"Eyes on the prize, Symonne." Margaret watched the water seraph shake aside her thoughts for the third time that day and sighed. "You've been lovesick since the day we left and we can both tell." Alisha was busy tearing up the ground and did not listen, but Margaret knew it regardless. "You could have stayed behind a little longer, we wouldn't think less of you."
It had been about two weeks since they left Lastonbell, but not a day passed without Symonne losing herself in thoughts of Edna and Laphicet. In truth, Margaret understood; she remembered the many times she thought of Celica. Even in this life her thoughts sometimes strayed back in time.
"Can't," Symonne refused her steadfastly. "I promised I'd be there with you, so I go where you go. We're going to be back soon enough, anyway."
"Agreed. We're heading back once we're done here." The quip earned her a glower, but no rebuttal; Margaret pointed toward the torn ground Alisha produced for them. "Now go dig out that spring already, it's getting late and I'm cold."
The seraph girl muttered under her breath, but did as she was told. She marched right past a gaggle of other hellions that volunteered to help when Margaret first told them of her plan. The villagers of Gododdin were sturdy folk indeed; some vanished after turning, but a surprising number of them persevered against the darkness and continued to support their little village. Some werewolves, a lion man, and several lizardpeople dug with an enthusiasm that far surpassed Alisha's. The therion's greater power still made her the fastest digger, though. As for Margaret herself, she considered making another trek down the mountain. Planning a route for this new river took some time, but the snowfall they expected any day now would certainly erase her markings.
Regardless, they made good progress. Inhuman strength and spiritual power saw them arriving at the mountain's foot within two days, though snowfall interfered with their efforts from then on. The ground was frozen, but that did not stop the determined people. Margaret could not help but feel proud, ragged and sweaty as she herself grabbed a shovel to assist; she was vaguely aware of other, human villagers watching them with clear astonishment.
"You really should not push yourself like this, Lady Shepherd," the mayor urged her that evening at the communal fire. "Such menial labour does not befit one such as you." Others that heard him nodded along, but Margaret merely shook her head.
"I appreciate your concern, but it is quite alright. I can do little else to express my respect for the people of this village." She motioned for their surroundings, the barren land and bare mountainside. "They settled here regardless of hardships and kept their good spirit throughout." As if on cue, barking laughter sounded from where some of the hellions were trading friendly barbs with Symonne. Margaret could not help but smile at the uncomfortable elder. "I am aware you had to stoop lower than you liked in the process, but I understand. Giving you a means to continue without this fake elixir is the least I can do, especially because it is in my power. I will talk to a few earth seraphim I know and have them assess the soil. Next spring, you can plant crops."
"You are too kind," he muttered with a weak bow; Margaret saw his glistening eyes, but left it uncommented. Mayor Slenge heaved a deep sigh that turned into a pained cough, drawing Margaret closer to stroke his back soothingly.
"Don't push yourself too hard, sir," she cautioned. "The fumes must have affected you more than we thought."
"I knew what I was doing," he muttered to her in response, voice weak but yet determined. "It was I who suggested to brew this fake elixir and also I who decided to base it on vermillion ore. It is only fair that I suffer the consequences, too." Margaret well remembered the rejuvenating but addictive properties of properly refined vermillion ore, just as she recalled it's fumes were poisonous. She soothed the mayor some more, but a faint smile crept onto her face nonetheless. She sympathised and, although he would refuse if he knew, planned to hire a healer from the Bloodwings to see to him.
"I have to correct you on one matter, though," she continued when Slenge appeared to be through the worst of it. "I am not shepherd. Truly, I plan to become one in time, but right now I am merely a traveler."
"Ah, but what is a shepherd if not a benign soul who aids those in need?" The old man chuckled again and took her hand. "It does not matter to me what the actual requirements are. We will remember you as the gentle shepherd, Margaret." She could not help but avert her gaze bashfully, though her heart almost burst with joy.
"I concur," Alisha chimed in as she settled next to them with three mugs, two of which she handed to the humans. "You go above and beyond what many a traveler would be willing to do, Margaret. Regardless of whether you hold the flames of purification, if anyone deserves to be called shepherd, it is you."
Slenge nodded along, though his gaze was slowly drawn to Alisha. After studying the therion, he hummed thoughtfully. "I can not help but notice that your posture is quite unlike the common folk, miss Alisha. Your manner of speech is rather more eloquent as well, though I can not quite place your accent. Are you perchance a member of the nobility?" Both women stiffened over his keen observation, though the mayor just chuckled when he noticed. "I see these eyes of mine still work. Worry not, my lips are sealed."
Relief flooded through Margaret just as fast as worry had earlier; Alisha relaxed as well, though they both wondered if he had actually not recognised the name of a princess. Then however, Margaret's eyes narrowed at the mayor. "Takes one to know one, I take it?" she probed; he swallowed a mouthful of beer at that moment, starting another coughing fit; both women supported him until he calmed down, though it was with a sigh.
"Shows that karma exists. That's what I get for digging where I should not," he grumbled, then glanced at them. "It is true, but I left that life behind me. Until my dying breath, I will now look after the people of Gododdin." Margaret inclined her head in understanding and Alisha followed suit, then the three of them returned to their meals.
However, Slenge soon stilled and his eyes grew wide. Symonne strolled over to them at the time, gathering quite a few gazes from all around. Margaret needed a moment to realise why this was odd; she could not feel Innominat's domain, yet humans without resonance saw her. The mayor carefully studied the girl as she settled on Margaret's lap, though he was clearly befuddled. "Pardon, young miss, but I do not think I ever saw you here before. Are you alright?"
"Just fine," Symonne chirped back cheerfully. "I have been around for a while, but it just occurred to me I can do this." Margaret embraced her from behind, still uncertain what to make of the situation. "But I guess his holiness would expect a seraph to be a little different than I am, no?" Slenge paled visibly, but the girl waved dismissively. "Don't worry, I'm an illusionist, no one except those two heard me. They figured out half of it already, anyway."
"...you can read lips, can't you?"
"Took you long enough to notice!" Symonne had the gall to giggle when Margaret squeezed her; the villagers watched them with alienated fascination, though some of that soon shifted to Alisha's now revealed tail and the other hellions and seraphim present.
"It truly is a blessing," Slenge mused, then bowed his head toward Symonne. "I am most grateful, Lady Seraph. That at least this once before my life comes to an end, I am granted sight of you and yours." Symonne began to shift uncomfortably, unused to such praise. Margaret had half a mind to tease her, but the mayor's next question robbed her of the chance: "If you would be so inclined, I hear that seraphim live far longer than humans? Would you be willing to entertain my curiousity?"
Symonne made a show of thinking it over, but Margaret could tell Slenge buttered her up just fine. She pinched the other girl's bare waist, but got no reaction beyond a lazy smile. "Sure, but only, let's say, one question. I don't like my mind picked and we'd be here for days if you got to ask everything you can think of."
"Even just one is a great kindness upon a curious mind," Slenge responded before falling quiet in contemplation. Margaret took notice of other conversations stopping to listen; Alisha leaned closer, just as curious as the townsfolk. Slenge hummed and muttered for a while, then nodded to himself and met Symonne's gaze again. "Much is said and written about the distant past, but one of its greatest figures has always intrigued me. We know the Hero King ascended from his claim to rule, we know Saint Eleanor succeeded Shepherd Artorius after his mutual kill with a vicious Lord of Calamity. But Artorius himself is a mystery; where did he come from, and why did he step up when he did?"
All at once, the floor fell away beneath her. Margaret paled and clung to Symonne desperately, her body cold and mind ablaze with memories of a life not hers. She did not want to be here, did not want to listen, but she had no excuse to flee. Then Symonne squeezed her hand ever so gently as if she understood; Margaret forced all these feelings back under control, deciding to deal with them later.
Once her grasp eased, the seraph girl uttered a thoughtful noise. "Artorius, eh? I didn't check what is written and I rarely hear stories about him, but I get it. It's been a thousand years, but there is little to say." Lie. "I actually met him a few times, but we never talked to each other. All I know is from talking to others who knew him." Truth. "Artorius was as grand a man as he is remembered as, I can tell you that." Lie. "But where he came from, well... it was a bit of an open secret that King Claudin trained him as his successor from a young age. Though I also heard he suffered a great loss before taking up the mantle, which made him act as he did."
Margaret wondered just how much Symonne really knew; she was lying to preserve the memory of a saviour, true, but she could not help but feel that she remained vague for her sake as well. It may be nothing, though.
Regardless, thinking of her past did confront her with an old question. The conversation had continued a little while she was distracted and then stalled, giving her the opportunity to ask: "Slenge? I was wondering if you'd indulge a question of mine as well."
"Oh? Of course, ask away, my dear."
"...why do you think birds fly?"
She noticed and ignored the immediate confusion; Alisha muttered something about having heard the question before while Symonne sat still in her lap, watching the old mayor just like Margaret did. He tapped his chin idly, musing: "What a peculiar question to ask. Why, what else is a bird than a being that flies? It is as much a part of them as breathing."
A good answer. Margaret inclined her head and thanked the mayor; she headed to bed soon after, fighting off the crazy idea of confronting Symonne. If her friend figured out whose soul she carried, she would bring it up; if Margaret jumped at shadows, she would just tip the smart girl off.
After finding sleep more easily than anticipated after that conversation, it was the next afternoon when everything went wrong. Just as she prepared to teach the townsfolk about crop rotation, a well-dressed man proclaiming himself as 'Shepherd Malfore' arrived in the village and talked down to its people. They all certainly wanted to interject, but the presence of a knight escort a dozen strong made everyone hold their tongues as the impostor led Slenge away for a private conversation.
"He knows about the fake elixir," Symonne relayed via an illusionary self. "One General Tuller of Rolance is his benefactor and he wants 'donations' toward his 'righteous cause'." Here, Margaret actually had to hold onto Alisha's shoulder to stop the therion from acting.
"Not now," she cautioned her friend, who grudgingly stood down.
"I'll repeat my suggestions from a few days ago," the fake Symonne continued nonchalantly. "Let's make this village a Bloodwing outpost. They can pay for using the land and have a reason to make any documents he might have left for people to find vanish."
The implied course of action was clear enough. Margaret closed her eyes and took a deep breath; none of the villagers could hear her whispered conversation with Alisha as she expanded on Symonne's words: "We need to gather information about this man, but we can not risk him harming the people of Gododdin any more in the meantime. If he has no truly redeeming qualities to at least balance out his posing as the shepherd, we will act... so says reason." The last part slipped out involuntarily, though Alisha did not comment. She had to tell her friends about this at some point, but Margaret was not ready to breach the subject yet.
"They're coming back," Symonne's illusion announced with clear annoyance. "The 'shepherd' gets half of the profits and he's happy."
"Not for much longer," Alisha promised solemnly as their friend returned. They waited for Malfore to leave before she addressed Slenge gently: "Worry not, we will see to this."
Though he appeared defeated, the elder immediately shook his head and refused her. "No, no. I could not ask such of you. It was my own folly that led to this, so I will have to pay the price."
"You did what had to be done," Margaret argued softly as she took Alisha's side. "Being punished for it I understand, but this is not punishment. This is petty greed unbefitting of being associated with the shepherd. Please think of it as us taking action to protect the sacred title from a phony, and know that the only living shepherd at the moment is Shepherd Sorey. He may arrive here one of these days."
"I see." Slenge did not appear too happy, but he accepted the way out Margaret just offered. He inclined his head at the women. "Then we are in your debt once more. Is there really nothing we can do to repay you?"
"Well," the younger blonde chirped with a glance to her companions, "we just talked it over and remembered there are a few seraphim we know who might want to settle nearby. Would you be alright with that?"
"Certainly, of course!" His visible surprise drew a soft giggle from Margaret who shook his hand before saying their goodbyes; they finished what they set out to do and it was time to move on. Or rather, back to Lastonbell. Just out of the village's sight, Symonne set down a teleportation arte and linked it with the Crowe's Nest, then they were off.
Both Velvet and Laphicet liked the idea as Margaret presented it. Symonne mostly left it to her partner, only chiming in with additional details about the situation and what she gleaned of this false shepherd. Admittedly, part of that was because her eyes and thoughts strayed to her boyfriend more often than not, but she thought she did well enough in keeping herself together.
"We will discuss this further," Velvet told the three once they were done, her usual smile replaced by a severe expression. "For now, we have a few other things that need to be cleared. Alisha?"
"Yes?"
"The last time the Scattered Bones went after Chancellor Bartlow, you pleaded with them to leave him alive for his great mind. Is that correct?"
The therion nodded slowly and Symonne knew she understood the implications of who this shadow guild dealt with. "I did. He may be a despicable person, but his skills are needed for the kingdom's prosperity. Did something happen?"
"You could say that." Velvet grimaced and pushed a few sheets of parchment over the table for Alisha to peruse. "From what our people in Ladylake gathered, he is getting worse." Symonne leaned over her friend's shoulder to read the report, paying the sting of Malevolence no mind. Just a quick skim already told her that Bartlow reached his final stages of megalomania just as she intended for him so long ago. It felt like an age despite having been only a few years.
Alisha's and Margaret's faces clouded further with every page, reading of smear campaigns and exploitation to the beginnings of a coup. Then, right at the bottom of the final page sat a verdict, penned in Laphicet's hand. A simple yet oh so clear suggestion: take him down. Alisha exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. "I can not overlook this," she whispered to herself, then spoke up: "As much as I despise having to agree with this, your judgement is correct." She hesitated for a moment, then uttered a phrase that drew the table's attention: "So says reason."
Becoming aware of everyone's surprise, Alisha wilted and averted her gaze. "Well, I heard Margaret say something similar and it does sound appropriate at the moment. My heart is torn, but my mind is made." Symonne relaxed with that, though she noticed her partner slump a little; she was getting more erratic, perhaps feeling ever more guilty about keeping who she once was a secret. She had yet to figure out Symonne already knew.
In an effort to distract the rest, she piped up next: "If you're running damage control in Hyland, what about the war effort?" Velvet's gaze flicked to her immediately and the wariness vanished as fast as it appeared.
"It's being delayed," she brushed off the question. "They can't really do much during Winter anyway, and we're working to keep them busy with other problems come Spring." Symonne was about to comment when something about Velvet's posture changed and she continued with deceptive calm: "On that note, I wanted to talk to you in private."
Glancing to Laphicet revealed a worried look toward his sister, which in turn worried Symonne. She could think of several reasons Velvet would want to talk to her alone, but none of them were good. Most likely it was her past and technically current allegiance. Regardless, she nodded and let herself be led away into another room; Laphi gave her a peck on the cheek in passing, which successfully eased her nerves.
They settled opposite of each other at a small table, neither yet speaking and rather gauging the other. Symonne had a long time to think yet always shied away from the grand question: where did her loyalty lie now? Could it even be called loyalty, now that she actively worked against the goals she helped work toward? What was she if not a traitor? But even then, why did she feel so little guilt about throwing away all that hard work and her lord on top of it? She did not know, but she knew what Velvet was to say before she even opened her mouth: "This is about Lord Heldalf, isn't it?"
The other woman paused, mouth clicking shut again. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "It is," she confirmed needlessly. "I don't like having to do this, but people are thrown into darkness with every day that passes. You've seen some of it by now and I don't think you are the kind who likes needless suffering." Symonne nodded slowly, her gut constricting as Velvet carried on: "And we both know how this is going to end. Even if he managed to sic Maotelus on us, we would find a way. I always have." She was right, regardless of the hubris most would associate with such a statement. Velvet Crowe was a force of nature and Symonne understood that this woman would not stop until she achieved her goal.
"I hate that you're right," she admitted quietly. "I wish this was an easier choice." Choose either the first person to ever see value in her stupid blessing, who treated her more like a cherished daughter than anything else and trusted her implicitely, or all her friends and loved ones. She actually had loved ones now. Edna and Laphi, perhaps even Margaret, if in a different way than the first two.
"Nothing important in life is easy," Velvet returned sagely, reaching out to clasp Symonne's hand. "Take your time. I need you to make a choice, but take time to think."
"He's a kind man at heart, you know?" Velvet twitched, but Symonne ignored her surprise. She just continued to bare her heart: "He found me wandering one day and took me in, talked to me, even forced me to wash up and eat. He cared, still cares. It was the first time I was the slightest bit happy. He wants to be kind, but the world broke him like it tried to break you. I never much cared that his rhetoric has holes, he treated me with kindness and gave me purpose. Now..." She trailed off, vision growing blurry. Now there were others who cherished her. Symonne had believed that there was no good left in this world and accepted its end as necessary, yet the world had proven her wrong.
Velvet reached over and embraced her gently, letting Symonne continue to babble. It took her a long time to fall quiet, and longer still to make a choice.