[Wild Roses] Sun Queen
Title: juggling manticores
'Verse/characters: Sun Queen era; Ian Sansoucy, two other Hands
Prompt: M: "(yes, there is a pattern here, hush)" and Dormouse: "that anonymous Hand of whom I am so fond" (who is much less anonymous once he coughed up his name)
Word Count: 805
Notes: Ian Sansoucy has appeared in gooood morning, your majesty, family history, and Leaves. Nature's way of laughing at you, among others. These are first appearances for his fellow Hands Petra Royale (a King's Hand) and Pierre Cassian (one of Iarlaith's).
Apparently there was a third colour coding for Hands, back in the day. I knew about the red cords for Aifiric's Hands via Aodh, and the grey for Iarlaith's via Alaia Kloeten, who's made a thus-far cameo appearance at the beginning of Some Kind of Love Song.
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The Prince Iarlaith--who still wasn't technically a prince, but Ian had been chasing delegates for two weeks recently and 'prince' made far easier telling than 'the King's brother, the Head of Hands' for foreigners--held these meetings. He even managed to attend more than half of them, but frequently it was grey-corded Hands reporting to red-corded, or high-level greys gathering information from all the reports that crossed the desks of lower-level greys and reds.
Ian, who was one of a very bare handful of gold-corded Hands these days, didn't normally sit in on these meetings anymore. Working directly for the Sun Queen had put paid to nearly all of his working hours and some of his free hours, no matter how she tried to delegate elsewhere or apologised for imposing.
It was good work. Challenging. Occasionally made him think he might need to stand on his head to get a good grip on the way she thought, or that he might make a mage himself someday just by trying to keep up.
Speaking of which, there was definitely something going on with the maps several of the younger greys were laying out on the table. He slouched a little further into the chair, leaning back and covering his mouth and chin with his fingers so his mouth didn't give him away.
"--Sansoucy?" Petra Royale asked from her vantage point across the table from him, and he glanced up, shook his head just a little. She pursed her lips, but didn't say anything; they'd done some work together, back when they'd both been greys, and he liked her more now that she was a red and spent her days chasing the King.
Unfortunately, someone else had caught her look, and Pierre-who-was-definitely-named-after-the-Prince was a less subtle beast. "Sansoucy?"
"Hush," Ian told him, "There's a pattern here."
Pierre bristled. "Really, Ian, you--"
Got it. Ian sat up, made a long arm and snagged the edges of the relevant four maps. As he laid them one over the other in staggered groups, "We've got a new border," he told Petra and Pierre, pointing. "See how those random incursions aren't random if we assume there's a border along there--" he traced it with his finger, wishing he'd learned the trick of lighting lines "--and that the next place they're headed is--"
"Winter," Petra swore as his finger landed on one of the outposts. "How long do we have--"
"Here, pass that key--" Pierre was commanding one of his grey minions, who scrambled to grab the right piece of paper "--report timing says . . . Foxspit."
Petra stole the piece of paper out of his hand, looked down the neat list of attacks and dates. "No way to tell," she said after a moment, since Ian couldn't read backwards through a piece of paper. Not without some backlighting, anyway. "These dates are all over the place."
"Foxspit," Ian echoed. "We're going to have to take this up the river--how busy is he?"
Petra barked a laugh, dropping the key on top of the highest layer of map. "Mine's bored but busy enough. Pierre?"
Pierre took a moment to think about it. "We've got four delegations due in through the next few weeks, he's got us all running ragged trying to do background checks and culture-clash notes. Yours?"
"She's got a convention out in the Lighthouses later in the month," Ian replied, "I can take this up to her in the morning?"
"Suits me," Petra said, sweeping the relevant sheets together and tapping their edges on the table. "Pierre?"
"If we were less busy, I'd take it," Pierre grumbled under his breath for a moment, and Petra rolled her eyes for Ian's benefit while Pierre wasn't looking. "Oui, it's yours, Sansoucy. Here's hoping that pattern of yours comes to nothing."
"Here's hoping," Ian agreed, not because he thought he was wrong but because they were short of cartographers and there wasn't a mage to be had to set up any sort of extra warning system for that outpost. "We have got to start getting the kids into training."
Petra blinked, then looked very, very thoughtful. "I can get a note on that on his agenda next week, I think. Pierre, better make time, or it's only going to be reds getting trained."
"You what?" Pierre said, jerking his attention back to them. Sneaking a glance to the side, Ian saw that several of the greys were up to something at the other end of the table.
"If it's only his personal interest that's going to get our successors trained," Petra was informing Pierre, a draconic grin spreading across her face, "every single Hand with mage-training is going to be wearing red, Cassian."
She even lilted Pierre's surname, pouring mockery into the accent. Ian was sort of impressed.
She was definitely getting more interesting the longer she chased the King.
'Verse/characters: Sun Queen era; Ian Sansoucy, two other Hands
Prompt: M: "(yes, there is a pattern here, hush)" and Dormouse: "that anonymous Hand of whom I am so fond" (who is much less anonymous once he coughed up his name)
Word Count: 805
Notes: Ian Sansoucy has appeared in gooood morning, your majesty, family history, and Leaves. Nature's way of laughing at you, among others. These are first appearances for his fellow Hands Petra Royale (a King's Hand) and Pierre Cassian (one of Iarlaith's).
Apparently there was a third colour coding for Hands, back in the day. I knew about the red cords for Aifiric's Hands via Aodh, and the grey for Iarlaith's via Alaia Kloeten, who's made a thus-far cameo appearance at the beginning of Some Kind of Love Song.
---------
The Prince Iarlaith--who still wasn't technically a prince, but Ian had been chasing delegates for two weeks recently and 'prince' made far easier telling than 'the King's brother, the Head of Hands' for foreigners--held these meetings. He even managed to attend more than half of them, but frequently it was grey-corded Hands reporting to red-corded, or high-level greys gathering information from all the reports that crossed the desks of lower-level greys and reds.
Ian, who was one of a very bare handful of gold-corded Hands these days, didn't normally sit in on these meetings anymore. Working directly for the Sun Queen had put paid to nearly all of his working hours and some of his free hours, no matter how she tried to delegate elsewhere or apologised for imposing.
It was good work. Challenging. Occasionally made him think he might need to stand on his head to get a good grip on the way she thought, or that he might make a mage himself someday just by trying to keep up.
Speaking of which, there was definitely something going on with the maps several of the younger greys were laying out on the table. He slouched a little further into the chair, leaning back and covering his mouth and chin with his fingers so his mouth didn't give him away.
"--Sansoucy?" Petra Royale asked from her vantage point across the table from him, and he glanced up, shook his head just a little. She pursed her lips, but didn't say anything; they'd done some work together, back when they'd both been greys, and he liked her more now that she was a red and spent her days chasing the King.
Unfortunately, someone else had caught her look, and Pierre-who-was-definitely-named-after-the-Prince was a less subtle beast. "Sansoucy?"
"Hush," Ian told him, "There's a pattern here."
Pierre bristled. "Really, Ian, you--"
Got it. Ian sat up, made a long arm and snagged the edges of the relevant four maps. As he laid them one over the other in staggered groups, "We've got a new border," he told Petra and Pierre, pointing. "See how those random incursions aren't random if we assume there's a border along there--" he traced it with his finger, wishing he'd learned the trick of lighting lines "--and that the next place they're headed is--"
"Winter," Petra swore as his finger landed on one of the outposts. "How long do we have--"
"Here, pass that key--" Pierre was commanding one of his grey minions, who scrambled to grab the right piece of paper "--report timing says . . . Foxspit."
Petra stole the piece of paper out of his hand, looked down the neat list of attacks and dates. "No way to tell," she said after a moment, since Ian couldn't read backwards through a piece of paper. Not without some backlighting, anyway. "These dates are all over the place."
"Foxspit," Ian echoed. "We're going to have to take this up the river--how busy is he?"
Petra barked a laugh, dropping the key on top of the highest layer of map. "Mine's bored but busy enough. Pierre?"
Pierre took a moment to think about it. "We've got four delegations due in through the next few weeks, he's got us all running ragged trying to do background checks and culture-clash notes. Yours?"
"She's got a convention out in the Lighthouses later in the month," Ian replied, "I can take this up to her in the morning?"
"Suits me," Petra said, sweeping the relevant sheets together and tapping their edges on the table. "Pierre?"
"If we were less busy, I'd take it," Pierre grumbled under his breath for a moment, and Petra rolled her eyes for Ian's benefit while Pierre wasn't looking. "Oui, it's yours, Sansoucy. Here's hoping that pattern of yours comes to nothing."
"Here's hoping," Ian agreed, not because he thought he was wrong but because they were short of cartographers and there wasn't a mage to be had to set up any sort of extra warning system for that outpost. "We have got to start getting the kids into training."
Petra blinked, then looked very, very thoughtful. "I can get a note on that on his agenda next week, I think. Pierre, better make time, or it's only going to be reds getting trained."
"You what?" Pierre said, jerking his attention back to them. Sneaking a glance to the side, Ian saw that several of the greys were up to something at the other end of the table.
"If it's only his personal interest that's going to get our successors trained," Petra was informing Pierre, a draconic grin spreading across her face, "every single Hand with mage-training is going to be wearing red, Cassian."
She even lilted Pierre's surname, pouring mockery into the accent. Ian was sort of impressed.
She was definitely getting more interesting the longer she chased the King.