Summer Garden

Claven

The red-eyed Fae shifted to her realm quickly. She arrived and breathed heavily as she looked at the farmland the distant creaking waterwheel. It looked like it was jammed, again.

She wasn't sure what to make of Lady Ashwen's outburst. She was right, in part. The queen had issued her orders. Standing around debating them wouldn't change them. The Arbiter had undoubtedly broken the laws. He'd broken taboos. Yet, despite all that, he was one of the greatest Faen patriots there was. Claven had a tough time believing that he acted without undue cause.

The queen marrying an undead monster that should have been put out of its misery a long time ago was not undue cause, not in her mind.

Claven walked towards the waterwheel slowly, hands drifting over the tops of the wheat stalks as she walked, breathing in the cold country air. Overhead the sun was shining, streaming down and rejuvenating her as it struck her skin, splitting apart and forming the red dust that fell from her so easily as she moved. She wasn't a powerful Fae, far from it. She didn't have the gift for magic, not really. She had enough to get by, but little enough that most people thought of her as disabled.

She smiled. She had a realm. A small one, but still. An entire realm came under her purview, due mostly to her standing as the historian of the council. She could transplant memories, and carry them. So when the Arbiter acted out in a way that seemed surprising and new to everyone else... She could see it coming. He had been moving in this direction for a very long time. Seizing power, seizing assets. Janus had been preparing for something. Something new. He could see a threat that the council had been blind to, intentionally or not. All he had done was prepare to fight the threat.

She couldn't fault him for that.

Nor could she fault him for doing what no one else was willing to do. That was what made someone a hero or a villain. The willingness to act, even when the world stands still. When nobody else will stand up and actually do something. The only difference between the two tropes was their success. The villain always fails, in the end. History repaints them in a worse and worse light, and relegate them to the memories of the historian. The hero always triumphs. History is rewritten to benefit the victor. The lessons of the past are repeated. Over and over again.

Nothing new was ever truly new. Someone had always made the mistake before. No one was every truly willing to learn from their mistakes.

That was the difference she saw between Arbiter and Queen. He adapted as the worlds moved on, always seeking to fight and protect what was his. Whereas the queen was a relic of a bygone era. Her title an afixation caused simply because of her connection to the creator of the Fae. Did that really matter? It wasn't like the queen was the creator, not really. She was a different person, granted incredible power. She was nothing more than a living weapon. A weapon of mass destruction. Mass genocide. She had her own fair share of sins attributed to her. Elfkind would never forget what the queen had wrought upon them. Gardia.

Claven ground her teeth.

For now, she had no choice but to follow her queen. That was law. But it was also a mistake, and not one she intended to keep repeating forever.

"Madam Claven!"

She smiled, waving tiredly, "Alfre. Wheel stuck, again?"

The young Fae dropped to the ground in front of her, rubbing his grease-stained hands on his overalls, "Aye. She might have finally kicked the bucket, from what I can see. Seems that kink in the axle has moved again. Gone beyond what the wheel can strain against."

Claven nodded and floated upwards, looking at where Luna had punched Hero those generations ago. Where she had attempted to kill a mortal, ignoring all the death and destruction they were causing around them. The princess was a weapon, as well. That wasn't a secret. The Guardian of the Shrine. She was a truly terrifying individual.

She rubbed her hands together, gathering her dust. She didn't have much to spare, and the people living under her had less. The realm reflected the one who made it, who nurtured it. So machinery like this was vital. If this stopped working again they would have to water the fields by bucket brigades, like they had in the last summer. She was hoping that wouldn't be necessary, that this would be easier than Alfre was thinking. That would be a first.

She could see that the axle had been caught on the edge of one of the gears, shearing off teeth, and now the mechanism didn't have enough to make a full revolution. She could potentially create a new gear, though it would probably make her spent from several days of effort. She'd spent all her magic on the shadow creatures protecting the fields, recently. She didn't really feel like getting another magical hangover. However, if she just made a new gear then the axle would get caught again. "Toss me up the hammer."

Alfre grunted and a sledgehammer slid through the air, pausing about to fall as it reached her. Claven grabbed it, wincing. It was heavier than she remembered. Or she was more tired. One or the other.

She tapped the axle lightly and it turned. She sighed and whispered a spell, flinching as she felt the exhaustion nearly knock her out of the sky. She froze the axle in place, and then she flew. She dropped towards the ground and shot into the air, bringing the hammer down with all the strength she dared. As she hit she felt the thing jar her, and the hammer was knocked flying out of her hands.

She winced as she fell her dust giving out, and dropped out of the sky. She felt Alfre catch her a moment before the dirt, and the two tumbled for a moment. The mechanic was on his hands, leaning over her. She could see the expression he was trying to hide in his eyes. He'd always liked her. But he'd also learned to respect that she had never felt the same.

He stood up awkwardly, glancing over, "Well, seems you shifted it a bit. It might do."

Claven yawned, sitting up on her elbows, "I still need to replace the gear."

"I've been thinking on that." Alfre replied, "I reckon if you can get me some coal, I might be able to forge a new one. I think I can make a mould."

"Coal." Claven sighed, "We got a shortage of that. The Arbiter's been confiscating all the coal he can get his hands on. I don't think that's even tradeable."

Alfre frowned, "I hate to suggest it."

"Then don't." She growled angrily, standing up, "I am not going to the mortal world. Not ever. They are all disgusting, vile creatures. I would sooner kill a human than make any deal with them. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Yes, madam." He replied quietly.

She kicked the ground in frustration, she hadn't meant to snap at him. It was a sensible suggestion. It just wasn't something she could tolerate. "Let me know if any of the Arbiter's things turn up again."

Her mechanic nodded quietly as she moved up the stairs to her loft above the engine room.