Room as grand and over large as any she had been in. It lacked only hunting trophies and bits of old armor.

Some portion of Elizabeth's brain wanted to lodge complaints, but she told it, too, to shush.

Just off the Great Room, Mr. Potter showed them the Green Salon, which was the drawing room put at their disposal for their stay. He showed them to their rooms, introduced each of them to the house elves assigned for their care, and told them that he would meet them in the Green Salon whenever they had finished resting.

Elizabeth went into her room and found it to be simple, but well appointed. She walked into the dressing room and opened the wardrobe to find her clothes already hung up, including the ermine cape. The leather box with her crown was sitting on the dressing table. She checked on it, opened the box and touched it, and it was as solid and real as it ever was.

Examining the rooms a bit more closely, she set her purse down on the dressing table and took off her gloves to be laid aside it. The fireplace, which seemed to be shared on the wall between the dressing room and the bedroom, but also, somehow, like an Escher painting, shared with the sitting room, was lit and putting out an amazing amount of heat, but she hadn't remembered seeing any smoke coming up from the small tower that the castle appeared to be on the outside.

Also there was a window. More than one, really.

She walked to the shutters that were closed and pulled them open and was greeted with a view of the top of the New Palace, or Concordia, she supposed, and far beyond it the stage and beyond that, the forest, for miles. Her room was on the first floor, and so the view was not as stunning as perhaps it might have been at the top most level.

Then again, how could there be windows? There were no windows on the outside of this squat little tower keep!

She shook her head and closed the shutters, wondering if her room would be warm at all in the night, or if all the heat would just be frittered away out the shutters, which did not look to be at all insulative.

Well, if worse came to it, she did have an ermine cape that she had often wished was a little less warm.

She refreshed herself with the facilities that Hermione had written about at amusing length, took her purse and gloves and left the room to make her way down to their dedicated sitting room. After all, their journey had been quite easy and she was eager to have a chat with Mr. Potter and a look about the place.

Elizabeth was quickly joined by Pembroke and Charles, and she couldn't blame them for foregoing a time to rest in lieu of a time to explore a magical castle and grounds. When offered various choices, Elizabeth opted to first tour the castle in which they found themselves.

Mr. Potter led them through a variety of sitting rooms, studies, and a small library and pointed out the lavatories on the ground floor, a floor that circled around and then came back to the Great Hall. When they passed by one entirely empty room devoid of anything at all save a window that opened to the back wall of the enclosure, she was informed it was for specialty spellcasting, when one needed a controlled space.

As they walked back through the circle they were making and returned to the Great Hall with its two heart-shaped staircases going to the first floor, Elizabeth considered that if the rest of the tower castle was of the same approximate size as this gigantic circuit they had just made, it was fairly sizable. Still quite small as castles went, and without the amount of space one would imagine servants would need for living and travel and the service they rendered, but apparently the kitchens, service rooms, and elf quarters were all below ground and access was only open to the actual elves in question. There wasn't even a stairway going down below the ground floor.

The castle was also curiously devoid of… amusements. There was no billiards room, nor gun room, nor trophy room, and the salons were not set up for cards, or with instruments or radios or televisions or any such thing. It was very clearly a castle meant for housing and providing for many people, meant to be maintained by elf and no one else, and a place of study and retreat, but not entertainment, per se. It spoke volumes about its designers. Then again, why waste space on fripperies when one doesn't need to?

"Are you alright with more staircases, ma'am?" Mr. Potter kindly asked, pulling her out of her analysis of the squat little tower that was, as it turned out, very practical indeed.

"So long as they have the good sense to remain stationary, I am," she replied.

Mr. Potter laughed. "So she's told you that about Hogwarts, then? No, I think this castle was probably built the old fashioned way, with stone masons."

"But how is there a set of windows in my rooms?" Charles asked.

"Oh, I asked the Head Elf about that. Fascinating, really. No mortar. Between the stones, you know? Easier to work with, for expansion spells. And when it comes to defense, a curse, an arrow, or a bullet, I suppose, would have to get the exact dead center between the stone blocks in order to get inside. Messenger owls can do it, of course, but I wouldn't recommend sticking anything out the windows. Not sure what would happen, then. But don't worry. There's a medi-tent. We can reattach your hand if necessary. Mmm, not sure about your head, though. Better safe than sorry."

"I see. Magic can be quite dangerous," he replied.

Mr. Potter shrugged. "That's true. But likewise electricity, and standing too close to the gap in the Tube, and crossing a street improperly, not to mention all forms of non-magical transportation. Magic is no more dangerous than technology and engineering. It's all in how you use it, or misuse it. Hermione and I both grew up non-magical. It's a bit of a rough transition, and they sort of just throw you in the deep end of the pool.

"But here we go, all the rooms on this floor and the last are all guest suites, and now that you're here we've got a full house. There's a nursery on this floor as well, and that's still empty. We do have five kids staying with us, but one's an infant and the others are school age, and so they're all just staying with their parents or in little Teddy's case, his grandparents. We're popping up to the third floor, which is as high as the tower goes. It's Hermione and Viktor's study and it spans the whole floor. You'll get the best views out the windows, and get a sense of how large the Curtain really is.

"Here we are. Now, each section has environmental charms that allow for sound and air to be circulated only through and out those windows, which is handy in the brewing areas, and allows for many different people to be working up here without bothering one another. The Pendragons apparently valued focus over privacy.

"These bookshelves and nooks run the entire inner wall - windows to the outside of the Curtain, but none to the inside, anywhere. Now, Hermione brought a few books to look at over the break, and I understand that Viktor has already unpacked his three or four hundred books that he's collected so far, but everything else you know, books and scrolls, it's all from a thousand years ago, and more. Most of it is in Latin, a bunch in Old Welsh, some a smattering of other languages, including an ancient form of Greek, but not sure which one. It'll take a team of librarians and scholars decades to do them all justice in translation, but of course there are translation spells that will give a rough sense of the contents, at least for the ones in Latin. Right now I think Hermione's priority with the library is simply to create a catalogue, which wasn't in the vault, or possibly it is one of the books and they just haven't found it, yet. Possibly I'll help with that task. I like the idea that it will be calm and gentle, with the highest danger the possibility of paper cuts. Besides, there are probably fascinating things buried in all these books and scrolls. Might be fun to discover them.

"Over here is Hermione's study. That fireplace is floo connected. It's the only one, besides the one in the Great Hall downstairs, and this one is only for Viktor and Hermione's incoming use. Anyone could go out, of course. This is one of the study areas, and next this is one of the potions areas. This entire back area that is clear of furniture is actually for charms practice and dueling. Oh. I see my mother-in-law is brewing something over here. Would you mind an introduction? We can go back the other way, otherwise."

Introductions were inevitable. Elizabeth gestured for Mr. Potter to continue.

He said something then, but he was half across the room boundary and they couldn't hear what it was. The room boundary concept was a fascinating one, and an excellent idea for libraries and such.

The matronly woman at the cauldron with curly red hair did raise one hand to halt them for a moment before turning their way with a smile.

Mr. Potter leaned back in their room. "It's alright now, she's at a pausing place."

He made the introductions, and Mrs. Molly Weasley was very pleased to make their acquaintance.

"And, at what do you work so diligently?"

"Just a few medicinal potions. Headache, Pepper-up, Sobering, Wound-close. This being a new household, they haven't much in the cupboards for emergencies, you know, and with fifty people in residence, there are bound to be emergencies. I hate being idle, and there are a few hours before the wedding." She chattered on a bit and while Elizabeth's mind glazed over the actual content, it was interesting to know that mothering figures were a constant in the world, magical or not. There was no kitchen for this woman to be in, to make a casserole or three for the freezer, but here she was, kindly stocking the newlywed's medicine cabinet instead of out enjoying the circus, or the concerts.

The urge to take care of the people one loved was strong, indeed. Elizabeth was pleased that Hermione and Viktor had more people who cared for them than besides just their own parents. This was a sign of health and vitality of which she heartily approved.

Mr. Potter moved them along quickly enough and it seemed as if this side were a mirror image to the other, with Mr. Krum's desk in the opposite corner to his fiance's. Everything was quite clean and tidy, and here she saw, the leather-bound books made way for more modern editions, though few in English. They all looked German and Russian, or she supposed, Bulgarian.

In between the windows periodically there were very fine tapestries, only some of which were as stationary as one might assume stitchwork would be. The rugs seemed to be largely Persian in nature and in excellent condition, though one imagines that might be magic at play. There was the odd animal skin, but not as often as one might imagine for the time period. The most notable one, perhaps, was underneath Mr. Krum's desk and that one might actually be the skin of a polar bear, or something similar if there were magical equivalents.

A magical polar bear. Presumably it would be more fearsome, not less, and that did not bear thinking.

In the two sitting areas around the fireplaces off of each of their desks, all of the chairs and lounges were not the ancient style she saw in her own sitting room - truly ancient and probably very uncomfortable - but thoroughly modern versions of sofas and chairs, and seemingly all of them had throw pillows which seemed to be upholstered in crocodile, or possibly some other gigantic reptile upto and including dragon. It was certainly a reptilian leather.

Dragons.

Elizabeth mentally shook her head.

Dragons.

St. George and St. Michael were looking so much more interesting as possible historical figures, though of course Michael was an archangel.

Oh dear. Angels were probably much more than a metaphor, weren't they?

She mentally sighed. So much to reexamine. Still, she was gratified that there were not, to Hermione's knowledge, any hidden or maurading or nesting dragons in the British Isles. Though of course Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them cited two sanctuaries in the UK, one here in Wales, and one in the Hebrides. She had yet to ask about that, but it was on her list. And if it was true that there were dragons in her kingdom… well, at least they were being well managed.

And apparently there would be a dragon keeper in residence, and that might be an interesting conversation to have. And of course three of the intimates of the household had managed to best one in that silly and deadly competition that the inept and disgraceful headmaster held several years ago.

And then movement caught her eye, again. One of the paperweights on Mr. Krum's desk came alive, circled around, hopped out of what was apparently a little nest, and hissed fire at them.

"Oh my. Have we disturbed it?" Elizabeth asked, gesturing slightly to indicate the miniature dragon. Was it alive? Was it some charmed statue? Was it a desk guardian?

Mr. Potter laughed. "No, it's fine. It won't go anywhere. I'll probably go back to sleep in just a moment. Yep, there we go. They're not as energetic as they once were."

And then as they came back down to the ground floor, Mr. Potter explained why each one of them had a miniature dragon keepsake.

The standing stones were, in fact, standing stones. In excellent condition compared to some she had seen. Really, she was most fascinated by the Seat stone. A bit better condition than the Stone of Scone, but unlike that one, this one clearly had a place for Excalibur to rest in the back.

Elizabeth pulled off her right glove and reached out to touch the stone, the sword-shaped slit in the back. She felt nothing, of course, except the weight of history. It was, in many ways, just a stone. Granite, possibly, from the look of it, and that would have been quite difficult to carve and quite difficult to carry, then again, that was the rub of all standing stones. And possibly magic made that easier.

The moment passed and the glove was back on. They exited the Curtain once again and passed by granaries and root cellars that were all presently empty, as no farming had been done in some time, though planting would renew in the spring. Mr. Potter briefly and passionately explained the composting nature of the septic system in place which was, Elizabeth supposed, better than letting waste be wasted. The stables and barns were all empty as well, though this was clearly a place that would benefit from horses and dogs. The preserve was not overly large, but it was a tidy size and there were undoubtedly trails to be discovered in the forest.

Finally they came to the bit of Roman magnificence that took pride of place in the enclosure. The most finely preserved Roman ruin that was, in fact, not in a state of ruination, anywhere in the world. Except the mist was gone. She knew it would be, but it looked quite different and to be honest, much more Roman with the dramatic scarlet curtains all the way around, rather than the grey mist that had been just a bit creepy.

Elizabeth remembered the last time she went through, the last time Mr. Potter was explaining how walking through the mist worked, and how possibly it only worked for the fully-magical, taking you to whichever part of the structure you wanted to be in next. Otherwise, and she supposed, now, for hallways there were none, and one would just have to walk through other rooms. There was a covered walkway about a yard wide around the outside, between the columns and the mist, and there was a similar one on the inside. They had toured through drawing rooms and music rooms all with the sort of classical Roman furniture one found in drawings in historical texts, but Elizabeth had been slightly disconcerted in a way she wasn't now.

There had been no walls.

She had no idea how she had come to count on them. Wallpaper. Color. Wainscoating. Paintings. Artwork. Decoration. Some artwork did hang from the ceiling just before the mist, as if against a wall, but all the 'walls' were a uniform misty white, as if they were trapped in a dreamstate involving Roman ruins and a fog bank. No, the red curtains were much better.

The ceilings though, contained perfectly preserved priceless frescos, she was sure, and each one seemed to make clear the purpose of the room. One for plays. One for recitation. One for listening to the harp. One for listening to a small chamber ensemble. One for gaming involving dice. One for gaming involving cards.

Elizabeth was glad, in a way, that she had been able to experience the whole structure as it had been for a thousand years, before the necessary alterations had taken place.

And when they had moved on to the rooms on each side of the structure, she had been prepared. Elizabeth had heard of these rooms at length, of course. Hermione referred to them as the orgy rooms and the snoozy rooms, respectively. As they toured the rooms a second time for herself but for the first time for Charles and of course Pembroke, Elizabeth remembered what it had been like the first time, when the compulsion spells were still in full effect.

It was a bit like being struck in a snowball fight, really; sudden, a bit shocking, and highly emotional.

Passion, however, was just one more physical emotion she could crush when necessary.

The oversized fainting couch was predominant, but then, it would be. Small tables scattered around, a few chairs and couches. The ceiling fresco was indeed detailed with lascivious satyrs cavorting with nubile nymphs and for a mercy, the paintings did not move. They had quickly moved on to a room that was in essence similar, except for the deep desire to yawn, the presence of more couches and fewer chairs, and the fresco itself which more closely resembled Sleeping Beauty's castle, with everyone slumped over in magical sleep just where they had been working.

Elizabeth had never at the time been quite so relieved to approach a vomitorium and communal toilet.

As it was now, they were just fine ancient rooms with fine ancient ceiling murals and quite striking red walls draped in fabric.

As they walked through to the vomitorium and the beginning of the Bath portion of the building, Mr. Potter explained the changes that Hermione had made to make the toilets less communal and more of a changing space as well for the ease of guests who wished to use the Roman Bath. Everyone had a peek inside an empty 'stall' which was demarked by yards and yards of hovering fabric, and silencing spells, and it was just as she had seen in previous ruins, except of course this one was utterly pristine, and full of running water. There were even sticks with sponges on the ends, in the lower gutter. One hoped magic kept them clean. However toilet paper was clearly visible as well, obviously a modern addition, but one that was undoubtedly appreciated.

The next room was the cold bath and it was lined with stone benches with big piles of fluffy white towels periodically placed.

"All the guests of the Curtain are invited to use the Roman Bath whenever you like. If you need swimwear or a bathrobe, just talk with the elf assigned to you and they'll work something out for you."

The room after the cold bath was, predictably the hot bath, and there were a few bathers, though no introductions were made. Mr. Potter showed them the amenities, including the heated reclined stone beds, and the beds for massage, the listing of elves who were capable of massage and when each was on duty to be called. Elizabeth noted that the Roman Bath was truly always open, and there were on call massage elves well past midnight. Well, if she couldn't sleep, that would certainly be an option, and it would very likely warm her up.

The steam room was pointed out to them, but they all declined a visit at present. The hot bath room was warm enough for present company.

The tour was concluded with tea in the Green Salon, where the master of ceremonies would meet with them. Charles and Pembroke chatted good naturedly with Mr. Potter, allowing Elizabeth to keep her peace, wondering about many things as she gazed out one of the ground floor windows that looked out onto the Roman structure.

She found herself staring at one of the columns. Doric, if she remembered her architecture. And in the style of the facis, but instead of an axe, a short sword.

Excalibur, most likely.

Well, Elizabeth thought to herself. That went off nicely.

She sat quietly, feet flat on the ground and hands resting one on each thigh, palm down. She never sat with her ankles crossed when she was wearing regalia. It didn't do to look too much like a lady and not enough like a monarch. It was a fine line, but one she'd been toeing for some time.

All things to discuss, eventually, with Hermione. Later. There was time.

Probably.

She shifted some of her attention to the large, magical monitor and watched with veiled interest at what was going on in the standing stones. This, of course, was the other part of the ritual. She knew about it in a general sense, and Elizabeth looked forward to future correspondence when Hermione herself had discovered more about the process and its effects.

The siren song was certainly nothing for which she could have prepared. It was entirely enchanting and it was quite difficult indeed to keep her head about her, but Elizabeth practiced her deep breathing exercises and catalogued the physical sensations. The weight of her cloak. The coldness of her feet. The feel of the chair beneath her. These three things she focused on and allowed a smaller portion of her attention to register what was happening in the standing stones, what Gelwyn, Chief of the Love, was singing.

Instructions, at present. The prelude had been a hymn to peace and concord (oh, how apt!), and now the formidable leader of the fish people was officiating the bloodletting portion of the afternoon as the sun began to set.

Elizabeth watched as they all, two by two, sat. Finally, the Fourth Tent Pegs sat and a wave of goosepimples washed over her and the extremely strong urge to laugh, which naturally she squelched just as easily as any other parts of the emotional rollercoster she'd known here at Cair Paravel. She sat, with a quietly neutral face, as all around her succumbed to the laughter and the joy. Finally, Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile, even as her heart was bursting with the feeling of it. And in that moment, she knew a peace she had not known since her father died.