A note from Your Friendly Neighborhood Geist:

Well, I didn't make it in time for Christmas Eve or Christmas, but for anyone who does Boxing Day, happy holiday! (Hey, it's before the new year… I count this as a success.)

I'm trying to work on your suggestions, I am. You'll have to let me know how it's going. So, you know, here's me begging for reviews again.

Kudos to you if you've figured out why Corr's eye twitched last chapter.

I'm considering putting up a quick one-shot in Burning Bridges before I finish this section, but it could probably wait. Let me know which you want first!

Enjoy and the best to you and yours,

-G

Part 3 – The Shadowed Council

Chapter 14 – Blackmoon

Her Master agreed with Lord Inquisitor Suzaku. He thought she was a thing. That was the only possible explanation. Why else would there be trousers hanging on the back of her door?

Just like yesterday, she had woken up to find her dress from the Lacertus (dyed black to cover the grox blood) gone and another set of clothing in its place. Yesterday, of course, the replacement had been the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen and she'd gone to him to confirm that she was even allowed to touch it, much less put it on. But yesterday she'd made him angry.

And today he'd left her boy's clothes. It wasn't so much that she didn't know how to put said trousers on – the process was fairly straightforward, she'd just never had any reason to do it because girls wore skirts – it was more that this seemed like a particularly cruel way to deliver the message.

Mouth shut, head down, she coached herself as she slipped on the matching black, gold-trimmed tunic and then the loafers that had taken the place of yesterday's glossy slippers. She was in no position to argue, and she was determined to not let him see how much it stung. She was determined to not start any trouble at all. She would keep her opinions to herself – like he did – and it would keep the waters between them calm. She'd do what he told her to. She'd be his little grox-killing thing if that was what it took.

Really, what other option did she have?

If she crossed him, he'd give her a whop and send her to her room, eventually break her, and get what he wanted – or get sick of her and send her to Terra to burn. She had a feeling it wouldn't matter much to him either way. The only person she could affect was herself, so why make it harder than it had to be?

With a deep breath, she picked up her dinner plate from last night and opened her door as quietly as she could. She hadn't been able to eat much of it – she'd just been too nauseated with worry. She really had tried, but she knew if the Seneschal saw she'd get an earful, so she was hoping her hardest she could scrape the dish off without being noticed by anyone.

Of course this had to be one of those mornings that said Seneschal was visiting. Nothing for it, really, she internally groused as she took care of the plate. Sooner or later she'd hear about it. Turning to the table, she seated herself with a subdued, "Good morning, Master – Seneschal Corrigan," and picked up her spoon. While the Inquisitor Lord barely spared her a glance, his friend was giving her a cool, hard look. She prayed he didn't call her out at the table (or in front of her Master at all) and bowed her head, taking a small mouthful of porridge. She had to at least make it look like nothing was wrong even though her stomach was doing wrenching flips again.

It seemed like an interminable time before her Master finished his meal. She'd been trying to make a good show of doing the same, but the moment his fork dropped to the empty plate she swept up her half-full bowl and dashed over to clear his setting. Her arm accidentally brushed against the sleeve of his jacket in her haste to retrieve the dish and she turned to stammer an apology for…

… Jacket?

Her Master was wearing… clothing… as in… made from cloth. She'd been with him two months now and she'd never seen him out of his power armor. He was sitting there, though, in trousers and tall boots and a long jacket with a high collar as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Much like his mantle from the day before, the quality was impeccable. The cut of the ensemble emphasized more than hid the fact that underneath the power armor he was still enormous: all vast shoulders, broad chest, and huge arms.

She realized she was staring like a simpleton, and he was giving her an impatient look. She ducked her head and retreated, seeking refuge in the alcove by the sink where she dragged over a stepping stool to wash the dishes.

"Not now." She turned her head to face the Inquisitor, confused. She always did the dishes after a meal. "Come," he ordered, and she hopped down immediately, "we're leaving." She crossed to where he was standing, setting his napkin aside, and she waited for him to lead the way with her head bowed. He didn't move. "Better behavior than yesterday."

It was an order issued in a tone that made her belly twist so badly that she could practically feel it beneath the skin where her laced fingers lie. She nodded and he quite suddenly seized her jaw and drew it up until she faced him. A nod wasn't going to be good enough, was it? It wasn't like he'd already drilled the point home or anything. Fixing a smile she hoped looked appeasing, she replied, "Of course, Master."

He relinquished her face, turned on his heel, and walked out the door.

Two armed guards stood sentry outside the door they halted before, but her Master said nothing to them, and they nothing to him. He knocked twice in rapid succession, and after the slightest of pauses, it slid open. No one was waiting there, though. The door must've slid open on its own – or someone did it without touching it. As she was considering if she could open a door with her mind alone, he stepped in and proceeded into what she could only assume was the living space. It looked opulent without being gaudy, and as soon as she stepped through, the door closed behind her.

Her Master stopped a few paces in, and she lingered back a bit, inspecting the sconces and devotionals on the wall. Something moved in her peripheral vision, and her eyes zeroed on a man coming around the corner toward them. He was very small and very old; he carried himself as a man frail from age, and his tunic and trousers were no more embellished than her own. When the old man had come within five or so paces, her Master, the Inquisitor Lord, took one knee and crossed an arm over his chest.

She boggled at him. First clothes and now kneeling? Who was this clone and what had he done with her Master? Further, he bowed his head to the little old man, and his rumbling tone conveyed a reverence she'd only ever heard in the chapel as he greeted, "Master." Her eyes trained slowly back over to the old man. Holy Terra… this was his master. Her knees and palms hit the floor as she dropped in a graceless crash, scrabbling to avoid giving offense. With her Master as cold and hard as he was, this man was bound to be –

"Don't be ridiculous, Pieter," the man scoffed in a voice that reminded her of her uncle's whiskey – all deep warmth and smoke. "You own one pair of pants. Don't ruin them on me."

She watched her Master rise and cross to his own. There was a sucking, vacuum-like feeling near her sinuses from the psyniscience as the Inquisitor moved away, and then a solid sensory wall crashed into her. It was as if someone had dumped a bottle of ether into a bucket of chlorine in the middle of the room.

Her eyes watered and she held back a wheezing, choking cough that she couldn't suppress more than a few seconds, and once she started she couldn't stop. Both pairs of eyes turned the moment the first sound left her; for the second day in a row now, she wished she could just disappear. Three seconds later, when she was sure her Master was going to rip her down to gory ribbons for coughing like a lho-fiend, the old man spoke again.

"Forgot about that –" the near-smell faded sharply until it was just noticeably there – a steady presence like her Master's, "– how sensitive wyrdlings can be. Have a seat, son." He did so himself in one of the room's matching chairs, propping his feet up. Once he was settled he met her eye and gave a sharp little jerk of his head for her to come over.

She approached her Master's chair, her back mostly to the man who'd motioned her over, and mouthed, 'I'm sorry' to the Inquisitor Lord. One of his brows rose so slightly, and his eyes flicked down to ottoman before readdressing the other man. She sat, folded her hands in her lap, and turned her body so that she could watch both of them.

"You played a dangerous game with Suzaku yesterday." Even she knew that was a loaded comment.

"I won," her Master replied with a shrug.

"A fact that you unnecessarily rubbed in her face." Either the man got very good reports from the council meeting or he was there. "There were better ways to handle it."

"My way worked just fine."

"Your way could have turned on you with one wrong syllable and then you'd have a real mess on your hands. Pieter, you can't afford to be brash about this. Suzaku's at Council considerably more often than you are. One day you'll turn around and she'll have the support she needs to take you down, and if you keep giving her incentive, she won't hesitate."

"She wouldn't hesitate anyway, father; but that day wasn't yesterday and it won't be next week. After that I'll be going home and it won't be an issue."

"Just watch your tail," he replied; Ellie was absorbing the wrinkles and real concern etched into his face, "she's gunning for you hard."

Father. Her Master had called him father. They obviously weren't actually related. They looked nothing alike. This man was her Master's master. Even from the little she'd seen, though, she determined he had a kindness to him that the Inquisitor Lord lacked. He seemed like the type who might proudly adopt the apprentice he'd taught so hard. The girl decided it was a particularly nice gesture, to extend his –

It felt like a shiny, hooked knife was stabbing at her brain. She couldn't tell where it was coming from, but she knew it wasn't her Master and her gut told her nothing and no one else belonged in her head. She focused everything she had – every micro-joule of power – into a shout of "No!" and pushed whatever it was away so hard that she physically fell off the ottoman. The feeling abated immediately, and she whipped her face to the corners of the room to determine where it had come from.

The old man must have thought it was funny, if his chuckle had anything to do with it. "Delightful." She shot him a quick, almost reproachful glare and shook her head to alleviate the ringing in her ears. It certainly hadn't felt that way on her end. "Lot of potential there, Pieter." He smiled and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth deepened. "Up you get then, little one, let's have a look at you."

After glancing back to her Master for confirmation, she crossed to the other ottoman and sat carefully on its edge. She ducked under the piercing eyes could feel roving her, and she clasped her hands nervously and bit her lip, awaiting whatever pronouncement he would make evaluating her. Then there was a single finger underneath her chin; it crooked and tipped her face up gently. He was still smiling kindly and introduced himself, "I'm Tiberius Blackmoon." He held out his other hand to shake and she took it shyly. She'd heard his name somewhere before…

It took a moment of awkward silence for her to reply, "Ellie Reiker, sir. A pleasure."

Tiberius Blackmoon looked over her shoulder and mentioned to her Master, "She's going to be a lot smaller than –"

"I know," he replied. She couldn't see his expression because there was still a hand on her chin, but there was a curious quality in his voice when he continued, "I'm sure she'll find a way to make up for it."

Blackmoon's eyes locked into hers, even though he was still talking to her Master, and he smiled reassuringly, "I'm sure she will."

She nodded carefully to confirm this theory. She wasn't quite sure how yet, but she didn't want to let either of them down.

"Now, Ellie," another wrinkle formed at his brow and his voice turned grave as if he were about to ask her a very serious question, indeed. "Can you tell me how it is that a sensible little girl like yourself," his hand dropped away, giving her free range of motion, "doesn't like ice cream?"

She felt eternally grateful to Pieter Mordekai. He was hard, yes, and he wasn't always the greatest teacher, but he'd taught her enough that she didn't make a fool of herself with his master. For the better part of two hours, now, she'd been conversing with Tiberius Blackmoon. She never got the impression that he felt it a chore to speak for so long with a child; to the contrary, she got the distinct impression that he didn't particularly consider her a child. Not once had he spoken down to her. He hadn't used small words for her benefit like most adults did.

She knew he was testing her, of course. He'd asked her about the structure of the Imperium and the story of Horus's betrayal. They'd spoken long about exemptions allowed by the Ecclesiarchy and the extent of the Inquisition's power. And each time she was sure she'd said everything she knew about a subject, he'd prompt "And?" or "What else?" and she'd realize she knew more than she thought she did. She didn't feel the same pressure as when taking one of her Master's tests, but she inexplicably wanted to succeed at this more.

"You're thinking about something else," the old man said without a trace of accusation in his tone during a lull in their conversation. "What is it?"

She felt her cheeks go a little red and she bit her lip. She hadn't intended to appear inattentive and that he'd noticed –

His finger was lifting her chin again and she saw his wrinkled face bore the most reassuring smile. After a beat of hesitation, she admitted, "I keep trying to remember where I've heard your name before."

"Ah," he leaned back in his chair, "I was at the Council yesterday."

Her brow crossed as she wracked her memory. "I don't remember you speaking."

"I didn't. I was presiding."

Presiding… Presiding! Her body preternaturally stilled, mouth dropped open, and she felt all the blood drain from her face as she realized what that meant: Tiberius Blackmoon: Inquisitorial High Lord of Terra… and here she was jabbering at him like an idiot for two hours!

His chuckle snapped her from her panicked reverie. "There's a lesson to be learned here, little Ellie."

There were many lessons to be learned from this: to not underestimate little old men foremost, to pay closer attention so she would realize who people were –

"No matter how high a rank a man might hold, he will only ever be a man. Do you understand what I mean?"

Her little brow crossed for a moment, and then she slowly nodded her head.

Many hours later, after supper and three long games of Regicide, Ellie was curled up on the ottoman by Blackmoon's feet, dozing but not completely asleep, softly whispering the Litany of Protection into the pillow of her arms. Her voice provided a soft buzz in counterpoint to the intermittent drone of quiet conversation between the adults, growing sparser as the hour grew later.

"She's sharp," the High Lord told the Inquisitor as if validating his choice in apprentice.

"Mm," was the noncommittal reply.

"Nothing like your last," apparently Blackmoon knew exactly how to coax his old apprentice into conversation.

Mordekai snorted, "Doriana was born a fighter – she just needed someone to show her the weapons she had and point a direction to head in. I knew exactly what I was getting into with her. This one's all surprises… clever, resolute –"

"Sweet," the old man interjected as one of his heavily lined hands came to rest on the source of golden curls spilling over his knee.

"That can be an advantage if she's all iron underneath."

"Just don't forget to enjoy it."

What followed then was a long, heavy silence, the younger man's expression incredulously scoffing off the idea and the elder's ensuring that he was quite serious. It was the sort of exchange that passed between two people who knew each other for so long that a mere look could say more than a gross of words. Their staring match was only interrupted by a soft, mellow voice asking, "Is it time to leave, sir?"

Blackmoon looked down to the little face turned up to his and replied gently, "Just about. Ah," he groaned gently as he stretched down and then drew her into his lap with, "Come here, my girl."

It felt like it had been ages since anyone had held her; she'd almost forgotten how nice it was to wrap her arms around a neck and snuggle into a collar and just be close. She realized beyond a hand on her head or face (or changing the bandage on her neck) no one had so much as touched her since Doctor Trixie. It felt so normal, though, and her heart suddenly ached for this and all the other normal things she no longer had but desperately missed.

She felt him smile against the top of her head and he bid with a murmur, "Work hard."

"Of course, sir."

He pulled back slightly. "'Sir's a little formal don't you think?" She frowned at that. Well, of course it was. That was how proper, polite children acted. "Maybe 'grandfather' would fit better."

'Grandmaster' would probably fit best, in all honesty. A title like that would sound ridiculous, though, and if her Master's master looked at his apprentice as his child, it sort of followed that his apprentice's apprentice would be his grandchild… right? The whole concept rather made her head hurt, but she decided (as she'd never had a grandfather before) that if she could have chosen one, she would have chosen Tiberius Blackmoon. So she smiled and nodded eagerly and hugged him tighter until her Master cleared his throat and announced that it was time to leave.

"Goodbye, Grandfather," she dropped a quick kiss on the hollow of his cheek.

"Be well, Ellie," he replied with one last hug, and she trotted back to her Master, waiting by the door.

The moment they got back into his suite with the door closed, he rounded on her harshly. "You repeat that to no one," his voice was deadly quiet and she forced herself to stand her ground. She hadn't done anything wrong yet.

"No one, Master," she confirmed, working hard to keep the tremor from her voice.

He stared at her hard for a long moment and then must have finally decided she understood how serious he was before he dismissed her.

Suddenly weary, she retreated to her room, laying down fully clothed on top of the covers and staring into space. Things had been lovely and normal for one brief, shining moment. Apparently lovely and normal weren't meant to last.

Another note:

I sort of realized after I reread it that I keep referencing Pieter's last apprentice (especially in the interlude) and you still haven't met her (hence me wanting to write a quick "Meet V" chapter in the side-stories section). I also realized that Mordekai and Blackmoon's conversation comparing the girls almost sounds like a Thor/Loki scenario, which is sort of legit except Ellie's not a frost giant or a villain. I suppose the 'acts like a giant douche' part remains to be seen lol.

Also, if you're wondering how the Inquisitor Lord got to be so hard when his master was Blackmoon's level of nice, just remember that people often treat their kids and their grandkids way differently.

Keep an eye out for another update (if not here, at Burning Bridges).

-G