hadriel_logs | the bigger the river

Given the mess she was when he fetched her from the bar last night, Henry is not at all surprised to find Maketh in such a sorry state this morning. When he speaks he keeps his volume down, taking mercy on her obvious hangover.

"While I am certain that Hux deserved whatever punishment you inflicted upon him--" in truth, if she must start a bar fight, a mere black eye seems disappointingly mild knowing what she is capable of, though that may be down to Ahsoka's interference, "--he deserved not the satisfaction of perturbing you."

It's not that simple, of course. He knows all too well how difficult controlling one's temper can be. There comes a point where knowing that reacting is a terrible decision does nothing to restrain one's fury. And drinking heavily is good for helping impulse drown out reason.

What really bothers Henry is that he also knows where this leads. In Hux, Maketh is essentially dealing with a political foe. Now that Hux has succeeded in goading her, he will likely employ the same means to do so again. And Henry knows how Maketh feels about weakness.

He sighs and glances around for a hair tie. Once he spots one, he fetches it and comes up behind Maketh. If she is going to through up -- an imminent possibility, judging by her appearance -- then she should at least be spared the indignity of coating her tresses in vomit. He begins gathering up her long hair at the back of her skull, keeping his grip loose enough to avoid discomforting her no doubt pounding head.

Now that she is both sober and coherent, he finally asks her what he did not when he dragged her home to their apartment.

"Maketh. What happened?"

Maketh closes her eyes with a groan, bowing her head as Henry gathers up her hair. It's surprisingly kind.

What she tells him next won't be. But part of Maketh knows, no matter how much she'd rather avoid it entirely, that Henry will find out on his own if she lies. And that, more than anything, would be horribly cruel.

Better to tell him outright.

She's quiet for a long time, eyes closed. Then: "He didn't have to be so fucking proud of it."

So very smug, preening just like his father used to in the Academy. So pleased with what he'd done that he just had to tell her, had to do away with the guessing games and spell it out.

She opens her eyes, staring at their blurry apartment. The past keeps creeping up on her. It's probably time she stopped trying to run from it.

"Hux designs weapons, you see. He took great joy in telling me about one that was used a few years after my--after. And how he improved upon the design."

Maketh shivers, clenching her hands into fists. She's shaking suddenly and cannot say why.

"You cannot be proud of that. You cannot be proud of destroying an entire planet."

With Maketh's hair gathered, Henry twists it into a rope and coils it into a bun, then secures it as he waits for her to speak. He rests his hands on her shoulders once he is done.

Her answer, when it comes, is not one that he expects.

"An entire planet...?" he echoes in confusion, the magnitude too huge for him to immediately process.

But it is obvious when he does. His fingers curl into Maketh's shoulders, and his voice raises. He is disturbed, to say the least.

"In God's name, why?!"

He can feel Maketh's trembling and that is a relief, because it means that she shares the same lurching horror that he feels. He knows from her outrage and her misery that she has no part in it and would never sink to such terrible lows.

As a knight, he is bred for war and finds a certain glory within. Yet there are crimes against humanity which he could never fathom, and certainly never forgive.

What Maketh speaks of is unthinkable.

His abhorrence rings clear.

"What possible reason could justify so evil a creation? Let alone its use?!"

If the sad origins and fate of the clones made a mockery of the importance of human life, then a weapon designed to put an end to a whole planet is a mockery of the miracle of all creation. It is nothing less than an offence to God. He can scarcely wrap his mind around it.

Henry lifts one of his hands to cross himself.

"When did such... utter contempt for the sanctity of life become tolerable?!"

Returning his hand to Maketh's shoulder, he runs both hands along their slope, a gesture meant to give her some comfort. It is one thing to hear of such disturbing transgressions, but to know that the people of your world -- your society -- are not only capable but willing to commit such atrocities? Maketh is a good woman. It must shame her deeply.

Don't cry, Maketh orders herself. Don't weep for something you knew about, soldier. And that's the thing. She had known. Or had suspected. The project had been stalled a thousand times, swallowing up resources and engineers in what had seemed like record amounts. It had been called many things and she'd never known it as the Death Star, but the intention had been understood. A means to keep other worlds in check, to prevent wars by a single devastating show of force. None of her officers had believed it would ever be operational.

And yet. They had known.

Maketh shivers. Her eyes are stinging. She closes them tight.

"It was just an idea. A c--concept. To prevent war. It wasn't supposed to be real. None of us thought it would ever work."

But she had known. That's the horrible truth. She'd known enough to do something about it and hadn't.

Henry's hands still, and he withdraws contact before pacing round and seating himself. Of course he believes Maketh's word. Yet his frown remains.

"...I am not sure that I understand. So you heard wind of it, but thought it impossible to undertake? Or impossible to realise?"

There is a distinction between the two.

It's not that he is seeking blame to put on Maketh. He knows she has a tendency to put blame on herself, and that she is self-destructive when she spirals into guilt. He only wants to protect her.

"I thought it was a feint. A clever trick."

Not so clever, really. Maketh rubs her face, hoping that she's not going to start crying again. It's a useless gesture and one she nearly indulged in where Hux could see. She hates that Henry knows this. Even now she regrets telling him.

Better it come from her than someone else, though. Henry would kill Hux outright if it came out of his mouth. There would be no hesitation.

"I know we did--terrible things, to keep the peace. I know that." She meets his eyes briefly. Of all the people in Hadriel, she owes Henry the truth. No matter how ugly. "I helped them do terrible things. But that--"

It was never supposed to go that far. Burning cities is one thing. Conquering planets is one thing. Destroying them utterly is another. She wants to call it unthinkable, but it has happened. Has happened more than once, if Hux's boasting can be trusted.

"I thought they would build it as a--a show of force. A warning. It never worked in my time, it was always killing engineers or wasting resources. Nothing that could be used in battle, it was barely stable as it was. But it looked---impressive."

Maketh drops her hands.

"I suppose they found a way. Clearly they found a way."

Henry holds Maketh's gaze for that short moment, wondering what terrible deeds she means, and whether, if she had lived, she would have sought forgiveness for them. Not that they matter now.

He does not know the workings of the Empire, but from what he has heard of their savage attitude towards failure, her assertion sounds... naive at best.

"A weapon is made to be wielded. Surely you foresaw where it might end."

She did not object, he thinks. Her explanation sounds like wilful ignorance, another form of cowardice. He has heard why she belonged to the Empire, but he wonders how often she considered the motives of those around her. It's a brief, and if he is honest, disappointing thought.

That was then, however. This is now.

He nudges her foot with his to make sure that he has her attention.

"You are a changed woman, Maketh. Righteous and honourable."

Henry tells her, not merely with confidence, but with bone-deep belief. He will not sit here and let her past consume her.

A righteous woman would have known better, Maketh thinks. She shakes her head.

"I suppose I...didn't want to consider it."

How horribly childish. Someone like Henry would have known better, would have seen straight to the heart of from the start. Henry always seems so sure of himself and the path that must be taken, even if the details are unclear. He would have sided with the rebels without a second thought and been right to do so.

He would have been her enemy on Lothal. And she would have ordered him dead without a second thought.

Enough, soldier. Those thoughts are useless. Put them away. An officer of the Imperial Court does not mope.

"Enough," she says abruptly, dropping her hands. "I don't wish to talk about this. Tell me about your world. Your position is inherited, yes?"

When she is recovered from her hangover he will ask about the danger of Hux making weapons here, but for the moment Henry relents, allowing Maketh to change the subject.

"Yes. From father to eldest son."

But since she is asking about his world, he decides to elaborate.

"The eldest son's male line inherits over younger sons and theirs. Women inherit on the occasion that there is no male heir, according to that same order."

The coffee helps, a little. She won't have a clear head for a while but this will have to do. Maketh nods slowly. Henry is the only heir and so will inherit both the Percy honor and its holdings when the time comes. She understands that much. There are still a few planets that work like that. A horribly ineffective, corrupt system. But if she means to live in Henry's world and make him a powerful leader, then she will have to understand it.

This is a good place to start.

"Does each family have its own fighting force?" she wonders. "One imagines that you strengthen your position through marriage, yes? Your partner's strength becomes your own."

In theory, at least.

Henry nods at her first question, then gives Maketh a wry half-smile at the second.

"That is one way, I suppose. A marriage is an alliance. Their yield relies on one maintaining good relations. And what one gains depends on the particular circumstances."

In his own immediate family he has seen both extremes of marriages -- how successful his father's second marriage has been, and how disastrous the second of his younger brothers, Ralph's, was. Though neither of those indicate how his will be. As his mother died when he was eight and his uncle never married, he's not entirely sure what to expect from a match that will be made for purely political gains opposed to heiresses whose hand comes with valuable Northern estates.

"Appointments given by the King and acquisition of land and properties are other means."

So that will be one means of securing power. Combining forces and wealth of two distinct families. Theoretically, that balances out each family's weaknesses and amplifies their strengths in times of need. Still, Maketh wonders if she ought to find a different way when the time comes. An alliance only works if both parties are willing and able to make the partnership work. Such a marriage must be made properly and given Henry's temperament, that might prove difficult. His partner will have to be stubborn enough to match his temper and a clever leader besides, someone to see the subtler side of politics. A strategist.

All that, and a member of a decently ranked family as well.

She'll consider that when the time comes, Maketh decides. It might work, with the right person. Henry loves with great conviction and is thoughtful given enough familiarity. But there are downsides to that. His honor demands honesty and there are consequences to that. Nudging him into an uncomfortable alliance, however profitable it might be, will only end in disaster.

"Of course," she murmurs. It's not unlike marriages between Imperial officers. A working partnership. A few had been suggested to her back on Lothal, though she'd rejected them all. The prospect had been entirely too frivolous for her tastes. "And how does one acquire more land?"

"Aside from marrying heiresses, through grants or through purchase. Naturally the latter is most common."

Henry cocks his head at Maketh, quite obviously wondering at her sudden interest in the subject.

Maketh pauses. "I don't understand. Only women inherit land?"

That seems...strange.

Henry's brows drawn in as he is momentarily puzzled. Then he laughs.

"Are you not yet wholly sober?"

Taking pity upon Maketh, he explains. "As I told you, heirs inherit before heiresses. In most cases, a woman marries into the man's family. As the last of their house, heiresses bring with them their estates. My father's second wife and the wives of two of my brothers were all heiresses."

"Possibly," Maketh admits, dangerously close to blushing. It was a foolish mistake. "I shouldn't assume things work the same way in your world as they do in mine."

In the Empire and other such places, marriage alliances usually don't consider gender overly much.

She frowns suddenly, reaching for her coffee. "Perhaps this is a foolish question. But you've never spoken of a woman holding a rank similar to yours. Do women not serve in the military?"

They must. It would be foolish to cut your fighting now force in half.

Her assertion does make him wonder.

"You understand that our armies do not work as yours did," Henry warns Maketh, before he answers.

"Some women do. Edward's mother, Queen Philippa, is one. Iamarl did. Our best archer was a young Welsh girl named Branwyn. But women amount to perhaps a tenth of our forces."

Of any, really -- England, France, mercenaries.

Maketh leans back in her chair, drinking her coffee. Only a tenth. That will have to be changed. The coffee helps her focus and that clears her head a little. She has a task. There are steps she can begin to take here, plans to make. When the horror of this place is done with - whenever that might be - she will devote herself entirely to securing Henry's position in Edward's court. Then, when the footing is firmly secured, she will move to advance him.

A good leader must have the best subordinates. And it has already been proven that Maketh cannot be trusted to take control. She might make the same mistakes all over again. Even now she feels herself sliding, inching dangerously close to what she'd been.

Perhaps it's too late for her to be something other than an Imperial. But she can make Henry strong. He's a good and honorable, honest even when it doesn't serve him. Someone like that will be a good leader. Someone like that could change the course of a planet's history.

She'll settle for a nation, for the moment.

"Is that because women are not recruited, or because they are encouraged to work elsewhere?"

It's asked curiously. Despite her plans, there is a great deal that Maketh doesn't know about Henry's world.

Questioning the foundation of his society is not an activity that Henry particularly partakes in; he rubs the back of his head as he thinks, somewhat taken aback by her notion that they are actively keeping women out.

It may not be entirely wrong, to some degree. In the past he has heard from Edward something of Branwyn's tale. Apparently she was turned away by recruiters because she was a woman, and so made a name for herself as a mercenary until she caught Edward's personal attention.

Yet he's not convinced that hers is a common tale.

"By law, men between the ages of sixteen and sixty are liable to serve in the King's armies. For holding our titles, all noblemen must provide military service. Women of every class have no such obligation."

There are other likely reasons too.

"I cannot speak for them, but I would suggest that women have less incentive to seek their fortunes in war."

Nobles aside, given that wives gain the status of their husbands and retain it even in widowhood, a good marriage is a better prospect as far as he sees it, without the same risk of life and limb, starvation and disease. Children surely complicate matters, too.

He certainly has no objections to women fighting, but the inequality of numbers doesn't strike him as problematic.

Maketh pauses. "Only noblemen may become officers?"

Well, that's one way to keep control over the army and the sentiment of the soldiers.

She drinks her coffee, considering that.

"In the Empire, officers are recruited. I was fourteen, though most were slightly older. I swore six years of service in exchange for my education and training. After my six years were up, I reenlisted."

She sets her mug down. "Storm troopers -- foot soldiers - only serve four years. But it sounds like your army relies on reserve fighters - called when needed. Is that correct?"

"My military education began at six. Between six and seven is the usual age for boys of noble birth. For over a century it has been law in England that everyone between the age of fifteen and sixty is required to arm themselves accordingly with their income. Our King then made it law that every Englishman is required to practice archery on Sundays and holidays."

Henry tells her in turn, before answering her later question.

"For the most part. Those of rank and their retinue are one exception. There are also select places where we maintain permanent garrisons. Our border with Scotland must be constantly manned. No troops may be recruited from above the river Trent for foreign armies as a result. We maintain a permanent garrison at Calais in France -- 'tis a fortified port town, and our gateway into France."

The problem with armies is that they are terribly expensive -- soldier's wages, equipment, transport, victuals. War bankrupts kingdoms. Nor does that account for the cost in terms of men. Unlike France, they do not have an enormous population, especially after the Black Death a generation before, a true reckoning by God.

That makes sense to Maketh. It seems more in line with what some of the warrior cultures do, training their children young and holding them to service for the entirety of their lives. Thus the whole community benefits. And it gives the nobility - the community leaders, as it stands - the skills required to muster and command a large force when needed.

So Henry's people maintain a reserve force at all times, ready to be called, and also a smaller collection of what Maketh might call professional soldiers stationed at strategic positions. She nods, drinking her coffee. "And how is the army financed? Taxes, I imagine? Or do you raid your neighbors for supplies and credits?"

It seems a reasonable proposition to Maketh. The Empire always takes spoils from the conquered.

"Taxes, customs on imported goods, wool profits, loans. The spoils of war and the ransom of prisoners."

Shifting his weight, Henry props his head on his elbow, resting his cheek on his knuckles.

"Wardens of the Marches are appointed to defend sections of the border and each is paid a sum per annum by the government. They then fund the garrison and its upkeep."

That, of course, is very relevant to his family.

The Empire rarely bothered ransoming prisoners back. On the rare occasion when they weren't killed immediately, the Empire dispatches interrogators to collect and catalog whatever intelligence they might hold. But with a hostage of a high enough rank, a steady profit might be turned.

Maketh frowns. "I suppose they wouldn't have the funds to train additional officers."

That is the first problem she must solve. So how to entice new soldiers without racking up too great a cost?

She considers Henry for a moment. "How educated are your people? Not the nobility. But the ground troops and their families."

Tapping his fingers idly against his thigh, Henry says:

"That depends on their occupation. The greater part of them cannot read nor write."

Maketh brightens. That's an easy solution. "That's how you'll do it. Offer them an education, and to educate their children. It gives you time to train elite troops, and their loyalty will be assured."

Soldiers who follow the one who signs their paycheck are useful only to a point. But soldiers loyal to their commander are another thing entirely.

Henry blinks, surprise crossing his expression. He shifts his weight from his elbow, straightening up.

"Make you plans?"

He asks with a touch of disbelief, more for emphasis than anything else. It's obvious that yes, she is. There is no need for her to confirm it.

It is not that it's a bad idea -- on the contrary. But the balance of power is more complex than perhaps she realises.

"'Tis said that we Percies hold the hearts of the North. The Crown has a policy of using the house of Neville to keep our power in check. They are our closest rivals. Some name us ambitious. Others, worse. And should there be truth in certain rumours... well."

He is not trying to discourage her, merely providing more context and making it clear that it will have consequences. His family already has their share of political foes who would love nothing more than to see their house fall.

"Such a move will make many people nervous. I care not. Yet if you are there, you will also gain enemies."

Maketh leans back. The coffee is helping but it's the ideas that are keeping her going, keeping her focused and alert. Of course Henry's family would have rivals, keeping careful watch as the balances of power ebb and flow. And if Edward is as sick Henry fears, there may be a new leader coming - one who lacks Edward's connection to Henry.

How intriguing.

"That it what will make you an effective leader." Maketh rubs her thumb along the edge of her mug. She will have to learn a great deal about the various families and what matters interest them. But this is a start. "You see the threats but are not daunted by them. That's good. That's better than most. I can give you the means to raise and train a professional army. Even more than that, I can give you officers, who will be loyal out of gratitude and not fear."

She leans back in her chair. "Of course you have enemies. I will break them for you."

It's a grand promise, though one she means with the utmost sincerity.

Henry smiles at that, touched by the sentiment.

"Sister. Your only defence will be my authority. You must swear to me that you will take great care in whose power you challenge."

Because if she gets herself into the kind of trouble where someone with political clout convinces the clergy that it is in their interests to charge her with heresy, he is limited in what he can do to extract her.

Truthfully, he is concerned about the cultural shock that she will experience should she come home with him. At times it is difficult to be a relic in an advanced populace; it stands to reason that the reverse will be true. He prays that she won't feel as he occasionally does here, when in a sudden, crushing blow it strikes him how alien everything around him is and how jarringly out of place he is.

He wants more than anything to give her a good life.

Shaking his head, one corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

"Nor should you forget that I am the renowned Hotspur."

By which he means that despite his attitude, he has his own appeal that few of his generation could hope to match. His fame back home is widespread.

Maketh huffs, covering her smile with her hand. Despite the gravity of the threat - and she's no fool in that regard - Maketh isn't afraid. It's a new world, entirely different from the one she came from, but if there are rules, then she can learn then. She can master the game. "I'm not without my own means, I'll have you know."

But she will still be an outsider in this world. Maketh knows very well that will bring problems, but she'll face that when she must. When the time comes, she'll have to come up with a convincing lie to explain her presence in Henry's company. A foreign mercenary would serve well enough, she thinks. Someone with a debt to pay.

She drops her hand, more serious this time. "You are Henry Percy, war hero and renowned knight."

Maketh too knows the power of titles. Henry has earned his a hundred times over.

"I can make you powerful, Henry. You know I can. Let me stand at your side and I will give you the best army your world has ever seen."

"I would have none other."

Henry vows. He does not call Maketh family lightly.

"We shall have to say that you are a mercenary from France. 'Tis known that I personally hired a band in order to pursue Iamarl. Thereafter you proved your worth against Diabolus' monstrous hordes. Were Edward to confirm our story then none would question it. You will need to be naturalised so that you gain the legal rights of an English citizen."

A mercenary. Just like her mother.

How odd, Maketh thinks. But it is a clever lie, one easily swallowed. Edward seems reasonable enough and close with Henry, enough to grant this small boon. If he's still alive. If he's not--

Well. Maketh supposes they'll have to do something subtle then. If it comes to that. She hopes it won't. Henry has already lost someone he loved. The pain still creeps up on him sometimes.

"You will have to pick advisors you trust," Maketh says slowly, thinking. "To take credit for the changes I propose. Perhaps one of your brothers. It would be best if your family work with us on this matter. Your commanders as well."

She leans back in her chair. The headache is still there, holding fast, but she can ignore it for now. There's work to be done.

"So. You have brought a French mercenary home with you. How does this mercenary go about improving the troops without undermining your authority?"

"A mercenary who sought employment in France. Never French."

Henry makes the distinction clear. The sheer volume of mercenaries involved in the war between England and France was enormous. None would find it strange.

"Not my brothers. Of the two who live, only Ralph is knighted. No one would believe him responsible. It may be best for us to partially confide in my uncle and hear his suggestions."

The only problem there is his uncles loyalty to his father. That will be a tricky situation to begin with.

"You need first win regard in your own right. Fortunately the Scots are persistent and I command our response. I shall place you among my captains. Earn yourself a measure of glory before we begin to think of enacting change. You must gain trust through honest means."

Henry sighs, pressing his knuckles to his mouth.

"Yet that may not be the first issue we face. My father... I know not what he will make of our bond. Should he misconstrue or take umbrage then he might cease everything."

He is, after all, the Earl of Northumberland. Even Henry is subordinate to his wishes.

The last rumours from England before the arrival of monsters cut off communication two years ago -- one if he does not count his year in Hadriel -- put his father in meetings with the Earl of March. The powerful Edmund Mortimer whose daughter, Elizabeth, is yet unwed and carries royal blood which she will pass on to her children thanks to her Plantagenet mother.

When one considers all that has happened, Henry has little idea what situation he will be bringing Maketh into.

Maketh nods. The character she will play must be carefully constructed, no details left to chance. Henry will have to select each detail and Maketh will take care to memorize them. Nothing can be ignored. The truth will only complicate things. "I won't forget."

But then there is Henry's father. A more immediate problem.

Maketh finishes her coffee with a sigh. "He'll assume we are sleeping together."

It would look that way to an outsider. They share a home and complete trust in one another. And Maketh being a foreigner, even without the whole truth being known, will make things complicated. She'd hardly be a proper mistress for someone of Henry's standing. Especially since he's unmarried.

Maketh rubs her forehead. "Well. I suppose that will be the first problem we must deal with. I don't suppose you could...adopt me into the family? Make me your sister formally?"

Henry has had three rules to abide by since he turned of age: no bastards, no lovers, bed discreetly. It has always been about remaining as palatable as possible for potential alliances. Reputation especially matters to the great houses.

He grimaces faintly, glad that Maketh understood his concern without him having to explain further.

"I fear it would never be allowed. Inheritance, you understand. Bloodlines are of utmost import. Ah, but sworn brotherhood! 'Tis a binding ritual which is well recognised."

Henry gives a sudden little laugh, his eyes dancing.

"'Twould still cause some fuss, for you are neither a man nor of close status. No one can stop us, however. My reputation as a knight depends upon my honour, so none would dare ask me to renounce it."

Maketh grins at his expression. It's a cheeky move, but Henry is of a status that he'll likely get away with it. She likes the way he smiles thinking about it. No doubt he was a handful in his younger days. He's likely still a handful now when it comes to the more political matters. "That will be a start. But I will need to earn your family's trust in turn."

She considers it. The first order of business is to present herself as useful and not a threat to Henry's ambitions. If she's sworn to him in blood, that won't officially hurt his marriage prospects. But people will still gossip. That could be dangerous.

"Proving my abilities as a military commander is one thing," she says slowly. "A few practical demonstrations should suffice. I'll earn trust with the soldiers that way as well. But I'll still be an outsider with strange ideas. How would I best approach your father?"

"Hm."

Henry's smile fades, and he pushes his hand through his hair, obviously thinking about that question. It's... somewhat difficult to answer. Henry loves his father dearly, and in many ways they are alike. But his father's sheer ambition and concentrated focus on politics are key ways in which they differ. How his father thinks often escapes him.

"To begin with, let us have our argument and allow time enough for him to cool off."

It's inevitable that both he and his father will lose their tempers when they first try to discuss it.

"Do not step out of your bounds. Wait for him to call for your presence."

He has no doubts either that his father will call Maketh to his study alone for a conversation.

"...The moment that he could, my father passed our family's military obligations into my care. He is focused on politics and gain. Demonstrate to him the value of your advice. Make it clear to him that you shall harm not his interests. I will give you a portion of my personal wealth to invest as you see fit... in property or to invent something that we lack which may strengthen our position. Once he sees you as an asset it shall greatly help your case. When he is convinced of your loyalty to me, he shall warm to you."

Time, essentially, is their best bet. Though he does then add:

"It would not hurt you to win my mother over."

Stepmother, technically, but she has been a Percy for thirteen years now. As an outsider who integrated herself into their family, she might prove sympathetic to Maketh's plight, and her intuition is sharp. He doubts that she will mistake them.

It's not the answer she wants. Maketh can be patient when the situation calls for it, but she prefers to operate with derisive action; once a thing is decided, it will be done with all due haste. It was a philosophy that gained her no allies on Lothal, where the troops had been unmotivated and bereft of proper supplies.

Well, she'll just have to adapt. For Henry, she will adapt.

Maketh rubs her forehead with a sigh. "He has your temper, then?"

That might complicate things. She and Henry had done a fair amount of yelling when they first met.

"I'll be cautious," Maketh decides. "I prefer to get results quickly. It was--the Imperial way. But I can adjust the timetable. Intelligence mat be more impressive to him than military gains, from what you've told me."

It must be obvious she's been planning this for some time now, if Henry hasn't already realized.

She pauses. "Your mother. Tell me about her."

Henry is beginning to see that. While he is selfishly glad that she is committing to the idea of coming home with him, it raises questions in his mind about the matter of Lilith.

"'Tis very hard to make my father lose his temper. But when he does, I suppose there is a certain resemblance."

The volatility of Henry's temper and how close to the surface it runs is all his own. How hot their anger runs once awoken is something father and son share, which is why their arguments tend to be explosive.

"Her name is Maud. She is the last of the house of Lucy, another old northern house. My father married her when I was seventeen. 'Twas her second marriage also. With no children of her body, she has long treated us as her own. She disinherited her distant kin and granted the Lucy lands to the Percy line on the condition that henceforth we quarter the Percy arms with those of Lucy. She is a shrewd and clever woman, yet kind and good."

"Maud."

Maketh leans back, considering the information. "She sounds intelligent. I could likely appeal to her, if i did it honestly."

But there will have to be a few lies, nonetheless.

"Obviously there are limits to what can be done here. But--I appreciate planning things out. You understand."

"We must begin your lessons immediately. If you cannot read and write in Latin nor speak a word of French then our plans will fail before they begin," Henry says with a decisive air, before he gives pause.

He leans in and takes one of Maketh's hands, holding her gaze.

"You believe that you shall not meet Lilith again."

It must be said. He may not phrase it as a question, but there is an implicit one within.

"You'll have to teach me the language first," Maketh decides. There are ways to get around writing things down. But first she'll need to be able to speak with people and understand when they respond.

Maketh looks away, squeezing Henry's hand briefly. She can't force herself to meet his eyes.

"She's gone. And you are right here. I cannot--"

Don't cry, soldier. Don't you dare cry in front of him.

Maketh shivers. "I'm not very good at--at loving anyone. Clearly. I always outlast them."

Itani and Lilith. Henry mouth twitches into a grim half-smile. He can certainly sympathise with that sentiment after Edward's near-death and Iamarl dying in his arms.

It's pragmatic of her.

If he learned anything from the desire demon, it was the harm of clinging to near impossible dreams. If Lilith should ever return then things will change. But should that day never come...

"You have family. I hope that shall prove a comfort."

It's not a bad life, living for family. Even if she never loves again, she won't be alone. It has its own kind of fulfilment.

"I have you."

She has people in Hadriel, people she cares for dearly. Emily and Rey. Nick. A few who have come and gone, hopefully to better places. She cares for all of them but knows that road is limited. When this madness ends - and it must end, she will not allow it to continue forever - those people, who she loves so intensely it scares her sometimes, will go back home. They will be changed in many ways, but they will be home. There are people waiting for them on the other side.

Not her. There is just this.

It's enough, Maketh decides. It's more than she could have hoped for.

She clears her throat, ducking her head. "I hope you...know how much that means to me."

For such an emotional person, Henry is aware that Maketh often has difficulty expressing what she feels -- no doubt the Empire's work. So her words touch him. They have been through much together. They have made it this far by having each other.

Swearing official oaths will be a mere formality.

"I know," Henry tells Maketh.

He treasures her, and he lets that be clear.

the bigger the river

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