Chapter IX: Crash Landed (Part V)
The walk back to Godien's chambers is quiet, bar the occasional conversation between the palace staff.
Sir Diarmad and Dame Saibh stand either side of Godien's door in the middle of an animated conversation—Sir Diarmad cuts himself off mid-sentence the moment he spots Godien, Iarlaith, and the two clerics turn the final corner down the hall.
The knights salute them as they come to a halt outside the ornate darkwood entrance to Godien's rooms. Their eyes keep darting to Iarlaith before snapping back to the opposite side of the hall.
Iarlaith doesn't look too pleased either. He'd probably lectured them half to death over the swordball incident after he was done tearing into the prince. Godien resists the urge to wince or pull a face. May the Lady ferry their souls with grace—
"We deeply apologise for the imposition, but the Holy Father has requested we accompany you until his return," the taller of the two clerics says. Despite the dark-skinned man's imposing height and impressive build, his eyes are gentle.
"I will mind the prince, Brother Osgar," Iarlaith replies in a flat tone, "Though you are welcome to accompany the knights while you wait in the hall."
"My Lord—"
"Should the Holy Father have any complaints, direct him to me," Iarlaith states—he shoots a pointed look at Godien, "After you, your highness."
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Godien pulls a face as Iarlaith manhandles him into the middle of the sitting room, carefully unpinning his royal capelet with practiced ease. He sighs in relief—the less he has to wear that thing, the better.
He makes his way over to his favourite plush armchair and goes to sit down—
"You'll damage it," Iarlaith monotones, carefully laying the red and gold capelet over the back of the chaise.
Godien groans and throws himself into the less comfortable guest armchair instead. His wet jacket and trousers squelch the second he puts his full weight onto the chair.
He grimaces. Right. He's still wet.
Iarlaith sighs and carefully sits down on the opposite end of the chaise directly facing him. After taking a long moment to just pinch his brow in silence he finally takes a deep breath and redirects his gaze back to Godien.
The prince gulps. He's in for it now—
"What happened, Godi?" Iarlaith asks, his tone resigned.
Godien blinks.
"What?"
Iarlaith shoots him a look, "What do you mean by 'what'?"
"You already know what happened—"
"And you told the Holy Father everything, did you?" He shoots back while folding his arms, "I want to know what actually happened. Not as your Royal Advisor, but… you know what I mean."
Godien groans, fully leaning into the plush back of his least favourite armchair. He thumps his head against the headrest for good measure.
"I don't know, Iar," he replies after a long beat, tilting his head towards the window, "The thing just started glowing of its own accord." He sighs, "You know what Father Faolan's like. I just wanted to…"
Godien snorts humourlessly, turning back to his cousin.
"Not that it matters," he continues, "What's done is done." Godien groans, burying his face into his hands, "Augh, how was I supposed to know that stupid rock would break if you smacked it too hard? It's the literal soul stone! Daemonkind's first gift from the Gods! With how flimsy the blasted thing is, you'd think they picked the thing up from the ethereal bootleg market—"
"Godien."
"I know—I know—blasphemy is bad, blah, blah, blah," Godien snarks—he sighs and slumps in his chair, "For a rock over ten thousand years old… I don't know, aren't old rocks supposed to be sturdier or something?"
"I guess?"
Godien sighs again, slumping further into his chair, "I swear, Iar, I really didn't think it would break."
Iarlaith stares at him for a long beat before he too sighs and relaxes a little further into the short side of the chaise.
"I believe you," he says, turning his gaze to the room's ornate entrance, "How are your eyes?"
"Good—better," Godien says, sitting back up, "Saint Naomhan did his whole…" he wiggles his fingers in front of his eyes and makes an ominous noise, "thing and after suffering the wrath of the great Inferno for a few minutes, they're as good as new."
Iarlaith snorts, "And the bill?"
"Is the church's problem," Godien replies with a sharp grin, "He who calls the Saint is he who pays the tithe."
Iarlaith hums skeptically.
"What?"
Iarlaith gets up and heads towards the door, "I'm not saving you from your sister this time." He cracks the door open and quietly says something to the guards before closing it again. He turns back to the prince, "Is fireleaf alright?"
"Two sugars?"
"Two sugars," Iarlaith confirms—he returns to his seat on the short side of the chaise, "No biscuits though. You don't deserve them."
Godien balks, "Yourude little—Naomhan didn't say anything about charging the palace—"
"Do you really believe Father Faolan is going to pay your medical bills after you single-handedly destroyed one of the only places in the High King's Palace that the church is solely responsible for?" Iarlaith snarks, his brows threatening to disappear into his hairline, "Are you thick? He brought up Ruairidh."
Godien's jaw snaps open, but he… can't think of anything to say in response. After a long moment, he snaps it shut again and looks away.
"Eilis is going to have your head on a pike for this," Iarlaith says, pointing at him from across the dark red rug, "She already wants to kill you for the stunt you pulled earlier this afternoon."
"It was just a few minor damages—"
Iarlaith snorts humourlessly, "Say that to her face, Godi. I dare you—"
Knock knock.
The door creaks open to reveal a young maid pushing in a tea cart.
"Sorry to disturb you, milords," she says, "Your tea is ready."
Godien blinks, "That was quick—"
"Thank you," Iarlaith says with a gentle smile—the girl's pale face turns a startling shade of red, "Just leave the tray on the coffee table. I'll take care of it from there."
"O-of course, milord," she stutters, gently doing as she's told, "Should you need anything else, please don't hesitate to ask."
Iarlaith's smile softens, "I will. Thank you, Miss Croia."
She squeaks, thanks him—them both—again and politely exits the room. Godien raises his eyebrow at Iarlaith.
"Don't—"
"Thank you, Miss Croia," Godien teases, mockingly fluttering his eyes at his cousin—he fake-swoons, "Another fair maiden's heart stolen by the infamous High Lord of Rosenbreck. Doth his greed know no end—?"
"I merely thanked her for bringing us tea," Iarlaith monotones with an unimpressed look—he leans forward to pour them both a cup, "That's hardly grounds for a romance—"
"Ah-ah-ah!" Godien interrupts with a wiggle of his fingers—he wiggles his brow, "But you remembered her name."
"And?" Iarlaith pushes Godien's cup towards him before pouring his own and sitting back against the chaise, "Unlike a certain someone, I make efforts to interact with the staff of the palace. Be careful with your tea, it's hot."
Godien groans—he leans forward to grab his cup.
"You're no fun."
"You're insufferable," Iarlaith hums in reply, blowing against the top of his cup, "Did Father Faolan tell you how far those phantom lights went?"
Godien shakes his head and takes a sip of his tea— "Ow."
"Told you."
Godien pulls a face at him before pointedly blowing against the steam rising from his cup.
"I don't think so," Godien says in response to Iarlaith's question—he looks down at the brown liquid steeping in his cup, "What took you so long, anyway? I thought you were just going to talk to Eilis about something."
Iarlaith sighs and slumps a little in his seat, "Rebel attack."
"Again?" Godien balks.
"Mhmm," Iarlaith takes a sip of his tea, "Knights had the entrance to the Lord's wing sectioned off for an hour."
Godien blanches, "You don't mean—?"
"You didn't think the Holy Father left you alone for that long because he trusted you, did you?" Iarlaith scoffs, "You've the attention span of a lasc óir."
"I resent that."
"Good."
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Gravel crunches beneath the tall man's feet as Damhan carries Allen along the fog-obscured forest path. Jenna walks by their side as the doctor and their leader walk in front, occasionally glancing back at them as they talk amongst themselves. Riain—Damhan's son—and the lady of the group trail behind them in the middle of some kind of heated debate that Allen's long since tuned out.
His fingers twitch against Damhan's shoulders—he glances at Jenna to find her staring back. The fog has already risen to her knees. Allen turns his gaze forward and awkwardly clears his throat.
"Oho, you should've seen the look on the captain's face," Damhan laughs—he pauses, "Hm?"
"Sorry," Allen chuckles awkwardly, "Uhm, this is a bit off topic but… where are we?"
The man is silent for a beat—he then breaks into another hearty laugh, "Of course, of course—Bea did say a new ship was due at port a few days ago. You must be new."
Allen and Jenna share a look.
"Uh, yeah," Allen replies after a long beat, turning back to the back of the masked man's… pointed… ears… Allen shakes his head, "So—?"
"Mask," the doctor interrupts—Allen glances up to see the dark green-haired man tapping at the golden tube covering the mouth of his gas mask. Allen stares at him in confusion for a beat until—he startles. Right—the cloth!
He quickly raises it to cover his mouth. The doctor nods and resumes his conversation with their blue-haired leader.
Damhan chuckles, "This up here's Uyku Forest," he tilts his head towards Allen on his back, "Which reminds me—how'd you pair get lost out here in the first place? Old Kestirme's not exactly a place you can just walk out of."
Allen and Jenna share a confused look.
"Uh, we fell," she replies after a beat before pointing at the sparse canopy covering the path, "Out of the sky."
Damhan's head doesn't move for a long moment.
"That's absurd," Riain interjects, stepping forward to flank Damhan's other side, "We're on the top of the cliff, genius. There's nowhere to fall from."
Jenna scoffs, "Yeah, no sh—"
"Do you know how far we are from the Dolomites?" Allen interrupts, returning his gaze to the back of Damhan's head, "Specifically the, uh…?"
"Croda da Lago circuit," Jenna continues for him, shoving her scuffed hands into her skinny jeans, "We were a couple hours out from the Giau Pass when we went off trail."
Damhan and Riain are both silent for a long moment—they tilt their heads towards one another as if sharing a look. Jenna and Allen share a concerned look of their own.
"Where do you think you are right now?" Riain finally asks in a serious tone.
Jenna blinks, lowers her cloth, "I just told you. The Croda da Lago circuit—"
"No, not that, obviously," Riain replies, folding his arms, "I mean what country, or town, or… whatever."
"Riain, you don't think—" Damhan's tone sounds alarmed.
"Dad, shush," Riain interrupts—he returns his attention to Allen and Jenna, "I'm serious. Where do you think you are?"
Allen and Jenna look at each other with wide eyes before turning back to the fiery red-horned man.
"We're in Italy," Jenna replies after a long beat, "Right?"
"Blast," Riain curses in a thick Irish brogue. He literally growls under his breath and covers his mask with his clawed hands—even Damhan seems to quietly gasp in shock.
"What?" Allen asks, his eyes wide.
Riain sucks in a deep breath and drops his hands, "Okay," he starts—his accent reverting to normal, "How do I put this?"
"We are in Tembellik, young ones," Damhan says in a cautiously gentle tone—Allen can feel Damhan's arms flex around his thighs as he readjusts, "Not this… Italy. Riain—"
"Yeah," Riain nods, his head tilting towards both Allen and Jenna for a moment before turning back to his dad, "I'll go speak to Aerys."
"Thank you," Damhan replies, patting his son between the horns before he jogs ahead to likely catch Aerys up on their… frankly concerning conversation. Allen resists the urge to tighten his grip against the large man's shoulders.
"What's going on?" Jenna asks, an edge of panic entering her tone, "Where the hell is Tembellik—?"
Allen can see the edge of Damhan's Adam's apple bob in his throat beneath the edge of his well-kept beard. He forces himself to keep his breathing steady as the man seems to develop a cold sweat on the back of his neck.
Aerys halts the group and turns to face the others—Riain stands by his left with his arms folded. He approaches Allen, Damhan and Jenna.
"Mr…?" He looks at Allen.
"Allen. Allen Lasker."
"And Miss 'Jenna', I presume?" Aerys says, turning to face Jenna. She shares a look with Allen before nodding.
"Yeah, that's me."
"Would you be amenable to continuing this conversation once we've returned to Uykuda?" He asks with his hands folded in front of his knee-length blue coat, "The fog is approaching mid-tide, and this isn't an appropriate location for it—"
"We're in the middle of God knows where and you want us to wait until it's appropriate to ask questions?" Jenna snaps, "Ana and Blake are missing—!"
"Uyku Forest isn't a playground, child," Aerys snaps back, "Unless you wish to become a permanent resident in the coma ward, I suggest you be quiet and preserve your breath." He sighs behind his mask, "Rest assured, we will have a search party sent out to look for your missing siblings once we return, but right now we cannot afford to waste time."
"And what about the kids?" Jenna asks.
"They probably got picked up by the Resistance," the gold-horned woman interjects with a cheerful tone, "Surface units patrol this place all the time."
"Is that what you are?" Allen asks, "A… patrol team?"
The woman barks out a laugh, "No way, we're just civies with expedition permits. I'm Serya, by the way—"
"Serya," Aerys warns.
She sighs and steps back, "Fine, fine, I'm shutting up."
Aerys shakes his head before turning back to Allen and Jenna.
"Please cover your mouths and keep quiet from here on out. We'll do our best to answer your questions once it's safe. Alright?"
Allen and Jenna share a look before Jenna covers her mouth again with the cloth.
"Thank you," Aerys says before stepping back towards the front of the group, "The same goes for everyone else. Please keep conversations to a minimum going forward."
"Sir, yes sir!"
Aerys just shakes his head and turns around—Damhan laughs in response.
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Iarlaith opens the door to reveal a young cleric holding a scroll in her hands. She respectfully bows and offers up the scroll.
"Apologies for the disturbance, your grace. The Holy Father has requested I drop the Holy Scriptures off for his highness to use as reference during his penance," she says.
Iarlaith takes the scroll and gestures for her to stand up straight, "Thank you. I assume the outer layer contains his instructions?"
"Yes."
"Thank you. May the Lord and Lady light your way," Iarlaith says with a kind smile—he nods towards Brother Osgar and his companion before reentering the room and closing the door behind him.
He begins unravelling the letter from the ornate scroll as he returns to the sitting area. As Godien is currently splayed across the chaise like the jacket he's just tossed across the back of it, Iarlaith settles for taking over his 'favourite chair' instead.
"Who was that?"
"One of Father Faolan's clerics," Iarlaith hums. He places the scripture down on the round table beside him and opens up the letter, "To His Highness, Second Prince Godien—"
Godien groans.
Iarlaith chuckles and continues past the usual formalities heading a palace letter, "The High King has agreed to my suggested punishment of an indefinite confinement to your chambers until you have completed inscribing at least six new copies of the Holy Scrolls."
"What?" Godien balks, sitting up so fast he almost topples back over in the opposite direction, "Six copies?! That's insanity—"
Iarlaith snickers in amusement.
"At least six copies," Iarlaith clarifies, leaning forward to hand the letter over to his cousin to read, "May your soul be ferried with grace, dearest cousin."
"May you get a papercut every time you pick up a scroll," Godien grumbles.
Iarlaith barks out a laugh and takes a sip of his cooling tea.
It tastes a little sweeter than it did before.