There was something a little morbid about celebrating coronations, given that they usually take place right after a head state had passed away. And yet here they stand, in Castle Araluen's biggest ballroom, toasting to the new King.
The black banners put up in mourning of the now late King Oswald had shortly been exchanged for Duncan's colours, orange and gold, with a leopard stitched onto them. They are complemented by the rays of the setting sun through the open doors and there's the soft blowing of a summer wind that makes the banners dance even more elaborate than the guests on the floor.
Invitees from all around the Kingdom have gathered together, eating and drinking and dancing and talking and celebrating, celebrating a new beginning, a new era, a new king.
Amidst them stands a curious trio, two of them clad in plain brown breeches, simple leather boots, but with neat white shirts. One of them has wild black hair and an equally messy beard, the other can be recognised by his bright red hair and the freckles on his face. The silver shining oak leaves that hang around their necks are the only signs that the two men are Rangers. They are accompanied by a woman, tall and elegant and dressed in a classic black dress. The bodice hugs her figure tightly, the skirt flows around her legs gracefully, and her blond hair is kept up by several equally inky feathers.
They stand aside, near the walls. No one pays attention to them. But they pay attention to everyone.
Pauline is nipping from a glass of champagne.
"Arald thinks the traitor might be from one of Duncan's more supportive fiefs. Someone who's given everything from the start and is yet to see any payback. I think he's right. We haven't had any high-level betrayals throughout this war. It's too good to be true."
"Did you have any fiefs in mind?" Crowley asks. The Ranger Commandant is also holding a glass of champagne in his hand. The other is nonchalantly hidden away in his pocket.
The diplomat nods.
"If I had to guess, my bet would be on Aspienne or Caraway."
Halt temporarily breaks his scanning of the room and glances sideways at the Courier.
"David's fief?"
Pauline doesn't respond. Instead, she raises her glass in a greeting, as a man nods at her. When he has passed, she answers, but her voice is considerably softer than before.
"When I was meeting with the other Heads of the Diplomatic Service today, those two were the only ones without a single remark about the new divisions of rights and responsibilities. A topic otherwise reserved for our most eloquent speeches and most convincing arguments."
Halt raises an eyebrow. Arms crossed, leaning against one of the large pillars, he looks barely convinced.
"That's hardly concrete proof of anything."
Pauline smiles at him. It's an innocent, sweet smile, but the grim Ranger knows that behind it hides a sharp, witty, and incredibly intelligent mind.
"Tell me, Halt, are the diplomats in Hibernia so easygoing and the Kings so aligned that they never argue over a division of rights and responsibilities?"
Halt has no idea how or why Pauline would assume that he has any knowledge of or experience with the behaviour of Hibernian diplomats, let alone Kings. But in any case, the Head of Redmont's Diplomatic Service has made her point.
"Assuming you're right…"
His voice trails off as he catches her eye.
"Alright, I believe you," he defends himself, "but we cannot rule out anyone else unless we're one hundred percent certain."
Pauline moves her head in agreement.
"Making it all the more important that safety measures are in place. Do you have eyes on Duncan?" she inquires.
Halt nudges his head to their right. The movement is barely visible, but tells Crowley all he needs to know. The Ranger Commandant scans the room, seemingly indifferent, before looking back at his companions.
"Yes. Rosalind's keeping him occupied near the musicians, like I asked her to."
Pauline raises an elegant eyebrow.
"That's all the way on the other side of the room. What if you don't catch the traitor on time and he ends up reaching Duncan before you reach him?"
Crowley winks at her.
"I am sure that if such an unimaginable event were ever to occur, Berrigan will be more than capable to ensure protection until Halt or I can offer assistance."
Indeed - now that Halt knows that the jolly Ranger is hidden among the ranks of the musicians, he has no trouble recognising the guitarra-playing archer. Still, even though his gaze is directed towards the other side of the room, from the corner of his eyes he notices that this time, Pauline's smile is directed not towards him, but towards the other Ranger.
"It seems you've thought of everything," she compliments his friend.
Crowley bows elegantly, from the waist down. When he stands up straight again, he says: "Everything I could think of, anyways."
Halt's sudden cough is short, but enough for Crowley to break eye contact with the diplomat and take another sip of his drink. He looks sideways at his friend, offering him his glass, trying to convince him to share in the delight over good champagne. He doesn't show it, but there's the hint of a laugh lingering in the corners of his mouth.
Pauline eyes the two Rangers with interest. The Ranger Commandant is known for his unfaltering joy, though he seems happiest when he's teasing his friend. The Hibernian, on the other hand, remains grim and stern regardless of the circumstances. And yet…
Pauline's mind is dangerously close to wandering off, but she doesn't allow herself to do so. They have business to attend to.
"So all that's left for you to do is keep an eye on things, identify the traitor, and arrest them before they manage to kill the King?" Pauline queries.
Crowley nods in agreement.
"It's awfully simple, really. I have men stationed in every corner and whatever noble we could trust is ready to assist or alert us. We don't even really have to do something, just make sure we recognise suspicious behaviour."
The straight-forward explanation leaves the trio silent for a few minutes. Pauline sips of her champagne. Halt and Crowley continue scanning the room.
It is the Courier who ends up breaking the silence.
"Well then. Since there really isn't much for us to do right now, who, out of the two of you, is going to invite me for a dance?"
Before she has finished her sentence, Crowley turns his head towards her. A devious grin starts spreading over his face and he opens his mouth to say something, but Halt cuts him off.
"I s'pose the mighty Ranger Commandant needs to stay on the side to keep an eye on things," he says, glaring dangerously at his friend.
Crowley's grin widens. In the short time that they'd known each other, he'd been glared at by Halt often. The intended effect was minimal.
"I mean, as the 'Ranger Commandant', I could also delegate my tasks to my inferiors, of course…" the Commandant muses.
But his friend wouldn't have it. Halt takes Pauline's glass and pushes it in Crowley's empty hand. Ignoring the grin, and the wink, and the not very subtle mouthing of the words "good luck" that his friend is sending his way, Halt offers Pauline his hand and leads her onto the dance floor.
They don't talk, as they dance. Instead, they move in complete silence, surprisingly smooth and in sync. It's been a while since Halt's been on a dancefloor, and even longer since it was voluntarily. But he remembers the voice of his younger sister as she guided him through the dance. He remembers it now, and manages to lead Pauline through the room without looking like a completely uneducated buffoon.
As they move around, it is inevitable that they end up next to Arald and Sandra. The baron beams brightly at the sight of the two of them.
"Halt! Pauline! I see even you two could not resist joining us on the floor!"
"All business, my lord," Pauline smiles.
Halt is inclined to agree, glad to eliminate any rumours before they even have the opportunity to be formed.
"The best view is from the middle of the room."
The baron of Redmont seems hardly convinced and he opens his mouth to say something, but a soft tug of his baroness seems to stop him from doing so.
"Do take care of my proxy, Halt," Arald joyfully warns him instead.
The addressee nods his head.
"Don't think she needs me to, sir."
Pauline's smile grows a little wider.
"She doesn't."
The diplomat initiates a turn, and a swirl, and soon they're out of earshot of the baron and his wife. They don't hear Arald's final excited exclamation.
"See, I told you, Sandra!"
The baroness smiles, her hands on his shoulders as Arald picks her up and they whirl around.
"I know you did, love."
A few metres away from them, the Ranger and the Courier keep dancing, now discreetly making their way to the other, yet undiscovered area of the dance floor. Both of them keep studying the spaces and the people around them. But then Pauline makes eye contact with Halt, before looking at something behind the Ranger's left shoulder. Halt watches her every move, sees her scanning the area behind him, until finally, she focuses on something. They make eye contact again.
"How's the baby doing?" Pauline asks. She initiates another turn, until they've switched positions. This time, it's Halt that's looking over his partner's shoulder, into the same direction as she was just a few moments prior.
Pauline watches as his eyes examine what she was looking at a few moments earlier. He keeps focusing on it, even as he answers her question. The combined activities tell her everything she needs to know.
"He's settling in alright. Made… one friend."
They make eye contact again and maintain it throughout the rest of the dance. Pauline follows his lead as the Hibernian brings them into the perfect position. The second Halt breaks eye contact, she ducks. A knife is thrown over her shoulder. When she stands back up again, one of the scabbards at Halt's side is empty.
The sound of someone yelping in pain, then falling down and eliciting other yells of annoyance, reaches the redhead on the other side of the ballroom.
Crowley rolls his eyes.
"I hate it when he does that," he mutters. He downs the remaining champagne and leaves the glasses on the table nearest to him. When he pulls back his hand, there's a knife in it.
Time to get to work, he decides.
Meanwhile, Halt's second knife has also left his place at his side. Unfortunately, the second man manages to dodge the saxe. Instead of running away, however, he decides to turn around and face the - to him - unknown Ranger. The man throws a haymaker that Halt ducks to avoid but doesn't parry, then another that the Ranger swings under again - and responds to with an uppercut. The sound of his upper and lower rows of teeth making unplanned contact sickens the man. Still, he keeps his feet.
Until his legs are kicked out from beneath him.
Halt raises an eyebrow at the courier.
"I thought the Diplomatic Service preferred words over violence?"
Pauline shrugs.
"Usually, yes. But I figured you might need some help in the latter department."
Halt nods at her, a modest token of his appreciation. A movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention and he turns in time to see the man crawl back up again. He sighs.
"Why are diplomats always so persistent?"
He waits until the man is standing on both of his feet again. He even lets him poke him in the chest. Pauline watches as Halt grabs that finger and bends it back to his chin, punching the man in the stomach at the same time. She decides to offer some assistance, again, and launches another kick that sends the man flying to the ground.
As the fight on the floor progresses, it catches the attention of several of the guests that were dancing near them. Some people are now trying to get themselves involved, but Arald doesn't let them. There's no way for the Ranger to know who means well and who means harm. Better to keep everyone out of it and so he makes himself broad and throws dangerous looks at anyone even considering trying to pass him. Next to him, Sandra is scolding several young knights who are trying to make a name for themselves by presumably attempting to lend a helping hand. Rodney, on the other side of the circle, chooses a more pragmatic approach, even if it leads to him shaking his own hand in pain a few seconds later. The knight trying to break into the circle, however, seems to be worse off.
Crowley reaches the circle in time to see Pauline hand out the second blow. He whistles and catches Arald's gaze.
"Remind me not to get on her bad side."
The baron grins at him as he lets him pass and allows him to take his place next to the bearded Ranger, who is trying to regain some feeling in his right hand.
"You don't have to hurt someone every time you want my attention, Halt."
The Hibernian doesn't even justify him with a look of recognition.
"Shut up."
Crowley shrugs.
"Not the reunion I was hoping for."
He bows down to check on the man Halt just punched down. But the diplomat is not as knocked out as it seemed - now, his two hands grasp Crowley's face and he brings his knee up. The movement is never finished, because Halt whirls another solid punch. When his fist comes in contact with his face, the man falls to the ground, wailing in pain. As soon as his head hits the floor, the man falls silent. This time for more than a few mere seconds.
Halt curses under his breath as he returns to massaging his hand.
"Why do I keep having to save that nose of yours?"
Crowley doesn't respond. Instead, he looks around them, scanning the floor of the circle that their friends kept clear.
"Where's the guy you used as a knife-throwing target?"
There's a trace of blood on the ground, but it's not enough to indicate the accidental ripping of an artery. It tells him that the man managed to crawl away, without anyone stopping him. But where to?
It's a change in the air, rather than a sound, that alerts the redhead. He looks up, in time to receive the blow right on his jaw. Instinctively, his hand grabs the attacker's wrist.
"You're the last scumbag I have to clean up," Crowley grins.
But he is wrong.
Of all people, it is Pauline who realises their mistake first.
"Crowley!"
The Commandant of the Ranger Corps looks up, narrowly avoiding another, lousier punch to the head.
"Caraway!"
The redhead curses wholeheartedly.
"Two traitorous fiefs for the price of one," he mutters.
He glances sideways at Halt.
"You good?"
His friend grimaces.
"Never better."
That's good enough for Crowley. He lets go of the man's wrist and jumps out of the way, right as Halt dives forward against the other man again.
Crowley doesn't watch as Halt takes care of the traitor. He has seen his friend fight before, and knows that this too is a fight easily won. Instead, standing on his toes, his eyes scan the room.
There, a man clad in the recognisable colours of Caraway fief, is making his way towards… towards the king.
Duncan is, like all of those present, fully focused on the fight that is going on in the middle of the room. The King is smart enough to know that the fight began as a threat to his own well-being and is equally smart enough not to get near it. Still, focused as he is on the fight that is being fought on his behalf, there's no way that he will recognise the threat on time. Just like there's no way that Crowley can make it there in time to eliminate it.
His brain is working hard, trying desperately to come up with a plan. He looks up, as he so often does when he's thinking. Coincidentally, his eyes fall onto the main source of light, hanging high from the ceiling.
It's a calculated risk. Either, Crowley saves the life of his friend and king. Or he causes the injuries of an innocent, high-ranking noble. It's not an easy choice to make, but one he has to make, right here, right now.
"I never liked that chandelier anyways," he mutters. His hand reaches down to his pocket again. When it comes back, it reveals a round disk. It's even smaller than the palm of his hand and seemingly innocent, but Crowley knows it'll effortlessly cut through the thick ropes holding the chandelier in place.
The Commandant moves his arm back, then forward again. The disk is released from his hand and starts flying through the air. Within seconds, the large chandelier comes crashing down, crushing the man Pauline had targeted beneath him.
And just like that, the fight is over. The threat is gone. Duncan's coronation has been successfully protected. Crowley scans the room as the adrenaline slowly starts to leave his body, checking that his men and allies are okay, and that the three traitors were all that was left of Morgarath's attempt to assassinate.
A few metres to his left, Berrigan is urging the musicians to start another song. A few metres to his right, Halt and David are carrying three unconscious men off the floor. The other guests are still dead silent, not knowing if the partying and celebrating can continue. They need a sign, and an explicit one at that.
Crowley grabs a new glass of champagne from a passing servant, takes a sip, then raises it high in the air. He grins at Duncan, who, sword drawn and on highest alert, still seems to be processing what just happened.
"To the King!"