When Christien Met Lesley pt 2
When Christien Met Lesley CH2
Lesley parted ways with Christien at the main doorway of White Towers, reminding him not to wander off again. People were streaming by, all heading towards the Annunciation Chamber, and Christien quickly stepped in line behind them, keeping an eye out for his parents and skirting around a doorway to avoid them seeing him. He followed moments after, blending into the crowd and finding a nice crush free place to watch the activities.
Unfortunately, nothing seemed to be going on besides the filing in of those that could make it, and Christien began to grow bored. Not enough to welcome the unwanted company of Severus Snape who had somehow ended up beside him by the pillar he had chosen, but enough to at least speak with him.
Christien quickly realized that his new look had a very different impression from his usually messy discord, for Severus stared at him for a short moment and then nodded approvingly. “Looks like you finally found yourself a mirror, Savage.”
Feeling rather proud of himself, Christien didn’t tell the other boy to piss off this time. “Any clue what this meeting is all about?” he asked instead.
Severus’s eyes darkened, and he nodded sharply. “You know Lucius-of course you do, you knocked him out a while back. I think this is about how he tried and failed to rescue Narcissa Black.”
Christien did remember Lucius. He was a know-it-all with a too sharp tongue and glass jaw that he tried very hard to divert others from discovering with his advanced magic. “Oh… Good. Maybe the Council will vote to help rescue them.”
Snape gave him a pitying look and shook his head. “You really don’t know anything about anything yet, do you?”
Christien almost said something but instead snapped his mouth shut, a shock of blue hair by the Councilors’ area catching his attention. Severus noticed, supplying the man’s information for him. “That blue-haired one is Lesley Griffith. He’s a good sort, but only because he’s bound by magic to be. He’s the First Chair, meaning he’s a direct descendant of the Fae gods that were banished to Earth.”
Christien’s eyes grew wide, and he started from Lesley to Severus. That was why the man had the mural of the gods in his room so different from all other depictions of the four. He was their descendant. Surely he would be the one to save the Council more than any Magistrate could. Excited by the news, Christien nearly missed what Severus said next.
“Course, he doesn’t have any real power. The Council looks at him as a joke. Pretty foolish on their part, but then, who can take someone serious when they can’t even defend themselves against their own peers’ attacks.”
“What do you mean? Why can’t he defend himself?”
“He’s bound by a great ritual. As long as he chooses to be a Councilor, his power is crippled, keeping him from raising any magic against his fellow Councilors. It was a failsafe put in by the Council thousands of years ago to keep the ancestors of the Fallen Children of Light from taking over the Council and creating havoc.”
“But… but what if they kill him!” Christien whispered furiously, his eyes scanning the group of Councilors and looking for unseen threats.
Severus just shrugged. “He’s a wily one; no one has gotten him yet. And if it were such a big concern, I suspect he would have left by now. He’s been at it for three hundred years as it is, and doesn’t seem about to run away with his tail between his legs just yet.”
“Three Hundred Years!” Christien yelped too loud, immediately quieting down as the people around gave him derisive looks. “He’s three hundred years old?”
“Three hundred and seven, to be precise,” a familiar voice behind him said, and Christien turned to find his father Edward standing over him. “Your mother has been worried sick. She’ll be quite surprised to find you in one piece, and cleaned up at that. Want to tell me what you’ve been up to, young man?”
Christien shot an uncomfortable look to Severus, who surprisingly nodded and left without a word. Maybe being civil to people had its upside after all. “I, uh… I was around,” Christien said a little defiantly, remembering why he had left his parents’ side in the first place.
“Were you now? Trace and I searched the whole first floor from top to bottom.” Edward pointed to his jacket sleeve that now had a perfectly round, quarter sized scorch mark on it. “I was chosen to look in the stables. I will need a more detailed explanation then you being ‘around.’”
The little mark on his father’s sleeve sent a strange, hollow feeling through Christien’s stomach. His parents’ could have been hurt looking for him. If he had stayed where he was supposed to they wouldn’t have had to look for him in such a dangerous place. “Dad, I, uh… I’m sorry.”
Edward noticed his son’s trembling lip and watery eyes and nodded silently in acceptance. He pulled him into a hug, careful not to ruffle his hair or clothes in the process. The sight of Christien clean and neat would be more than enough to appease Danielle. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I might not have been though, if not for Lesley. He made sure I didn’t go to the stables, or…” He gulped, thinking of his very near death experience. “I don’t like the Chancellor, dad. I don’t like him at all.”
Edward met the haunted gaze, worry churning in the pit of his stomach to see his son in such fear. “You’re not the only one, kiddo,” he said softly, brushing a stray curl behind Christien’s ear. He would need to talk with Trace for this one, for he had no idea how to get such information from his little son. Edward would learn it though, and then he would severely punish the ones that had caused that look to appear in Christien’s eyes.
“I need to go tell Danielle you’re safe before she brings the castle down around our ears. You’re welcome to stay here or watch with us. You just need to promise not to wander off again.”
“I won’t.” Christien had no intention of exploring White Towers anytime soon, especially if there was a good chance the Chancellor could be lurking in the dark corridors. He gave his father’s hand an extra hard squeeze before letting go, ducking around the pillar so he could hear the opening formalities.
Severus was waiting there, although the older boy gave no comment to the scene of before. Christien was glad for it.
The assembly was finally getting under way and Councilor Stratford announced the Chancellor to the floor. The sight of the man sent chills down Christien’s spine and he subtly inched closer to Severus, who only gave him a brief glance at the odd behavior.
Christien found that Rowland Loxton had a very odd smile. It was charming in a lot of ways, but either from strain or from Christien’s perception of the man, he found the man’s lips to stretch too far, revealing too many teeth tinted unnaturally bright against the tanned skin. The man had chosen to wear royal blue against white, and appeared in all accounts to be upstanding and refined.
If Christien did not know better he would have found the Chancellor agreeable, and not a deranged creature of violence and schemes. But then, he did know better. Just as he knew underneath his own groomed locks and schooled features lived a wild, angry boy. And behind Lesley’s strange golden eyes and handsome features was a delicate soul of haunted emotions and frightening power.
“Here we go,” Severus whispered, fixed on the change in the Chancellor as the man got to the point of the meeting.
“As you are all aware of, we have recently lost one of our children to the grasp of the Dark Lord. This is a tragedy, but one that demands immediate action. Lucius Malfoy was not a victim of this madman, but a willing participant, and he must be made an example before others follow.”
A troubled murmur went up at Rowland’s words, and Christien couldn’t help but look in the direction of Lucius’s clan. Their beautiful Veela faces had shown less poise that day, and at the moment had gone unnaturally pale at the news.
Rowland continued, his voice overpowering the conflicting noise. “If Lucius has his way, the Black prophecy will come to fruition with his blood, literally handing the world’s power to the Dark Lord. For all we know he has already twisted the minds of his Clan and of the remaining Scion Dragon Clans-such power is all corrupting after all. Who can truly say what one would do?
“If we are to raise a force against the Dark Lord we must be free to do so without the fear of insiders conveying potential information to the dark front. Although I understand that none of this can be fully proven, I must do what I feel is best to protect this Council and the Wizarding World in these times of escalating violence. Lucius has signed his fate with his actions by uniting with the Dark Lord. And the two Clans that helped him must be held accountable.
“As Chancellor it is my sad, but necessarily duty to ban Lucius Malfoy from our midst, and all that would help him in his cause, including the North Light Veela Clan and the Scion Dragon Clan.”
What had been a muttering of discontent exploded into a chaos of confused and angry voices. Banning two prominent Clans from the Council over the actions of one boy?
“You would exile us all, just for you fear of us!” Heartsease Black said, her voice breaking through the chaos like a whip. “That poor child was raised to rule this Council and you would have her happily abandoned to the Dark Lord’s clutches because of it. It is no wonder that you have forbidden all to rescue her. What was Lucius to do when you would allow none to help him? That he survived is feat enough!”
The Chancellor shook his head slowly. “I can understand the distress of the Scion Dragon Clan, but it was your line targeted and infiltrated by the Dark Lord to begin with. It is just not in the community’s interest to let you remain and slowly corrupt the rest of us.”
“Corrupt! How dare you-!”
“What right do you have to take away our standings here?” It was Lucius’s grandfather, his eyes ablaze but his voice steady and calm. “You’ve ruled this Council hardly three years, yet have failed to prove yourself in any regard. The High Tieren will not even acknowledge the Council’s presence since you have taken reign.
“Loxton, it was you that failed to protect the Scion Dragon Clan from being targeted in the first place, and your consequential failure in recovering Narcissa Black or her deranged sister, Bellatrix. Instead you seem content to let the situation grow out of control. Now that the situation has reached a new frenzy, instead of positive action, you scapegoat our Clans, as if hiding your own inept actions. Believe me, child, you have hidden nothing from us.”
“Please, you must not let your fears for your lost clan member cloud your judgment, nor should the rest of you let pity rule you here,” Rowland said evenly, his expression just the right level of compassion and decisiveness.
“If the Dark Lord gains a foothold into this Council we may never recover. We must act now, and systematically cut any ties that may lead to such an event, even if it means slicing our own family from us. In time, once the Dark Lord crisis has blown over the Clans will be readily reinstated. This is not a permanent act, just a necessary one as we work our way towards peace.”
“You have yet to mention how such peace will be achieved, Rowland,” Lesley broke in.
Lesley's eyes were alight with death, and his voice struck like an axe, but he stood poised and tranquil, as if gazing upon a darkening of sky far away in the distance. The effect was immediate, and the crowd stilled their movements. Christien felt the tension building in the air and wished he could shift position to relieve it, but knew to do so would likely trip a power so great that once started would not be able to be contained.
Rowland seemed unperturbed except for his smile, which had slipped and stretched into a thinness that bordered a grimace. “Ah, Lesley, somehow I knew you would have some sort of opposition to this. You never were a man for action. I am not surprised that you do not grasp the urgency of this decree.”
“I have seen enough rash and reckless actions in the hands of the inexperienced to know when pause is needed. You seem only motivated by fear, and lack very little, if any, facts to back up your accusations.”
“The Malfoy boy’s actions speak for themselves. Clearly he seeks to sire the prophecy child and rule the world.”
“His actions speak only of a desperate boy seeking to rescue his mate from a horrible fate. It is hardly damning that he was the only one willing to risk whatever was necessary to get the prophecy child away from the Dark Lord. And when that couldn’t come to be, he offered his life in the hopes of creating a more sympathetic being. At least the prophecy child will not share the same blood as the Dark Lord himself.”
“You may spin the situation whatever way you like, Lesley. It is what your kind is best known for, which is why the Heir was wise to restrict you to speech alone. But I will not have the Council grow weak by allowing questionable members to remain.”
Lesley’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his heritage, well aware that that alone could sway the crowd against him. “I am not restricted just to speech, Rowland. I am the final check before passing to the great Book of Decrees. You have yet to prove yourself to me, and you have been here already three years. I have seen even the most inane of Chancellors do better in my many years here.”
Rowland’s expression grew smug, and Christien watched with growing trepidation. “I do not believe that the Book will be necessary. After all, it is only a temporary law until the Dark Lord situation is played out.”
“A vote, then,” Lesley said immediately, his voice darkening. “The people should have a right to voice their opinion on the matter.”
“Normally I would wholeheartedly agree. But the reason for this new law also makes clear how a vote cannot be possible. No, as Chancellor it is my duty to use my judgment to create the safest atmosphere possible for the community. Although there may be discord, I cannot allow any defectors to run these proceedings.”
Christien was certain Lesley was going to throw himself on the Chancellor and rip him limb from limb, with help from the majority of the crowd glaring at the cruel man.
“You were elected as Chancellor to answer to this community’s needs, not to decide what they are, Rowland! We have no king in you, as many of the Clans with ruling royalty will agree as you are far too inept for it. If you do not listen to these people you will lose more than the Clans you foolishly plan to exile. You will lose the heart of the people, along with their trust, and very likely, their numbers.”
“I never pegged you for the romantic, Lesley. Still, I will remind you again, this is only temporary. It would be like having the Council vote on a freak rainstorm; by the time proceedings have finalized it would have already passed.”
“It matters not your opinion on the matter. The people have a right to vote.”
“If you had been paying attention to the charter you so love to quote, Lesley, you would have noticed that they do not. It is a given right, not an earned one, and I have no intention of giving it this time.”
“As First Chair, the right is mine to give.”
“Perhaps if it were fifty years ago. Chancellor Tuskry seemed to have quite a time with your antiquated ways as well, which is why he placed more checks on your power, the main one being that the right to vote could be cast down by the Council. As you can see, the Council has cast it down.”
Lesley turned to the Councilors behind him, surprised to find that the majority had their hands up like Rowland had said. “What madness is this? He is slicing us apart and you favor him!”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. Rowland has explained how short lived the law will be. We are in a time of war, and as such our actions must be more severe than normal.” Councilor Bower said.
Lesley shook his head in frustration. “If we were at war we would be fighting back, instead of foolishly destroying the one sure thing we have in winning; our unity as a community. Stratford, Edward, and Glen; your hands are down. Speak for your people before this Council is torn in two.”
“We have tried, Lesley,” Stratford said, his strong voice sounding weaker than normal. “It was put to vote without your knowing only this morning. Certain… revelations seem to have swayed their hearts more than any sense of logic.”
“What revelations? If you have a culprit than speak the name, instead of casting suspicion on two whole Clans.”
“If it were that easy I would not have chosen this path,” Rowland spoke up. “As I said, we must nip this corruption before it has a chance to blossom.”
“You would have fear run your decisions. You are not fit for this rule, Rowland.”
“The Council seems to think enough of me. They will not cast me out if you try to place that to vote as well, Lesley. You have no power here.” The last was spoken in threat, and Lesley bristled at the implications.
Something changed in the blue-haired man, a sweeping of power glistening and flexing, and for a moment Christien thought he saw something beneath, something with wings and claws. It was only a moment though, and when Christien blinked Lesley was as he had always been, anger brimming and bubbling in waves around him.
“You have left me no choice,” Lesley said slowly, and with finality. “Your actions today have proven your intentions more than any veritaserum ever could. From this day forth I ban you from the Book of Decrees. Your power will be as crippled as your weak-minded actions. You will hold no law, only the delusions that you have created of your position, and the High Tieren will no longer be open to you.
“Hopefully this Council will see your folly soon enough to remove you from your position and replace you with someone more competent, most likely the unborn child you so readily fear.”
“Honestly, Lesley, you are being too much. Firstly, you hardly hold the power to restrict me from the Book, and secondly, it is only a temporary law. You are blowing things out of proportion since you cannot get your own way.”
“Tell that to the Clans you have abandoned. I’m sure they hardly feel I am over reacting. Believe me, Rowland, if the ability were mine you would be long from this Council. It is not, but my check on the book is. Even if you were to circumvent me, you do not know how to enter the Hall of Peace, which your people are now very well aware of.”
Rowland’s eyes narrowed, and his composure cracked, his face turning murderous. “You are just an echo of voices past, better left to rot in the ground, Lesley. You cannot keep me from what is mine!”
Lesley was serene in his furious righteousness, his glamours once again faltering as his power spiked. Feathers were clearly seen on his ears now, along with long wicked talons curling his fingers into weapons.
“I have found you unworthy, mortal. Until another is found to replace you, the Great Book of Decrees will remain untouched. If you wish to negate this ruling, you may take it up with my great ancestor. I would recommend it, Rowland. Your painful demise will move things along much swifter.”
It was with controlled anger that the Chancellor whirled, marching from the room. Voices immediately rose in protest. Lesley may have checked the Chancellor, but his law was still in effect, and the North Light Veela and Scion Dragon Clans were banned from the Council, and community, indefinitely.
Many tried to speak with Lesley, and the Councilors that had stood against the ruling, but there was little to be done. Lesley promised that he would not abandon them, and would arrange that the Ministry of Magic would accept them even if the Council would not. He did not stay long, his anger an unchecked current that had little place to go in the large Annunciation Chamber.
*****
Watching Lesley leave, Christien hesitated a moment before following. He wanted to ask him what could be done, wanted to know how the role of a Magistrate could help in a crazy situation like this. Christien really wanted to know that everything would be all right and he had heard wrong, blown it all out of proportion.
The Dark Lord had kidnapped Narcissa two years ago with the help of her deranged sister, slaughtered her family, and no one had raised a finger to help her. It had been a horrible time, filled with terror. Christien had only turned ten, and had seen Narcissa days before at a Clan affair.
Hers was not the only Clan to suffer such losses; just that year the Scion Incubus Clan had been practically wiped out except for the one surviving toddler, Clive. They all wondered who was next. Christien could not see how dividing them could help win against the madman hunting their bloodlines.
Severus grabbed Christien's sleeve right when he got outside the room, his dark eyes watching him closely. Christien pulled away, regarding the other boy with suspicion.
Severus shook his head silently, and then looked around before whispering, “He might be the better man, but he’ll never win, Savage. I suggest you choose someone else.”
Christien glared, throwing himself down the hallway where Lesley had disappeared. Severus didn’t follow.
Angry voices echoed down the hall, and Christien cautiously followed to their source. In a side room, two twists and a turn from the Annunciation Chamber, Lesley had found Rowland. Christien peered in through the gap in the doors, not able to see the men but recognizing their voices just fine as they rose fiery.
“You’ve crossed me for the last time Griffith! If it weren’t for that sticky business with being hunted down by the Fallen Children of Light I would have killed you the second I took power.”
It was the wrong room for Rowland, Christien decided quickly as the old instruments and innocent looking everyday items flared to power with each pulse of Lesley’s aura.
Lesley was deceptively calm as he walked past the door, his voice a low growl of influence. “You have taken back years of good with this decree, possibly irreparable damage has been done to the community and any sway the Council may hold over it. You cannot hold power with people that cannot trust if you will leave them at the altar for every evil wizard that comes along.
“What were you thinking? You took away the people’s will to vote! They will never return here in these numbers, and when we truly need them they will only remember those that you tossed aside.”
“Oh stop with your holier than thou attitude. The people will return because they have nowhere else to turn. The Ministry is hardly capable of handling the Voldemort situation, and the muggles are completely useless. They will be banging down the door looking for our help.”
There was a bright pulse of light and a crashing sound from where Lesley was inside the room. Stilling, Christien carefully inched closer to the gap, gazing in to make sure the man had not been attacked.
Thankfully Lesley was standing and seemed unharmed, although he was glowing in a golden aura, tangible power crackling about him. More feathers had made their way past his glamours, and Christien noticed Lesley’s hair had grown and something from behind was holding it neat.
“And without the Scion Clans we will have no help to give!” Lesley spoke, and his voice had grown smoother and frightening. It was a wonder that Rowland could face him alone in that little room-surely the man was petrified, Christien thought.
Listening carefully, it seemed Rowland’s voice had grown more cautious in the face of Lesley’s slip of control. “The Scion Dragon Clan was broken as it was. They hardly could be of help.”
“You do not understand the Scion. They are the royals of the fae blood. They are represented in the High Tieren. They are united. They will rise against such a snub to their kind and either turn all from the Council, or decide to wipe us off the face of the planet.
“You have put us all in a deadly situation. Either way the High Tieren will have nothing to do with us, even if Voldemort himself comes walking in and takes over the place. You have destroyed all hope of their cooperation.”
Rowland walked into view, the man’s tense shoulders shrugging. “What does it matter? We have no need of the fae and their antiquated ways.”
“The fae may not gift you the power you crave, but that does not mean this Council does not need them.”
More of Lesley’s illusions were shattering, thebright iridescent gold wings sprouting from his lower back curving up and high by his shoulders, the smaller pair resting on his shoulder blades revealed to frame his neck and hold his hair back in a cascade of blue water. His skin was speckled with soft golden scales that glittered in the lamplight, and his talons of before looked more solid and destructive, shining pure gold.
“I am reminded everyday how useless the fae are, Lesley. You cannot even raise a hand to me.” Rowland stepped close challengingly, his hand raised up as if to strike. “What good are those that cannot even lift a simple curse?”
Rowland shot forward, his fist coming across Lesley’s cheek. He did not make his mark, instead falling forward and stumbling into a low chair from the momentum.
Lesley turned to gaze icily at the sprawled man. Rowland’s speed was little challenge to a direct descendant of Solus Ta.
“I chose this robe of responsibility, Rowland, and with it came a willing sacrifice. I believed in this Council once, and I still believe in the people it protects. But do not misjudge me, or the fae. We may seem odd to you, but we are anything but weak. We understand the importance of family, and community, and when the time calls you will see how our loyalties will persevere even as your weak mortal body is taken by the wind.”
Rowland stood quickly, an embarrassed flush making his angry grimace glow with red malice. He pulled his robes together and stepped around Lesley, his shoulders back to regain his pride.
“It matters not. I will have what is mine, and your petty little community will shatter. It is an honor to know I have wounded you in such a way, Lesley. It will fuel my cold nights until I have spilled all of your blood as well.”
Rowland turned then, heading for the door. Christien quickly scrambled behind the wood, watching with his heart hammering in his throat as the Chancellor stalked down the hallway, never looking back.
“Holy Hell,” Christien whispered, shakily getting to his knees. The door suddenly moved under his resting hands and he fell to the side, Lesley’s suspicious glare looking down at him. “Uhh… hi?” Christien greeted unsteadily, not sure if the odd blue-haired man would be angry with him as well.
“…You.” Lesley turned from the door, reentering the room and taking a seat on a couch. Christien scrambled to his feet and hesitantly followed, standing in the doorway while the man brooded. Christien couldn’t help but use the time to stare, taking in the magnificent being that had been hiding under the First Chair’s glamours.
Lesley caught Christien staring with his mouth open, and rolled his eyes at the boy. “Get in and close the door. I don’t need the whole lot out there gaping at me like they’re at the zoo.”
Complying quickly, Christien stepped into the room, creeping up to Lesley and studying his face. “I wish you looked like this all the time,” he said more to himself, reaching a hand out to touch the delicate feathers dusting the man’s forehead.
“Little fool…” Lesley grabbed Christien's hand, his golden talons curling around the boy’s small fingers. “If you knew what I was, you would not touch me.”
Christien tilted his head to the side, licking his lips thoughtfully. With his other free hand he ran his fingertips over the sharp feathers shaping the man’s ear and then slipped into the silky blue locks. “I suppose that should matter… but it doesn’t. Are you mated yet?”
Lesley grabbed the other stray hand, pulling them together in front of him. “I am not a child’s toy, little one,” he growled, but with less venom than before, his golden eyes uncertain and caught off guard.
Annoyance broke through Christien’s daze, and he narrowed his gaze. “Twelve is old enough for mating. In Trace’s Clan I’m nearly a man. I will not be so casually disregarded.”
“…You are right. I forget what you are.” Lesley let go of Christien’s hands, which immediately fastened to his shoulders. Dane’s blood was predominant in the boy, and their kind chose early. The thought that the boy could have become so enamored with him was startling, for Lesley had been certain he had nearly gotten the boy killed that day. It would have to be of genetic origins, but he knew well how genetics were not always enough.
Lesley blamed his anger with Rowland for his next words, but knew that it was the pain of the necessary answer that made him so cruel. “You are not worthy of my lineage. Choose another.” It was Lesley that was not worthy, not of heart, not of spirit, not of soul. But the boy would never accept such an answer, and it was just not right to let him persist.
Christien’s nails dug into the man’s shoulder, and he scowled. “Bullshit.” He leaned forward, breathing in the man’s scent boldly. “I would not be so reckless to choose someone outside of my reach. You are exiled from your Clan, and those ties hold no bonds over you anymore.”
“I am not interested,” the man said tightly, leaving no room for argument.
Christien laughed lowly. “Liar.”
“I do not love you.”
“You will, in time.”
Lesley sighed in exasperation, grabbing the boy by the top of his arms and shaking him lightly. “Snap out of this nonsense and return to your parents. This is not a good place for you. Do you honestly think a man like I could have interest in a boy like you?”
Christien clicked his mouth shut, his eyes widening in shock as if he had just been struck. “…Of course. It was foolish of me,” he said softly, pulling away from Lesley. “There is just… something about you that makes me dizzy… No, I was not thinking clearly at all…”
“Very well, all is forgiven.” Lesley ran a hand through his hair, feeling overwhelmingly tired all of a sudden. “Be off now. It has been a trying evening, and I have much still to see to before it is over.”
“Lesley?” Christien called when the man would not look up at him in farewell. He returned in front of the quiet man, pulling up his heavy head, hands brushing unseen stubble on his chin. “At least say goodbye.”
The hard look in Lesley’s eyes melted, and he nodded at the boy. “Goodbye, love. Try not to give your parents too hard a time.”
Christien suddenly smiled wickedly and surged forward, kissing the man on the lips. He jumped back before retaliation could be made, his eyes sparkling in laughter.
“You may not like the boy of me, but I’ll be sure you fall in love with my grown version, Lesley Griffith.” Before Lesley could get up, or even shout, the boy was running out the door, smirking mischievously as he did.
Lesley sat in his chair, hand touching where, for a frozen instant, the boy’s lips had rested. He shook his head slowly, a laugh bubbling up and breaking free.
Indeed he was a fool of a man to have scorned such a love. If he were truly lucky the boy would make good his word and come back and try to win his heart one day.
Of course, Lesley knew by then that Christien’s instincts would have kicked in fully, and the man would decide on someone far more suitable. Still, it was a sweet dream, one well needed when faced with such troubling times, and Lesley allowed himself to keep it, if only in the deepest recesses of his heart.
*****
Christien’s coach ride home was filled with whirling thoughts and a hidden smile. His head was resting on his mother’s lap, his fathers’ voices across from him rising in a low lull along with the swaying coach that was sending him quickly off towards sleep.
Today he had learned that the human form was capable of hiding devils and angels, and the Council seemed to attract such power and hold the beings like pawns in a game. What game, he had yet to understand, and wondered if he ever would. All he knew was that it affected those around him, and as such needed to be held in check by another force.
No body of power could ever really be capable of policing itself. Perhaps that was why he was considering the hours of work and study it would take to become a Magistrate. In Christien heart though, he knew he just wanted to see the odd blue-haired man again.
Until then, he would learn to control his temper, and treat people with the respect that they deserved-or at least thought they did. Christien would carry himself with grace and confidence, and control, and become the warrior he knew he was. He could pretend to be the politician if he had to, but he would always truly be a warrior for the people, for the heart, and would bring that philosophy back to White Towers where the sad Lesley so desperately craved it.
He would topple the castle if he had to, Christien promised to himself, if only to make Lesley smile fully.
*****
The letter came five days after the assembly at White Towers, the First Chair’s personal seal engraved in gold wax on the back. Danielle turned it over a few times, unsure what could be contained, but worried it was something serious if Lesley had taken the time to write it.
Unfortunately, it was not addressed to her, and she could not in good conscience-or safe measure-bring herself to open it. Instead she waited at the kitchen island for her savage to come in for lunch.
“Hey mom,” Christien said as he ran in, kissing her on the cheek and quickly pouncing on the plate of sandwiches she had prepared for him. “Gods, I’m starving! Thank you, thank you!” he sang happily, careful not to spray crumbs all over the marble top.
“A letter came for you today,” Danielle said casually, smiling at the way her son was eating.
“Really?” Christen took a big swig of water, grabbed a napkin, and wiped his hands before wiggling his fingers excitedly. “Who’s it from?”
“Lesley Griffith,” she said, drawing the words out into an implied question that her son quite readily ignored.
“Thanks mom!” Christien took the offered envelope, looking at it for a moment before using his nail to break the seal on the back. Inside were two more envelopes. Christien stared at them thoughtfully, wondering if there would be another two in each envelope, continuing on for however small Lesley could manage to find envelopes.
On pulling them out he found one to be addressed to him, and the other to be for his parents, which he handed over suspiciously, watching his mother as she smiled triumphantly and ripped it open.
“What’s it say?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “What does yours say?” Danielle shot back. Christien scowled, taking his envelope and walking to the other side of the island so he could have some privacy. He looked up from time to time, scanning his mother’s face for signs of what she was reading.
Lesley’s neat handwriting glittered in gold ink as it flowed along the page with dramatic swirls and loops.
Hello there, little savage.
Christien quietly growled, immediately noticing that the man had chosen to call him a savage instead of acknowledging it as his last name.
I am writing this to inform you that an opportunity to participate in training to be an Enforcer has opened up. The camp will be three weeks long, and will be attended by young adults who are looking to prove their worth in the field. Normally I do not waste my time on the Enforcers, and only personally see to the Elite Enforcers, but I have found the current times deserving of a fresh perspective and I intend to ensure that this particular batch of Enforcers be adequate to take the next steps into the Elite when the time comes.
I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what an opportunity this is, Christien. It will not be an easy training, and is usually reserved for those much taller and much more experienced in the passing of years than you-although assuredly, you are not a child. I have recommended to your parents that they ensure you have the basics down before you arrive next month, consent willing. I will expect respectable behavior from you, as I do from any other adult.
I stress Respectable, little savage.
If you are looking for an extra reason to pester your parents to distraction to go to this camp, I will point out that the perceived discipline you learn during training will help you to keep your temper in check, and allow you to distinguish appropriate times to use your aggression.
Behave yourself, and keep your nose away from where it doesn’t belong.
Fondly yours,
Lesley Griffith
Christien didn’t know whether to scowl or cheer. He chose instead to hop off his stool and bowl into his mother with a big hug. “Please mom? Pleeeeeeease!”
Danielle smiled, but did not let her son see. Three whole weeks away from her darling angel? She’d have his bags packed that night if she had to.
End
ATtD Chapter Index Links
Lesley parted ways with Christien at the main doorway of White Towers, reminding him not to wander off again. People were streaming by, all heading towards the Annunciation Chamber, and Christien quickly stepped in line behind them, keeping an eye out for his parents and skirting around a doorway to avoid them seeing him. He followed moments after, blending into the crowd and finding a nice crush free place to watch the activities.
Unfortunately, nothing seemed to be going on besides the filing in of those that could make it, and Christien began to grow bored. Not enough to welcome the unwanted company of Severus Snape who had somehow ended up beside him by the pillar he had chosen, but enough to at least speak with him.
Christien quickly realized that his new look had a very different impression from his usually messy discord, for Severus stared at him for a short moment and then nodded approvingly. “Looks like you finally found yourself a mirror, Savage.”
Feeling rather proud of himself, Christien didn’t tell the other boy to piss off this time. “Any clue what this meeting is all about?” he asked instead.
Severus’s eyes darkened, and he nodded sharply. “You know Lucius-of course you do, you knocked him out a while back. I think this is about how he tried and failed to rescue Narcissa Black.”
Christien did remember Lucius. He was a know-it-all with a too sharp tongue and glass jaw that he tried very hard to divert others from discovering with his advanced magic. “Oh… Good. Maybe the Council will vote to help rescue them.”
Snape gave him a pitying look and shook his head. “You really don’t know anything about anything yet, do you?”
Christien almost said something but instead snapped his mouth shut, a shock of blue hair by the Councilors’ area catching his attention. Severus noticed, supplying the man’s information for him. “That blue-haired one is Lesley Griffith. He’s a good sort, but only because he’s bound by magic to be. He’s the First Chair, meaning he’s a direct descendant of the Fae gods that were banished to Earth.”
Christien’s eyes grew wide, and he started from Lesley to Severus. That was why the man had the mural of the gods in his room so different from all other depictions of the four. He was their descendant. Surely he would be the one to save the Council more than any Magistrate could. Excited by the news, Christien nearly missed what Severus said next.
“Course, he doesn’t have any real power. The Council looks at him as a joke. Pretty foolish on their part, but then, who can take someone serious when they can’t even defend themselves against their own peers’ attacks.”
“What do you mean? Why can’t he defend himself?”
“He’s bound by a great ritual. As long as he chooses to be a Councilor, his power is crippled, keeping him from raising any magic against his fellow Councilors. It was a failsafe put in by the Council thousands of years ago to keep the ancestors of the Fallen Children of Light from taking over the Council and creating havoc.”
“But… but what if they kill him!” Christien whispered furiously, his eyes scanning the group of Councilors and looking for unseen threats.
Severus just shrugged. “He’s a wily one; no one has gotten him yet. And if it were such a big concern, I suspect he would have left by now. He’s been at it for three hundred years as it is, and doesn’t seem about to run away with his tail between his legs just yet.”
“Three Hundred Years!” Christien yelped too loud, immediately quieting down as the people around gave him derisive looks. “He’s three hundred years old?”
“Three hundred and seven, to be precise,” a familiar voice behind him said, and Christien turned to find his father Edward standing over him. “Your mother has been worried sick. She’ll be quite surprised to find you in one piece, and cleaned up at that. Want to tell me what you’ve been up to, young man?”
Christien shot an uncomfortable look to Severus, who surprisingly nodded and left without a word. Maybe being civil to people had its upside after all. “I, uh… I was around,” Christien said a little defiantly, remembering why he had left his parents’ side in the first place.
“Were you now? Trace and I searched the whole first floor from top to bottom.” Edward pointed to his jacket sleeve that now had a perfectly round, quarter sized scorch mark on it. “I was chosen to look in the stables. I will need a more detailed explanation then you being ‘around.’”
The little mark on his father’s sleeve sent a strange, hollow feeling through Christien’s stomach. His parents’ could have been hurt looking for him. If he had stayed where he was supposed to they wouldn’t have had to look for him in such a dangerous place. “Dad, I, uh… I’m sorry.”
Edward noticed his son’s trembling lip and watery eyes and nodded silently in acceptance. He pulled him into a hug, careful not to ruffle his hair or clothes in the process. The sight of Christien clean and neat would be more than enough to appease Danielle. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I might not have been though, if not for Lesley. He made sure I didn’t go to the stables, or…” He gulped, thinking of his very near death experience. “I don’t like the Chancellor, dad. I don’t like him at all.”
Edward met the haunted gaze, worry churning in the pit of his stomach to see his son in such fear. “You’re not the only one, kiddo,” he said softly, brushing a stray curl behind Christien’s ear. He would need to talk with Trace for this one, for he had no idea how to get such information from his little son. Edward would learn it though, and then he would severely punish the ones that had caused that look to appear in Christien’s eyes.
“I need to go tell Danielle you’re safe before she brings the castle down around our ears. You’re welcome to stay here or watch with us. You just need to promise not to wander off again.”
“I won’t.” Christien had no intention of exploring White Towers anytime soon, especially if there was a good chance the Chancellor could be lurking in the dark corridors. He gave his father’s hand an extra hard squeeze before letting go, ducking around the pillar so he could hear the opening formalities.
Severus was waiting there, although the older boy gave no comment to the scene of before. Christien was glad for it.
The assembly was finally getting under way and Councilor Stratford announced the Chancellor to the floor. The sight of the man sent chills down Christien’s spine and he subtly inched closer to Severus, who only gave him a brief glance at the odd behavior.
Christien found that Rowland Loxton had a very odd smile. It was charming in a lot of ways, but either from strain or from Christien’s perception of the man, he found the man’s lips to stretch too far, revealing too many teeth tinted unnaturally bright against the tanned skin. The man had chosen to wear royal blue against white, and appeared in all accounts to be upstanding and refined.
If Christien did not know better he would have found the Chancellor agreeable, and not a deranged creature of violence and schemes. But then, he did know better. Just as he knew underneath his own groomed locks and schooled features lived a wild, angry boy. And behind Lesley’s strange golden eyes and handsome features was a delicate soul of haunted emotions and frightening power.
“Here we go,” Severus whispered, fixed on the change in the Chancellor as the man got to the point of the meeting.
“As you are all aware of, we have recently lost one of our children to the grasp of the Dark Lord. This is a tragedy, but one that demands immediate action. Lucius Malfoy was not a victim of this madman, but a willing participant, and he must be made an example before others follow.”
A troubled murmur went up at Rowland’s words, and Christien couldn’t help but look in the direction of Lucius’s clan. Their beautiful Veela faces had shown less poise that day, and at the moment had gone unnaturally pale at the news.
Rowland continued, his voice overpowering the conflicting noise. “If Lucius has his way, the Black prophecy will come to fruition with his blood, literally handing the world’s power to the Dark Lord. For all we know he has already twisted the minds of his Clan and of the remaining Scion Dragon Clans-such power is all corrupting after all. Who can truly say what one would do?
“If we are to raise a force against the Dark Lord we must be free to do so without the fear of insiders conveying potential information to the dark front. Although I understand that none of this can be fully proven, I must do what I feel is best to protect this Council and the Wizarding World in these times of escalating violence. Lucius has signed his fate with his actions by uniting with the Dark Lord. And the two Clans that helped him must be held accountable.
“As Chancellor it is my sad, but necessarily duty to ban Lucius Malfoy from our midst, and all that would help him in his cause, including the North Light Veela Clan and the Scion Dragon Clan.”
What had been a muttering of discontent exploded into a chaos of confused and angry voices. Banning two prominent Clans from the Council over the actions of one boy?
“You would exile us all, just for you fear of us!” Heartsease Black said, her voice breaking through the chaos like a whip. “That poor child was raised to rule this Council and you would have her happily abandoned to the Dark Lord’s clutches because of it. It is no wonder that you have forbidden all to rescue her. What was Lucius to do when you would allow none to help him? That he survived is feat enough!”
The Chancellor shook his head slowly. “I can understand the distress of the Scion Dragon Clan, but it was your line targeted and infiltrated by the Dark Lord to begin with. It is just not in the community’s interest to let you remain and slowly corrupt the rest of us.”
“Corrupt! How dare you-!”
“What right do you have to take away our standings here?” It was Lucius’s grandfather, his eyes ablaze but his voice steady and calm. “You’ve ruled this Council hardly three years, yet have failed to prove yourself in any regard. The High Tieren will not even acknowledge the Council’s presence since you have taken reign.
“Loxton, it was you that failed to protect the Scion Dragon Clan from being targeted in the first place, and your consequential failure in recovering Narcissa Black or her deranged sister, Bellatrix. Instead you seem content to let the situation grow out of control. Now that the situation has reached a new frenzy, instead of positive action, you scapegoat our Clans, as if hiding your own inept actions. Believe me, child, you have hidden nothing from us.”
“Please, you must not let your fears for your lost clan member cloud your judgment, nor should the rest of you let pity rule you here,” Rowland said evenly, his expression just the right level of compassion and decisiveness.
“If the Dark Lord gains a foothold into this Council we may never recover. We must act now, and systematically cut any ties that may lead to such an event, even if it means slicing our own family from us. In time, once the Dark Lord crisis has blown over the Clans will be readily reinstated. This is not a permanent act, just a necessary one as we work our way towards peace.”
“You have yet to mention how such peace will be achieved, Rowland,” Lesley broke in.
Lesley's eyes were alight with death, and his voice struck like an axe, but he stood poised and tranquil, as if gazing upon a darkening of sky far away in the distance. The effect was immediate, and the crowd stilled their movements. Christien felt the tension building in the air and wished he could shift position to relieve it, but knew to do so would likely trip a power so great that once started would not be able to be contained.
Rowland seemed unperturbed except for his smile, which had slipped and stretched into a thinness that bordered a grimace. “Ah, Lesley, somehow I knew you would have some sort of opposition to this. You never were a man for action. I am not surprised that you do not grasp the urgency of this decree.”
“I have seen enough rash and reckless actions in the hands of the inexperienced to know when pause is needed. You seem only motivated by fear, and lack very little, if any, facts to back up your accusations.”
“The Malfoy boy’s actions speak for themselves. Clearly he seeks to sire the prophecy child and rule the world.”
“His actions speak only of a desperate boy seeking to rescue his mate from a horrible fate. It is hardly damning that he was the only one willing to risk whatever was necessary to get the prophecy child away from the Dark Lord. And when that couldn’t come to be, he offered his life in the hopes of creating a more sympathetic being. At least the prophecy child will not share the same blood as the Dark Lord himself.”
“You may spin the situation whatever way you like, Lesley. It is what your kind is best known for, which is why the Heir was wise to restrict you to speech alone. But I will not have the Council grow weak by allowing questionable members to remain.”
Lesley’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his heritage, well aware that that alone could sway the crowd against him. “I am not restricted just to speech, Rowland. I am the final check before passing to the great Book of Decrees. You have yet to prove yourself to me, and you have been here already three years. I have seen even the most inane of Chancellors do better in my many years here.”
Rowland’s expression grew smug, and Christien watched with growing trepidation. “I do not believe that the Book will be necessary. After all, it is only a temporary law until the Dark Lord situation is played out.”
“A vote, then,” Lesley said immediately, his voice darkening. “The people should have a right to voice their opinion on the matter.”
“Normally I would wholeheartedly agree. But the reason for this new law also makes clear how a vote cannot be possible. No, as Chancellor it is my duty to use my judgment to create the safest atmosphere possible for the community. Although there may be discord, I cannot allow any defectors to run these proceedings.”
Christien was certain Lesley was going to throw himself on the Chancellor and rip him limb from limb, with help from the majority of the crowd glaring at the cruel man.
“You were elected as Chancellor to answer to this community’s needs, not to decide what they are, Rowland! We have no king in you, as many of the Clans with ruling royalty will agree as you are far too inept for it. If you do not listen to these people you will lose more than the Clans you foolishly plan to exile. You will lose the heart of the people, along with their trust, and very likely, their numbers.”
“I never pegged you for the romantic, Lesley. Still, I will remind you again, this is only temporary. It would be like having the Council vote on a freak rainstorm; by the time proceedings have finalized it would have already passed.”
“It matters not your opinion on the matter. The people have a right to vote.”
“If you had been paying attention to the charter you so love to quote, Lesley, you would have noticed that they do not. It is a given right, not an earned one, and I have no intention of giving it this time.”
“As First Chair, the right is mine to give.”
“Perhaps if it were fifty years ago. Chancellor Tuskry seemed to have quite a time with your antiquated ways as well, which is why he placed more checks on your power, the main one being that the right to vote could be cast down by the Council. As you can see, the Council has cast it down.”
Lesley turned to the Councilors behind him, surprised to find that the majority had their hands up like Rowland had said. “What madness is this? He is slicing us apart and you favor him!”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. Rowland has explained how short lived the law will be. We are in a time of war, and as such our actions must be more severe than normal.” Councilor Bower said.
Lesley shook his head in frustration. “If we were at war we would be fighting back, instead of foolishly destroying the one sure thing we have in winning; our unity as a community. Stratford, Edward, and Glen; your hands are down. Speak for your people before this Council is torn in two.”
“We have tried, Lesley,” Stratford said, his strong voice sounding weaker than normal. “It was put to vote without your knowing only this morning. Certain… revelations seem to have swayed their hearts more than any sense of logic.”
“What revelations? If you have a culprit than speak the name, instead of casting suspicion on two whole Clans.”
“If it were that easy I would not have chosen this path,” Rowland spoke up. “As I said, we must nip this corruption before it has a chance to blossom.”
“You would have fear run your decisions. You are not fit for this rule, Rowland.”
“The Council seems to think enough of me. They will not cast me out if you try to place that to vote as well, Lesley. You have no power here.” The last was spoken in threat, and Lesley bristled at the implications.
Something changed in the blue-haired man, a sweeping of power glistening and flexing, and for a moment Christien thought he saw something beneath, something with wings and claws. It was only a moment though, and when Christien blinked Lesley was as he had always been, anger brimming and bubbling in waves around him.
“You have left me no choice,” Lesley said slowly, and with finality. “Your actions today have proven your intentions more than any veritaserum ever could. From this day forth I ban you from the Book of Decrees. Your power will be as crippled as your weak-minded actions. You will hold no law, only the delusions that you have created of your position, and the High Tieren will no longer be open to you.
“Hopefully this Council will see your folly soon enough to remove you from your position and replace you with someone more competent, most likely the unborn child you so readily fear.”
“Honestly, Lesley, you are being too much. Firstly, you hardly hold the power to restrict me from the Book, and secondly, it is only a temporary law. You are blowing things out of proportion since you cannot get your own way.”
“Tell that to the Clans you have abandoned. I’m sure they hardly feel I am over reacting. Believe me, Rowland, if the ability were mine you would be long from this Council. It is not, but my check on the book is. Even if you were to circumvent me, you do not know how to enter the Hall of Peace, which your people are now very well aware of.”
Rowland’s eyes narrowed, and his composure cracked, his face turning murderous. “You are just an echo of voices past, better left to rot in the ground, Lesley. You cannot keep me from what is mine!”
Lesley was serene in his furious righteousness, his glamours once again faltering as his power spiked. Feathers were clearly seen on his ears now, along with long wicked talons curling his fingers into weapons.
“I have found you unworthy, mortal. Until another is found to replace you, the Great Book of Decrees will remain untouched. If you wish to negate this ruling, you may take it up with my great ancestor. I would recommend it, Rowland. Your painful demise will move things along much swifter.”
It was with controlled anger that the Chancellor whirled, marching from the room. Voices immediately rose in protest. Lesley may have checked the Chancellor, but his law was still in effect, and the North Light Veela and Scion Dragon Clans were banned from the Council, and community, indefinitely.
Many tried to speak with Lesley, and the Councilors that had stood against the ruling, but there was little to be done. Lesley promised that he would not abandon them, and would arrange that the Ministry of Magic would accept them even if the Council would not. He did not stay long, his anger an unchecked current that had little place to go in the large Annunciation Chamber.
*****
Watching Lesley leave, Christien hesitated a moment before following. He wanted to ask him what could be done, wanted to know how the role of a Magistrate could help in a crazy situation like this. Christien really wanted to know that everything would be all right and he had heard wrong, blown it all out of proportion.
The Dark Lord had kidnapped Narcissa two years ago with the help of her deranged sister, slaughtered her family, and no one had raised a finger to help her. It had been a horrible time, filled with terror. Christien had only turned ten, and had seen Narcissa days before at a Clan affair.
Hers was not the only Clan to suffer such losses; just that year the Scion Incubus Clan had been practically wiped out except for the one surviving toddler, Clive. They all wondered who was next. Christien could not see how dividing them could help win against the madman hunting their bloodlines.
Severus grabbed Christien's sleeve right when he got outside the room, his dark eyes watching him closely. Christien pulled away, regarding the other boy with suspicion.
Severus shook his head silently, and then looked around before whispering, “He might be the better man, but he’ll never win, Savage. I suggest you choose someone else.”
Christien glared, throwing himself down the hallway where Lesley had disappeared. Severus didn’t follow.
Angry voices echoed down the hall, and Christien cautiously followed to their source. In a side room, two twists and a turn from the Annunciation Chamber, Lesley had found Rowland. Christien peered in through the gap in the doors, not able to see the men but recognizing their voices just fine as they rose fiery.
“You’ve crossed me for the last time Griffith! If it weren’t for that sticky business with being hunted down by the Fallen Children of Light I would have killed you the second I took power.”
It was the wrong room for Rowland, Christien decided quickly as the old instruments and innocent looking everyday items flared to power with each pulse of Lesley’s aura.
Lesley was deceptively calm as he walked past the door, his voice a low growl of influence. “You have taken back years of good with this decree, possibly irreparable damage has been done to the community and any sway the Council may hold over it. You cannot hold power with people that cannot trust if you will leave them at the altar for every evil wizard that comes along.
“What were you thinking? You took away the people’s will to vote! They will never return here in these numbers, and when we truly need them they will only remember those that you tossed aside.”
“Oh stop with your holier than thou attitude. The people will return because they have nowhere else to turn. The Ministry is hardly capable of handling the Voldemort situation, and the muggles are completely useless. They will be banging down the door looking for our help.”
There was a bright pulse of light and a crashing sound from where Lesley was inside the room. Stilling, Christien carefully inched closer to the gap, gazing in to make sure the man had not been attacked.
Thankfully Lesley was standing and seemed unharmed, although he was glowing in a golden aura, tangible power crackling about him. More feathers had made their way past his glamours, and Christien noticed Lesley’s hair had grown and something from behind was holding it neat.
“And without the Scion Clans we will have no help to give!” Lesley spoke, and his voice had grown smoother and frightening. It was a wonder that Rowland could face him alone in that little room-surely the man was petrified, Christien thought.
Listening carefully, it seemed Rowland’s voice had grown more cautious in the face of Lesley’s slip of control. “The Scion Dragon Clan was broken as it was. They hardly could be of help.”
“You do not understand the Scion. They are the royals of the fae blood. They are represented in the High Tieren. They are united. They will rise against such a snub to their kind and either turn all from the Council, or decide to wipe us off the face of the planet.
“You have put us all in a deadly situation. Either way the High Tieren will have nothing to do with us, even if Voldemort himself comes walking in and takes over the place. You have destroyed all hope of their cooperation.”
Rowland walked into view, the man’s tense shoulders shrugging. “What does it matter? We have no need of the fae and their antiquated ways.”
“The fae may not gift you the power you crave, but that does not mean this Council does not need them.”
More of Lesley’s illusions were shattering, thebright iridescent gold wings sprouting from his lower back curving up and high by his shoulders, the smaller pair resting on his shoulder blades revealed to frame his neck and hold his hair back in a cascade of blue water. His skin was speckled with soft golden scales that glittered in the lamplight, and his talons of before looked more solid and destructive, shining pure gold.
“I am reminded everyday how useless the fae are, Lesley. You cannot even raise a hand to me.” Rowland stepped close challengingly, his hand raised up as if to strike. “What good are those that cannot even lift a simple curse?”
Rowland shot forward, his fist coming across Lesley’s cheek. He did not make his mark, instead falling forward and stumbling into a low chair from the momentum.
Lesley turned to gaze icily at the sprawled man. Rowland’s speed was little challenge to a direct descendant of Solus Ta.
“I chose this robe of responsibility, Rowland, and with it came a willing sacrifice. I believed in this Council once, and I still believe in the people it protects. But do not misjudge me, or the fae. We may seem odd to you, but we are anything but weak. We understand the importance of family, and community, and when the time calls you will see how our loyalties will persevere even as your weak mortal body is taken by the wind.”
Rowland stood quickly, an embarrassed flush making his angry grimace glow with red malice. He pulled his robes together and stepped around Lesley, his shoulders back to regain his pride.
“It matters not. I will have what is mine, and your petty little community will shatter. It is an honor to know I have wounded you in such a way, Lesley. It will fuel my cold nights until I have spilled all of your blood as well.”
Rowland turned then, heading for the door. Christien quickly scrambled behind the wood, watching with his heart hammering in his throat as the Chancellor stalked down the hallway, never looking back.
“Holy Hell,” Christien whispered, shakily getting to his knees. The door suddenly moved under his resting hands and he fell to the side, Lesley’s suspicious glare looking down at him. “Uhh… hi?” Christien greeted unsteadily, not sure if the odd blue-haired man would be angry with him as well.
“…You.” Lesley turned from the door, reentering the room and taking a seat on a couch. Christien scrambled to his feet and hesitantly followed, standing in the doorway while the man brooded. Christien couldn’t help but use the time to stare, taking in the magnificent being that had been hiding under the First Chair’s glamours.
Lesley caught Christien staring with his mouth open, and rolled his eyes at the boy. “Get in and close the door. I don’t need the whole lot out there gaping at me like they’re at the zoo.”
Complying quickly, Christien stepped into the room, creeping up to Lesley and studying his face. “I wish you looked like this all the time,” he said more to himself, reaching a hand out to touch the delicate feathers dusting the man’s forehead.
“Little fool…” Lesley grabbed Christien's hand, his golden talons curling around the boy’s small fingers. “If you knew what I was, you would not touch me.”
Christien tilted his head to the side, licking his lips thoughtfully. With his other free hand he ran his fingertips over the sharp feathers shaping the man’s ear and then slipped into the silky blue locks. “I suppose that should matter… but it doesn’t. Are you mated yet?”
Lesley grabbed the other stray hand, pulling them together in front of him. “I am not a child’s toy, little one,” he growled, but with less venom than before, his golden eyes uncertain and caught off guard.
Annoyance broke through Christien’s daze, and he narrowed his gaze. “Twelve is old enough for mating. In Trace’s Clan I’m nearly a man. I will not be so casually disregarded.”
“…You are right. I forget what you are.” Lesley let go of Christien’s hands, which immediately fastened to his shoulders. Dane’s blood was predominant in the boy, and their kind chose early. The thought that the boy could have become so enamored with him was startling, for Lesley had been certain he had nearly gotten the boy killed that day. It would have to be of genetic origins, but he knew well how genetics were not always enough.
Lesley blamed his anger with Rowland for his next words, but knew that it was the pain of the necessary answer that made him so cruel. “You are not worthy of my lineage. Choose another.” It was Lesley that was not worthy, not of heart, not of spirit, not of soul. But the boy would never accept such an answer, and it was just not right to let him persist.
Christien’s nails dug into the man’s shoulder, and he scowled. “Bullshit.” He leaned forward, breathing in the man’s scent boldly. “I would not be so reckless to choose someone outside of my reach. You are exiled from your Clan, and those ties hold no bonds over you anymore.”
“I am not interested,” the man said tightly, leaving no room for argument.
Christien laughed lowly. “Liar.”
“I do not love you.”
“You will, in time.”
Lesley sighed in exasperation, grabbing the boy by the top of his arms and shaking him lightly. “Snap out of this nonsense and return to your parents. This is not a good place for you. Do you honestly think a man like I could have interest in a boy like you?”
Christien clicked his mouth shut, his eyes widening in shock as if he had just been struck. “…Of course. It was foolish of me,” he said softly, pulling away from Lesley. “There is just… something about you that makes me dizzy… No, I was not thinking clearly at all…”
“Very well, all is forgiven.” Lesley ran a hand through his hair, feeling overwhelmingly tired all of a sudden. “Be off now. It has been a trying evening, and I have much still to see to before it is over.”
“Lesley?” Christien called when the man would not look up at him in farewell. He returned in front of the quiet man, pulling up his heavy head, hands brushing unseen stubble on his chin. “At least say goodbye.”
The hard look in Lesley’s eyes melted, and he nodded at the boy. “Goodbye, love. Try not to give your parents too hard a time.”
Christien suddenly smiled wickedly and surged forward, kissing the man on the lips. He jumped back before retaliation could be made, his eyes sparkling in laughter.
“You may not like the boy of me, but I’ll be sure you fall in love with my grown version, Lesley Griffith.” Before Lesley could get up, or even shout, the boy was running out the door, smirking mischievously as he did.
Lesley sat in his chair, hand touching where, for a frozen instant, the boy’s lips had rested. He shook his head slowly, a laugh bubbling up and breaking free.
Indeed he was a fool of a man to have scorned such a love. If he were truly lucky the boy would make good his word and come back and try to win his heart one day.
Of course, Lesley knew by then that Christien’s instincts would have kicked in fully, and the man would decide on someone far more suitable. Still, it was a sweet dream, one well needed when faced with such troubling times, and Lesley allowed himself to keep it, if only in the deepest recesses of his heart.
*****
Christien’s coach ride home was filled with whirling thoughts and a hidden smile. His head was resting on his mother’s lap, his fathers’ voices across from him rising in a low lull along with the swaying coach that was sending him quickly off towards sleep.
Today he had learned that the human form was capable of hiding devils and angels, and the Council seemed to attract such power and hold the beings like pawns in a game. What game, he had yet to understand, and wondered if he ever would. All he knew was that it affected those around him, and as such needed to be held in check by another force.
No body of power could ever really be capable of policing itself. Perhaps that was why he was considering the hours of work and study it would take to become a Magistrate. In Christien heart though, he knew he just wanted to see the odd blue-haired man again.
Until then, he would learn to control his temper, and treat people with the respect that they deserved-or at least thought they did. Christien would carry himself with grace and confidence, and control, and become the warrior he knew he was. He could pretend to be the politician if he had to, but he would always truly be a warrior for the people, for the heart, and would bring that philosophy back to White Towers where the sad Lesley so desperately craved it.
He would topple the castle if he had to, Christien promised to himself, if only to make Lesley smile fully.
*****
The letter came five days after the assembly at White Towers, the First Chair’s personal seal engraved in gold wax on the back. Danielle turned it over a few times, unsure what could be contained, but worried it was something serious if Lesley had taken the time to write it.
Unfortunately, it was not addressed to her, and she could not in good conscience-or safe measure-bring herself to open it. Instead she waited at the kitchen island for her savage to come in for lunch.
“Hey mom,” Christien said as he ran in, kissing her on the cheek and quickly pouncing on the plate of sandwiches she had prepared for him. “Gods, I’m starving! Thank you, thank you!” he sang happily, careful not to spray crumbs all over the marble top.
“A letter came for you today,” Danielle said casually, smiling at the way her son was eating.
“Really?” Christen took a big swig of water, grabbed a napkin, and wiped his hands before wiggling his fingers excitedly. “Who’s it from?”
“Lesley Griffith,” she said, drawing the words out into an implied question that her son quite readily ignored.
“Thanks mom!” Christien took the offered envelope, looking at it for a moment before using his nail to break the seal on the back. Inside were two more envelopes. Christien stared at them thoughtfully, wondering if there would be another two in each envelope, continuing on for however small Lesley could manage to find envelopes.
On pulling them out he found one to be addressed to him, and the other to be for his parents, which he handed over suspiciously, watching his mother as she smiled triumphantly and ripped it open.
“What’s it say?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “What does yours say?” Danielle shot back. Christien scowled, taking his envelope and walking to the other side of the island so he could have some privacy. He looked up from time to time, scanning his mother’s face for signs of what she was reading.
Lesley’s neat handwriting glittered in gold ink as it flowed along the page with dramatic swirls and loops.
Hello there, little savage.
Christien quietly growled, immediately noticing that the man had chosen to call him a savage instead of acknowledging it as his last name.
I am writing this to inform you that an opportunity to participate in training to be an Enforcer has opened up. The camp will be three weeks long, and will be attended by young adults who are looking to prove their worth in the field. Normally I do not waste my time on the Enforcers, and only personally see to the Elite Enforcers, but I have found the current times deserving of a fresh perspective and I intend to ensure that this particular batch of Enforcers be adequate to take the next steps into the Elite when the time comes.
I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what an opportunity this is, Christien. It will not be an easy training, and is usually reserved for those much taller and much more experienced in the passing of years than you-although assuredly, you are not a child. I have recommended to your parents that they ensure you have the basics down before you arrive next month, consent willing. I will expect respectable behavior from you, as I do from any other adult.
I stress Respectable, little savage.
If you are looking for an extra reason to pester your parents to distraction to go to this camp, I will point out that the perceived discipline you learn during training will help you to keep your temper in check, and allow you to distinguish appropriate times to use your aggression.
Behave yourself, and keep your nose away from where it doesn’t belong.
Fondly yours,
Lesley Griffith
Christien didn’t know whether to scowl or cheer. He chose instead to hop off his stool and bowl into his mother with a big hug. “Please mom? Pleeeeeeease!”
Danielle smiled, but did not let her son see. Three whole weeks away from her darling angel? She’d have his bags packed that night if she had to.
End
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