I would like to give my deepest, deepest thanks to the fantastic Iturbide. My knowledge of writing only goes so far, and screaming over their angsty ANGSTY fic, "The Future Built Upon the Past", definitely got some editing juices flowing. Special thanks also to Peaches for filling the chat group with more angst, and newmrsdewinter, ellisama, rosewarden, and arihime for further inspiring me.

Basilio was enjoying himself thoroughly. The food was excellent, the wine flowed freely, the present company made for excellent conversation (and was easy on the eyes too), and he had made it through the night without vomiting once.

Well, the last bit was a lie: he had done it discreetly in one of the large flower pots spaced around the room and he made sure to disguise it with a few strategically placed leaves. And besides, the only who had seen him was that batty old marchioness, and she always looked as though she was smelling something unpleasant.

Pocketing his winnings from his last match of tarocchi, he returned to the ambassador's group with a jaunty stride, only to find that they were still talking about the young Plegian.

"He seems rather lost." Ó Fearghail, the shrivelled old Minister of Foreign Affairs, spoke with his dry, reedy voice.

"His table manners were absolutely disgraceful," du Berry sniffed. Apparently, he had still not gotten over the fact that his country's best export product did not garner the usual fawning reaction.

"Are you sure he's come of age? He looks rather..out of place."

"If anything, his age should be the least of our troubles—there are guards posted at his door, correct?"

"That's enough," Chrom snapped, the alcohol and genuine anger colouring his face in a bright flush as he silenced the speakers with a glare.

"I don't care if you don't like him, I care that as my men you are civil enough to act like my councillors instead of—of—a bunch of baboons," he finished lamely, downing the last of his glass. "And if this kind of behaviour continues at the summit, then you can be sure that a demotion is in the works."

"My apologies, milord." Valentine, the man who mentioned the guards said, not sounding sorry at all.

The group stood in a chilly silence, with the foreigners examining them with a sort of benign detachment.

Well, not Basilio, at least. He knew that Chrom was the sort of person who still had schoolyard fantasies of everyone getting along, and conflict distressed him easily.

The time spent with Daraen would test Chrom's patience and prove who exactly among his councilmen would resist his attempts to unify them in pursuit of the common goal of peace; difficult was an understatement. Had it been a lesser lord, Basilio would have laughed in his face. Except this was Chrom being earnest as usual, and instead, he felt pity.

"It is getting a bit late for my tastes," Duke Falstaff interjected with his usual smoothness. "And I do believe that we've an early rising tomorrow. Gentlemen," he offered the assembly a polite bow. "Milord. I bid you all a pleasant sleep, and I look forward to a productive first day."

There were a few half-hearted replies as they bade their good nights and took their leave. Valentine muttered something about it being past his daughter's bedtime anyways, and Chrom gave them all tight, courteous smiles as he clasped their hands and saw them off.

"I'd turn in too, if I were you." Urquhart, Chrom's general and Minister of War, thumped Basilio on his back, his round face as red as his wild hair. "We rise before dawn, and you know how the grounds get this time of year."

"Nonsense! I've done fine on a few winks, and I'd rather go back to the tables for some more fun," Basilio grinned.

Urquhart shrugged but smiled in response. "Suit yourself! Oh, and one more thing," he turned to face the khan, much more serious this time. "Don't keep Sully up any later than she needs to be."

"Never figured that the Bull actually sings like a canary," Basilio muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing. I promise to behave myself." Basilio began to slur slightly, and the general rolled his eyes before he set off with a wave.

The khan started back to the card tables, narrowly missing a servant girl with a wine ewer before Chrom caught up with him and cleared his throat loudly, his previous inattention and irritation forgotten.

"I...hope I'm not bothering you with this…" he murmured, not quite able to meet the older man's eyes.

Basilio, sighing now that he realised he wasn't going to sneak in another match, mustered up all the composure he could manage in his inebriated state. "It's not me you'd be bothering..." he paused. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather see her yourself? There's no harm in it. And if I do say so myself, it would be more honest if you did. She prefers that."

Chrom fidgeted under his gaze, hot and sweaty and pink, and shyly revealed the beautiful necklace he had hidden in his pocket: diamonds and rosy quartz crowded around a lovely gold chain and glimmered warmly in the torchlight.

"I—I know that—yet I have the impression that she'd rather not see me, at least not now. And—and if she wills it so, then I will keep my distance for as long as she likes."

Another beat. Basilio was sorely tempted by the sounds of laughter and the clink of coins by the terrace.

"Chrom…"

"Look—can you just give it to her? Please?"

Basilio heaved another sigh. "You're much too old for these schoolyard games, milord," he drawled, his previous cheekiness returning as he pocketed the chain.

Chrom laughed and rubbed his head sheepishly, entirely unbecoming for his station. He lingered in an awkward silence before taking his leave. "I better check on Daraen...he seemed out of sorts, and I wouldn't want him getting lost in that state."

"You're awfully preoccupied with him considering you've known him for less than a day."

"W-well, I am his host."

"You're not mine too?"

"You of all people don't need a guide. Besides, you're a grown man!" Chrom laughed. "Not that he isn't—you know what? I'll just leave now. Get some rest Basilio," he shook hands and left as unobtrusively as he could. It would not do to end the merrymaking for the rest of the castle just yet.

Except for me, Basilio thought. You can be a right old stick-in-the-mud when you put your mind to it, boy.

What looked like an inky black shadow peeled itself off a well hidden corner and skulked over to him with an air of disapproval.

He groaned aloud. "You too, Lon'qu?"

"We have a summit tomorrow, not some get together for idle chit-chat." Lon'qu scowled severely. Basilio did not think his frown could descend any further, even with his usually sour attitude. "I am not a childminder."

"And yet you do a fine enough job of sounding like one."

"I am not letting you make a fool out of us when they find you asleep and wine sodden instead of filling your seat."

"And you won't, because," he paused to hail a servant and pluck a fresh goblet from her tray, "I'm a grown man and I don't need fussing over. Whatever happened to being my right hand?"

Lon'qu snatched the glass away angrily. "You promised Olivia."

The words deflated the ambassador's cockiness instantly; though he grumbled, he set the wine on the tray of another passing servant and both men started for the terrace.

"Besides," Lon'qu said after the moment of quiet, "at this point a childminder would be better suited for this job."

"Now you're just being pedantic."

Basilio admired the night scenery as they strolled away from the main keep. The sound of lutes and harps filled the air along with the merriment of courtiers bowling on a well kept lawn, and young ladies danced around flowering bushes that glowed with pretty fairy lights. Farther ahead, wilder revelers (a great deal of Feroxi among them, he noticed proudly) challenged each other to feats of strength and screeched out bawdy songs at whoever came near. The tune of the night was about alley cats and the men who chased them.

"What a dreadful strain on the ears! I had hoped that awful thing would have lost popularity by now."

The duo looked to the source of the haughty sniff, and found him managing a light jog to reach them. Virion had never been one for rousing pub ditties, and while Basilio did not hold it against him, he also never disclosed that he enjoyed listening to them together for the sheer hilarity the duke's running commentary provoked.

Tonight, his attire consisted of a flashy waistcoat in kingfisher blue, complemented by an enormous, snowy white ruff; a soft velvet cap trimmed in silver and topped by a glossy feather completed the birdlike impression, but then again, his long, thin nose and stilt-like legs already merited that comparison.

"The night's yet young, friend; I'm sure there'll be more to come! You have too high a bar for songs."

"I would hardly call those drunken utterances songs, much less music!" Virion scoffed.

"You'll absolutely hate staying at our quarters then: we brought our own musicians!" Basilio laughed.

True to his word, the songs grew louder and rowdier as they approached the ward housing the visitors' apartments. The pretty gray stonework of the villa had been defaced with sashes slung over the building as though it were a maypole. Drunken Feroxi men dabbled in the fountain (one whom had his head deep inside the water and his bare arse hanging out), and the women alternated between drinking copiously and vomiting in the bushes, rinsing and repeating dutifully.

"I say!" Virion was scandalised.

The sounds from inside the apartments were not much better, as mad hooting was punctuated by the sound of expensive décor crashing and a horribly tuned lute. A familiar, rough voice was heard ordering unseen people in vain, and before Basilio even knocked, the door was flung open to reveal a shock of wild red curls and eyes even redder with anger.

"For gods' sakes," the woman growled. "You've got to stop coming in so damn late. Olivia's been up my arse the entire night over you."

Basilio shrugged carelessly. "Let her except, before excepted."

"Don't start getting all philosophical on me. You're a guest and you should know the difference between being down for a party and being that guy who's too damn wild for one. You've got to confine yourself to some damn limits for a change."

"Confine? The only thing I'm confining myself to is the clothes I'm wearing, and they're good enough to drink in any night I please. And if myboots aren't, then they can hang themselves by their own laces!"

"All that drinking is gonna fry your liver, but your brain's already long gone," she spat. "And Olivia'll yell at me for it." She paused her spiel long enough for a cursory acknowledgement of Lon'qu, and her eyes stopped critically on Virion. "Who's the new guy?"

"My dear," Basilio bowed with an exaggerated flourish. "I present to you the noblest Duke Virion." Said duke tipped his hat and bent low at the waist in an even more overdrawn display, and the woman's lip furrowed, unamused. "Rightful ruler of the Duchy of Rosanne."

"So this is the guy you've been telling Olivia about. Looks like a damn fop."

"Why, he's as tall as any Ylissean or Feroxi. He speaks at least four different languages, plays the viol-de-gamboys as good as any virtuoso, and is hands down the best archer I've ever seen. A prodigy born with all of nature's best gifts," Basilio boasted and slapped Virion on the back. In a lower voice, but still loud enough to be heard by those in the fountain, he said "and he earns 3,000 ducats a year."

"I appreciate such kind words, Khan, but I would rather not discuss my salary—" Virion began.

"So he's a fool and a fop, height notwithstanding," she cut in. "A real natural born prodigal. I've heard about this guy. If he didn't have the coward's gift for running he would've died a long time ago."

"Who said that? Whoever told you all that is a lying piece of garbage," Basilio slurred and belched.

"Same people who says he takes you out drinking every night." She did not even attempt to disguise her disapproval.

Basilio guffawed and burped again. He attempted to sling his prætor's toga over his shoulder but ended up flinging the purple fabric uselessly into his face. "We only toast to my beautiful niece. And I'll drink to her as long as there's booze and good men in this world. And Duke Virion," he hiccupped, "is a very good man."

"Sure he is," the woman replied drily.

"I say," Virion finally had a turn to speak. "That, while your words cut deep as to wound, it would be foolhardy of me to not appreciate the honesty of a fair shrew." He bowed again.

She wrinkled her nose derisively. "Sully."

Virion looked askance to his waistcoat, and turned his questioning gaze back to her. "My wardrobe is sullied, you say?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes impatiently. "The name's Sully, Your Grace."

"My niece's maid," Basilio smirked.

"Temporary," Sully warned with a snarl.

"Miss Sully—" Virion tried again.

"Lady."

"Lady Sully, it is my deepest honour to make your acquaintance." The duke made to kiss her hand but she snatched it back at the last moment. Virion gave her a look that attempted to communicate his confusion; very few women had refused him in such a manner before.

"Look, Your Grace," Sully drawled, unimpressed. "I usually don't believe in judging a book by its cover or whatever dumb court gossip passes by. But a girl's entitled to her opinions, and with what I've seen, your hand's better suited for holding a beer than it is holding mine."

"I shall have you know that I am making a sincere attempt to stay dry, milady."

"Not as dried-up as you already are."

"Is...that supposed to be a joke of sorts?"

"Yeah, I've got all sorts of jokes up my sleeve," Sully said dismissively. "But once I close this door, it'll be on the biggest joke of all."

She slammed the door in their faces. The entire courtyard had gone silent listening attentively to the exchange, and the man who was bottoms-up in the fountain yelled "I've never seen someone put down that hard, bruv," before popping his head back in the water. Basilio snorted drunkenly before Lon'qu elbowed him hard in the ribs, and cleared his throat apologetically.

"You alright, man? Perhaps a drink, to soothe the burn of her harsh words."

"It is quite alright, Basilio," Virion had a far-off look in his eyes. "I daresay that spirits shall hardly aid my tongue, not when hers is so sharp and rapier-fast. As is her wit." He smoothed his ruff down absentmindedly. "Perhaps I should attempt to drink less. And eat less beef, if I am to attempt to keep up with her pace. Or the lady Olivia's."

"That's nonsense. Rich food for a rich man makes as much sense as anything else. Sully's always been difficult," the khan assured him. "You just have to be quick on the draw—sharpen up on your craft if you ever hope to sheathe your sword properly," Basilio waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I am an archer," Virion stated, perplexed.

"Oh, for the love of—you know what? The hour is late. I think it's best if we all just call it a night." The muscular man scrubbed his face with an exasperated sigh. He clapped Virion's back. "Sleep well, friend. We've got a long day ahead tomorrow."

"I bid you both adieu." Virion tipped his hat to the pair and took his leave amidst the inebriated calls of the Feroxi who had resumed their merrymaking. Keeping watch until the duke disappeared from view, Lon'qu opened the door wordlessly on the chaotic scene that greeted them within. Beer and wine had been spilled and mixed onto the expensive hardwood floor of the foyer. The decorated paneling was defaced by axes in a forgotten game of darts. Portraits of Ylissean nobility long since dead hung askew on the wall, and Sully was struggling to wrestle back an enormous vase from the arms of a burly Feroxi courtier.

"I thought you hated that vase," the khan was supremely amused at her predicament.

"It ain't my heirloom to break," Sully grunted. "Or hers." As soon as she won back the ugly piece of pottery, she was dashing off again to try and establish order over the raucous partygoers. "That's mahogany, you jackass!" they heard her yell. The woman who had been tugging with her over the vase picked it up from where Sully had placed it and resumed her game of catch with two others in tow.

Sudden movement from above drew Lon'qu's eyes up to the ceiling. The man perched lazily in the arms of the chandelier slid down cat-like to the floor. His ginger hair and sly face, however, revealed someone far foxier in outlook.

"Evening, Gaius," Basilio greeted casually.

"Olivia's been waiting for you." Gaius was short and quick to the point.

The taller of the two groaned. "Tell me something I don't know."

"She's been crying the whole night."

The simple seriousness of the statement silenced Basilio. It was not something he could excuse himself from.

He sighed. As draining as it was to comfort her during her frequent depressive spells, he was her uncle, after all. He could not leave her in her time of need.

"I'll be up now." he said tiredly.

The trio climbed the stairs to the third floor, where the ladies' apartments were housed. Slipping on spilt liquor was a very real hazard that prompted them to keep their hands on the guardrail at all times. As they neared the top, Sully reached them in record time to scold Gaius.

"Where the hell have you been this whole night?" she hissed angrily into his ear. "It would've been real nice to have some help on your end."

"I've been off fighting in the war," Gaius smirked.

"Ha ha, real funny, Chuckles."

"It's my job to be funny, so you could say my work for the day is done."

She punched him in the arm and he rubbed it with a laugh. "You're gonna get yourself killed mouthing off one of these days. Maybe I'll do it. Gods know I'd be doing everyone a favour."

"Ah, but if you kill me," the ginger prodded her with utmost relish, "then you won't be able to scold me for not helping you do your job. And it'll mean less help babysitting Feroxi drunkards."

Sully rubbed her temple. "I don't know why I even bother," she griped.

Entering the hall where Olivia's quarters were located took them farther away from the noise. The space was completely dark save for the low-burning sconces set into the wall, with only the eyes from many portraits present and judging them silently. As Basilio reached for the door to his niece's apartments, the knob opened, with as much reproach as an inanimate object could possess, and Olivia's steward stepped out with the light of his candelabra illuminating the entrance.

Excellus was, plainly put, a very ugly man. Most had initially attributed his unattractiveness to his being a eunuch. Upon becoming better acquainted with him, his looks were the least of their concerns, inasmuch as it was his awful personality that twisted his broad lips into a perpetual leer. He was nothing short of a Puritan: even the most harmless of pastimes prompted unending castigations on his part. The servants who worked under him lived in terror, fearfully scrubbing and wiping at every available surface lest he come their way with fire on his tongue. Sully and Gaius eagerly awaited the day when he would finally be sent packing and leave everyone to live in peace.

But his housekeeping skills were impeccable, his management of correspondence and money nothing short of a miracle of efficiency; and Basilio owed him a debt, having saved Olivia from certain death. Fantasies of booting him out the door with their own feet would have to wait.

Even so, it did not stop the pair from tormenting him ceaselessly.

"And just where," his wet toad lips opened in accusation, "have you two been? My lady has been beside herself the entire day...one would think her lady-in-waiting and a jester should be at hand to comfort her when summoned."

Sully scoffed. "I've been downstairs trying to rope in a bunch of baboons. Fat load of good it did trying to call you, so if anything's been broken by now, I'm not cleaning it up."

Excellus spluttered indignantly. "That may be, but this one," he jabbed his finger at Gaius, "has no excuse."

"Sure I do," the ginger grinned. "My services were required elsewhere. I wouldn't be so rude as to deny our guests entertainment. After all," he held his finger up to his face in a mockery of Excellus. "I am the jester."

"B-but your ladyship's needs override those of lesser folk." The steward's face was steadily darkening into a shade of puce the angrier he became.

"Nobody sent for me on her end. Ergo, I had no reason to be up here. Unless you want someone to be on call 24/7, you better just get a dog and whistle for it."

"That's enough." A soft voice floated floated plaintively to their ears from the dark recesses of their lady's chambers. "Everyone should just go away. I've no want for company now."

"But you heard Toady here, Babe," Gaius spoke back into the room from over Excellus' shoulder. "I should be here to wait on you hand and foot. You sound like you need some cheering up...so I'm comin' in whether you like it or not."

"Go away."

A single ray of light beamed into the lonely sitting room, with not a soul in sight. Lon'qu remained outside with Excellus. Gaius followed the sound of quiet sniffling to the solitary bedroom and invited himself in, paying no mind to the mountains of discarded silks and upended jewellery boxes strewn across the floor as he made his way to the bed, Basilio and Sully close behind.

Olivia lay on her side facing the window. Her long, gorgeous pink curls fanned over her pillow, echoing her peaches and cream complexion. Her dancer's legs were tangled carelessly within her pristine sheets, with the only acknowledgement of the newcomers being a subtle curl of her toes. Even in the throes of sadness, her loveliness was undeniable.

"What's the matter, baby?" Gaius kneeled to her eye level and set his hand on her back. She rolled to her other side in response. "You missed the banquet."

"How sad," she muttered.

"It was," Basilio asserted. "A lot of people were asking for you. And I even came back with a gift." He retrieved the golden chain from his pocket and set it into her open palm, closing her fingers over it gently. "Pretty, isn't it? I think it suits your colour."

She did not even attempt to look at it. "It's from Chrom."

Basilio paused. "...Yes," he admitted after an awkward silence.

"Then I don't want it." Olivia flung it uncaringly off her bed. Sully picked it up dutifully and arranged it on the vanity along with a couple of other things off the floor. "If he wants to bribe me, then he should stop sending sending lackeys on his behalf and come do it himself."

"Livvy." the khan sat at her bedside and began to rub his niece's back in slow, soothing strokes. "The boy tries. You can't fault him for being shy...gods know you're not such a social butterfly yourself."

"And we all know Chrom isn't the problem," Sully joined in.

"No, but he adds to it." Olivia's eyes squeezed out more tears that dripped silently down her face, raw from hours of weeping. "Please...leave me be. I want to suffer in peace."

"Aw, that's being too dramatic, even for you, Babe." Gaius remarked.

"Oh, that's what you call helping? You—you're one of the worst offenders." She sniffled loudly and her body began to tremble with sobs.

"Offending people is my job, sweetheart." Gaius explained. "But right now I'm just pointing out that you're being a right fool for crying at a time like this."

"I'm the fool? Your job is to be the fool...not barging in and making me feel worse…"

"Sure, you are a fool. Being sad at a banquet is something fools do."

"So I'm supposed to just forget my problems for a few hours to make merry?"

Gaius nodded. "That's what poor saps like your uncle do. He's an expert."

Olivia narrowed her eyes, unamused, and drew in a shuddering breath. "How clever of you."

"Thanks, Babe."

"You are completely missing the point." She covered her face with a slim hand, hiding herself from view as more tears drew tracks onto her flushed cheeks. "Dressing up, drinking wine, dancing the night away...that was for the days when Sebastian was still here with me. Now...now none of that matters. Those are memories I shared with him, of him...everything just reminds me that he's gone."

"Look, you're not the only one who's lost somebody—" Sully began. Gaius help his palm up in a silent bid for him to continue. Sully glared at him but gave her permission.

"I get it. You're still mourning. A lot of us are, too." Sully scoffed at the words taken right out of her mouth, Gaius ignoring her. "But lemme tell ya something, Babe. Only time I've ever seen someone cry so bitterly was when they lost a bet or when they know someone's been sentenced to eternal damnation."

"Sebastian is not damned!" Olivia shot upright in bed, her curls in a wild disarray, offended at the very suggestion. "Sebastian was an honourable man. Sebastian gave his life for Regna Ferox and fought at the front lines. He was kind and noble and loved his family and friends."

Gaius was pleased at her response. "Since he was such a shining example to us lower folk, where would you say he is now?"

Olivia was growing frustrated. "Why, in the heavens of course. The Sky Father promises eternal glory for those who die in combat, and bliss in the afterlife."

"Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me. If you say he's so fine up there, why're you worrying over him? Seems like he doesn't need it."

There was no escaping the ginger's simple logic. The lady's mouth opened in a small, surprised 'o', unable to formulate a response. She did not usually like conceding arguments to the jester; on this rare occasion, a tiny, wobbly smile upturned her grief-stricken lips.

"You're right," she finally admitted. Basilio breathed an audible sigh of relief. "I...I may not be ready just yet to feel better, but...you're right." She bowed her head respectfully and held her clasped hands in her lap. "At the very least, I can sleep easier at night, knowing that his afterlife is a happy one." Sully gave Gaius a thumbs up from behind Olivia.

"Atta girl."The jester pulled the sheets snugly under her chin and patted her back. "It's been a long day for everyone, so I think that it's for the best if we turn in for some shuteye. Sound good?" Olivia nodded and lay back on the mattress.

Sully, Basilio, and Gaius made their way out of her bedroom. Her uncle stood behind in the doorway for a few last words. "Sleep well, princess. You've a whole life ahead of you...Sebastian wouldn't want you punishing yourself over him. So if not for yourself, then try and live a little in his memory. We're here for you, too."

They left her with a modicum of peace somewhat restored in their villa. Lon'qu had been waiting patiently with Excellus keeping an ear stuck to the door; the red-haired pair shared an open smirk at his expense.

"Excellus?" Sully called to him. "You better clean her room up and have it ready for the day. The maids are already asleep and Gaius I have have to go downstairs to lasso up some baboons."

(I'M SO SORRY VIRION)

It was EXTREMELY difficult to not lift some of Maria's, Toby's, and Andrew's dialogue word for word from No Fear and Shakespeare's own writing; not only is it really funny, it made perfect sense to apply it to Sully, Basilio, and Virion. I would recommend readers take a look at the original text of Twelfth Night and see the Helena Bonham Carter movie (as well as my personal favourite "She's the Man") to compare the scenes and enjoy the hilariously snappy dialogue. I'd also like to take the time to plug the fics of Iturbide, ellisama, rosewarden, arihime, and newmrsdewinter again because they totally deserve more promotion!