["Ten-ten-ten lines of fire in the Blackinoar Seas / Ten rains of ash for when my home comes to me." — Traditional Dwarven Sea Shanty, Tellingum's Toll]

The king—previous king, Kiritsugu reflected with a scowl—had a nice office. Roomy and airy, with plenty of windows to let in sun and enough bookshelves to house a small library. Which it did; piles of tomes and scrolls and clay tablets in a vast array of languages, each of which he found he understood as well as his native Japanese.

Most importantly, a large desk had pride of place along the north wall. A few days since the coronation, and half of the desk was already covered with missives and reports. Not to mention a daily schedule for his next week, broken down to the hour. Sighing, he skimmed tomorrow's entry.

Meeting with the delegation from the Most Serene Republic of Shuun'sai…

It took Kiritsugu a moment to remember clever green faces under dapper feather hats. The few fantasy books he'd read as a child had never portrayed goblins so kindly. What was it they wanted from Crescendo? Something about ammonia imports? He'd need a refresher before they met.

Next, a formal lunch with the Marquisa de la Hefaja. Apparently she had a thing for 'roguish men with tired eyes', and the queen judged he fit the bill closely enough. Kiritsugu had his doubts, but there was no point expressing them.

His thumb brushed against a pile of documents, and the map half-hidden beneath them. The princess' marked annotations were a stark red in the sea of official blue and black ink.

Be my eyes and my hands when I cannot attend to matters. I can only do so much.

The tasks stacked on his desk made him sympathize, but they were a distraction. There was likely no end to them. By next month, the entire desk would be piled high. He had to get back on track somehow—helping the queen was secondary to the ultimate goal.

Form the plan, then implement it. Form the plan, then implement it.

If only he had a moment to breathe. Then he could get around to it. Perhaps that was the queen's intent, after all. He didn't want to believe it, but disbelief did not mean it could not be.

Sighing, Kiritsugu glanced at the door. A dozen knives glinted, half-buried in the wood.

The warrior threw the last knife, then rolled her shoulders and sidled towards the door. "I'm going out to the stables, give the horses a scare. Call me when you're ready to do something fun, Mr. Master."

Just how Kiritsugu was supposed to do that, she hadn't specified. Did the beast tribes have sharper hearing than humans? But that was assuming he could scrounge up a dog whistle or equivalent.

A knock at the door. Apparently the horses had been a disappointment.

"Come in," he said.

The hinges gave the smallest squeak (he had made sure of that). The queen strode in, formal wear once more put aside in favor of simpler garb, though just as elegant as everything else. She carried a dark bundle under one arm.

"How are you holding up?" she asked as she came to the desk.

"This is... immensely frustrating," he confessed. "I'm not suited for this. You're using a hammer instead of a scalpel."

"Does a sculptor not need both hammer and chisel?" she retorted, gently smiling. "I have faith in you. Senia sent you to us for a reason."

He swept a hand over the crowded desk. "Are you sure this is it?"

She giggled. "Eventually you will become our sword and shield, of this I have no doubt. But saving our kingdom is more than just vanquishing its enemies. The day-to-day maintenance is just as important, you know."

The sound that came out of his mouth was lost somewhere between a sigh and a grunt.

She looked over the papers again and her brow creased in sympathy. "You look tired."

"No different from usual."

"Then maybe I can offer you something that is." Her lips quirked up in a playful smile. "Maintaining yourself is essential, too."

He shrugged. "I'll be fine."

"With everything you're doing for us, I'd like to think we can manage a little better than 'fine'." A slender hand came to rest on the desk in front of him, pushing the pile a short distance away. "Will you accompany me?"

Suspicion curled in his gut. "Where to?"

"I did mention liquors," she said slyly, tracing a finger along the lacquered wood. "I know some of the better watering holes in town, and you look like you could use a drink."

Vice was not unfamiliar to Kiritsugu's lips, though it usually took on the taste of tobacco rather than the tankard. But he had only just started the job, and though it didn't fit him so easily, he wasn't one to slack off when there was still work to be done. It… didn't feel right, as strange as that was to think. Even if this was taken on by coercion, it was still something he had taken on. Abandoning it so soon…

"I don't think that's the best use of my time," he said.

"You've been reading through a lot of reports today, haven't you?" The finger tapped on the desk. "Have you been enjoying the cold numbers, the dry summaries?"

"They're sufficient."

"From up here, I suppose it would seem that way." She slowly walked over to one of the windows and pushed the glass open. A gentle wind blew in. "But it's all so disconnected, it leaves you with a narrow perspective on this land and the people who live on it. Crop yields tell you nothing of the backs broken in the harvest. The import registers, with all of their figures, are silent when it comes to the sound of children laughing as they open their birthday gifts."

"What are you trying to say?"

"It's something I already said to you. I want you to see all of our people." She looked over her shoulder at him, red tresses fluttering in the breeze. "Their proud shoulders and their shameful underbellies. Not just the view from the castle's towers or the main streets."

It wasn't a bad idea. He had planned to investigate the extrajudicial sector of the economy in the near future, when he had a free evening. Of course, with all of the work that was already piling up, that free evening seemed increasingly out of his grasp. But there was a nagging detail that he couldn't let go of.

"What would a queen know about underbellies?"

Her smile turned outright mischievous. "I'll tell you about it on the way. For now, try this on."

She offered him the bundle. The suspicion in his gut hissed, but he let it simmer as his hands closed on it. Shaking it out revealed a set of clothes, the rougher wool sort he'd spotted on some of the townsfolk during his tour of the city. Including a set of soft boots that slipped out from under the trousers and thudded to the floor between them.

"I tried my best to find a set close to your sizes, or at least what the tailors recorded, " she continued quietly as he separated the shirt from the pants. "If it doesn't work, I can find something else."

His fingers felt instinctively along the seams and found nothing but stitching. "…looks alright."

"I'm glad." Her smile touched her eyes. "Oh, and here's a pouch of money. Nothing extravagant, enough for a few rounds of drinks." A clink as she drew it from her sleeve and placed it on the desk. "I'll meet you at the second crossroads where the confectionery is. I believe you would have passed it by yesterday?"

It took him a moment—he hardly noticed candy shops. Shirou never had much of a sweet tooth. Calling up his mental map helped a little. "I'll manage," he said after a beat.

She stared at him for a few moments, and he wondered if he'd said something strange. Then her brow lightened. "I trust that you will."

She strode to the door, then paused at the threshold and smiled over her shoulder at him. "Thank you for agreeing to accompany me."

The hinges creaked again as the door shut. If she noticed, she didn't say anything, only disappeared down the hall.

Kiritsugu glanced at the unread report, then at the schedule. It still felt wrong, but…

I really could use a drink.

He started to get undressed.

Half an hour later found Kiritusgu leaning on the wall of the confectionery, halfway in shadow and wishing he had a cigarette. He made an idle note to ask the witch about local herbs the next day. Maybe she could cobble together a substitute to calm his nerves on the job.

A patter of footfalls on the street caught his attention. Unlike the occasional strays and couples who passed him by at irregular intervals, there was a touch of finality in their approach. He glanced up in time to find…

Well, it was hard to think of her as a queen at the moment. Her face was washed of powder and wore the slightest layer of dust and sweat. Crimson hair had turned auburn, closer to her daughter's, and corralled in the bun of a working woman. Her brown skirt was plain but well pleated, her shoulders bared above a blouse and loose corset.

She beamed at him. "You look dashing."

A tiny bubble of amusement rose in him. Better than ridiculous, anyway.

"That's a good disguise," he remarked aloud.

That amusement was mirrored in her eyes as she dipped into an abbreviated curtsey. "Why thank you, my lord."

"Don't."

"Oh, you're no fun," she said without heat. "Then if not lord, will you be my escort at least?" She offered him the crook of her arm. When he frowned, she added more quietly, "It will look far more natural."

He had to concede the point. Gingerly he looped his arm in hers. An aristocrat's toned but slender arm, with nothing of the bestial warrior's taut muscles. Uncomfortable in its familiarity.

"Try not to be so stiff," she murmured under her breath. "We don't want it to look like I'm coercing you."

Well, it wasn't completely far and away from the truth. But her point had been made. A deep breath allowed him to flush out the excess tension. "Let's go."

Humming an unknown but pleasant tune, she led him down the road towards the lamps twinkling in the distance. As the buildings became a little older, a little seedier, more people crossed their path. Soon there was a regular traffic of tavern goers and lonely hearts, of various races never seen on earth but with the familiar energy of smoky bars everywhere.

A swinging sign identified the Prancing Donkey, the animal in question barely visible on the weather-peeled wood. The queen—

"While we're here, call me Sofia."

He nodded. She fixed him with an expectant look. It took him longer than it should have to realize. "Jacob."

Her lips silently shaped the name a few times, committing it to memory. Then she nodded. "Ready for our big entrance?"

He arched an eyebrow. "What happened to 'looking natural'?"

'Sofia' smirked. "At the Ass, making a scene is the natural way of things."

Before he could get another word in, she hiked up her skirt and gave the door a swift kick. It slammed open with a loud bang, and the din inside stilled as she landed on her outstretched foot.

"How's the ale tonight, boys 'n' girls!?" Her voice thundered out and shook the building. A roar of greeting came in return. "Is that old bastard Klenner still watering down the kegs?"

"I'll be watering you down if you don't shut that mouth, girlie!" An old man—pointed ears—behind the bar counter yelled back. "Now get over here and sit your pretty ass down!"

In reply, she spanked said ass. "Praise it all you like, you mangy dog! The day you get your paws on it is the day Senia bends over for you too!"

Laughter and slamming tankards rumbled around the room. Kiritsugu's eyebrows could not have risen any higher if they had been plucked off his face. He might have stood there, stunned, if willowy but strong fingers hadn't closed around his wrist and tugged him along. Brief salutations were thrown about as they passed by what felt like several dozen tables. Then Sofia dropped down theatrically on a worn leather stool and slapped her hand on the counter.

"Two of the wyvern's special," she said, pulling a chuckle out of the old man.

"Starting off strong tonight, are we?" His eyes flicked over to Kiritsugu. "Trying to impress your date?"

"Pah!" He had to stop himself from recoiling when she slapped his chest with the back of her hand. "He's already seen more than enough of what I have to offer, no extra show necessary."

A chorus of wolf whistles, the loudest from a short-haired girl with cow ears just a couple of stools down. Sofia gave her a cheerful wave of the pinky finger that, judging from the renewed burst of laughter, must have been a rude gesture.

She turned back just long enough to throw him a wink. Message received, Kiritsugu put a practiced smile on his face. He'd done enough stake-outs in grimier places to play his part.

A raucous exchange of dirty jokes, followed by a round of drinking songs, gave Kiritsugu a headache long before an iron cup was slammed in front of him. Orange liquid frothed and bubbled over the sides. He took a cautious sniff and winced when it burned his nostrils. It smelled of apples and… was that paint thinner?

A heavy slap on his back from his companion. "To your health, Jacob!"

She didn't hesitate, tipping her cup back with a gusto that made the crowd cheer. As she roughly wiped her mouth and belched, Kiritsugu couldn't suppress a small nod of approval. Her entire demeanor had changed—the casual slump of her shoulders, legs spread in the masculine fashion. Even he had trouble recognizing the elegant ruler on the throne that had greeted him.

"You gonna let her show you up like that, boy?" The bartender grumbled.

Sofia turned to him and snickered. "Don't just sit there, jaw stupid. Bottoms up!"

He eyed his drink again. The froth was still fizzling.

Nothing for it. Bracing himself, he downed the whole thing in one gulp.

Or tried to. Fire raked the inside of his throat and spewed out all over the counter. Coughing and heaving, his fingers reached instinctively for his burning neck.

Jeers and cheers erupted around him, followed by a heavy pounding on his back. The bartender's face split in a triumphant grin. "Gets 'em every time!"

"You okay there, champ?" said Sofia as she gave him another thump, her tone somewhere between pride and concern.

"I—" Another hacking cough. His throat was so raw. "I'll manage."

"Here, kid." A dwarven woman grinned behind her beard as she placed a glass of something light green in front of him. "Have some mint water to steady ya."

Possibly a trap, some further accelerant to worsen the burn. He took a leap of faith and downed the glass anyway. The water was refreshingly soothing on his poor insides. With a grunted thanks, he pushed the glass aside.

Apparently shared suffering was the right grease for the Ass' gears, for he soon found himself surrounded by the bar's regulars. They chattered amiably with him, or often at him, interspaced with inside jokes and lewd insults lobbed at each other. Tolerating a few leering jabs in the ribs ("you lucky dog!") and a drooling beast's head in his lap got him declared a "stand-up son of a bitch" by the end of the hour.

Eventually, mercifully, Sofia bellowed their goodbyes and dragged him out into the cool night air.

"So what did ya think?" she said jauntily as she adjusted her skirt, askew after she delivered a powerful kick to an overly bold suitor.

"That was…" He searched for a neutral term through his slightly alcohol-battered brain. "…an experience."

"Good!" She cocked her hand by her hip, eyes twinkling in the lamplight. "Ready to do it again?"

"Excuse me?"

He was not excused.

Her tune was decidedly off-key as she dragged him to the next establishment, The Broken Bowstring. A little cleaner, a little more brightly-lit, but every bit as loud, and somehow even lewder than the previous. A whiff of something suspiciously similar to chloroform had barely assailed his nose before someone's arm draped possessively over his shoulders. His hands twitched before he forced them to his side. Rowdy bar or not, outright assault would probably blow their cover.

"Oi, Sofia!" Flashy pink hair and an even flashier outfit gored his eyes. "If you're gonna bring a nice long sausage for us like this every time you vanish, why don't you go and get lost more often!"

He winced. But nothing prepared him for Sofia's grip on his arm to pull him back to her—right into her generous cleavage. And she was not letting him go.

"Hands off!" her voice echoed above him, muffled by the flesh. "I ain't been dicked this good since those dragon harpooners came on by! You know how hard it is to find quality cock these days!?"

"Don't I know it, sister."

This is not the hell I asked for.

Kiritsugu lost track of how many bars followed. Despite his best efforts to keep a level head, drink after drink was pressed into his hands, eyes glued expectantly to his face each time. Apparently the first cup was a rite of acceptance in Sonata, followed with as much devotion as the curses cheerfully thrown in Senia's name.

A warm haze accompanied by the first needles of an incipient headache trailed him as they stumbled their way back to the castle, leaning on each other out of necessity now rather than artifice. Kiritsugu distantly registered someone letting them in through the back door, then Sofia half-led, half-supported him up a narrow stairway.

She paused at the top, looking down the marble hallway. "Your room is just around the corner. Will you be alright?"

"I'm fine." A few yards wouldn't pose an obstacle, and the excessively soft bed sounded pretty good right now. Especially the pillows, for some reason.

"Thank you for doing this with me." Her fingers briefly brushed his shoulder. "It means a lot."

"Sure."

He would have started off, if not for the weighted silence that fell between them.

"Rosalind," she said quietly.

"I remember," he replied after a moment. "You were introduced."

"I mean call me Rosalind." Her eyes hung onto him. "Please."

"…okay."

But the silence still wouldn't leave. She was waiting for something more. When he didn't respond, she took a breath.

"And what should I call you?" she asked, still looking at him.

"You don't have to."

"I'd like to."

He sighed. "Kiritsugu."

She blinked. "Ki… what?"

"Kiritsugu."

Another pause. "I think I'd like to try again when we're more sober."

"Sure."

She nodded, and then locked gazes with him once more. "Good night… Kir… err…"

He shook his head and started off down the hall. "Don't worry about it."

"Mm."

He felt her gaze remain on him until he closed the door behind him.

A few clumsy footsteps took him to the bed. Kicking off the boots felt like lifting a boulder in his exhausted state - taking off the shirt was out of the question, especially since he wasn't sure his drunken fingers could work even large wooden buttons at the moment. Instead he collapsed onto the bed, tucking his hands under his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

A ceiling that felt a little more familiar tonight, or maybe that was the cinderberry wine talking. There was something wrong about that, but the warm embrace of alcohol in his veins made it easy to push away. This was… nice, he decided. The whole evening had been enjoyable, even through the cacophonies and the too friendly hands slapping his shoulder and the floral smell still clinging to his clothes. Sofia… no, Rosalind… was good company.

The ghost of a smile flitted across his face as he closed his eyes. Slumber came soon after, for once without attendant nightmares.