Chapter Text
Fionnula aep Lir is energised.
After having nearly burned herself out diverting the better part of a flash flood from her camp of trainees, one would think that she should be exhausted, and, well. She is, she is incredibly exhausted, and is content to let herself be fussed over for the day. But she is also energised.
They have allies. Mysterious allies who don't speak a word of any language she or anyone else in the camp is familiar with, who came out of nowhere a day after the massive surge of magical energy near the peak--and she does not think that that is a coincidence. Not with the power that they carry so casually it makes her teeth hurt.
One with mastery over monsters and cursed spirits, and who knows what else, and the other with the very stars in his eyes.
It's jarring to see round ears every time she looks at them, but that aside, they both clearly favour the elven side of their heritage. Oh, she can see the human if she looks closely enough, but if their hair covered their ears, nobody in their right mind would think anything but 'elf'.
They're also cheeky brats, but they might be her cheeky brats. Certainly, they've jumped right into training the recruits, and even teaching a few little magical tricks of the sort that anyone, sorcerer or not, can use.
Right after casually demonstrating the kind of martial prowess that would make legends weep.
That hammers in the final nail in her assumption that, in everything but their ears, they heavily favour their elven parents: nobody their apparent human age could possibly be that skilled. She adds a century to their apparent ages, and finds herself satisfied. Not that that stops them from acting like juveniles--shameless juveniles, though perhaps it is rather the shamelessness that comes with age and power. Why be circumspect when you can crush anyone who looks at you wrongly?
She has no idea where they have been until now, and no idea what made them show themselves now, at this moment. No idea what made them seek out the Scoia'tael--the only word they had recognised out of all that Aoife and Ciaran had spoken to them.
Some other world, perhaps; she can sense the power that they don't bother to hide, and either one may have enough to possibly overcome that distance, even without an alignment of the spheres. It would explain the language, and the strange clothes, and the strange magical devices they carry... A more logical explanation of course is that they are merely from some far distant land, from the east, perhaps, or over the sea to west.
Still, the ability to casually summon monsters, and... whatever chokingly terrifying Elder blooded hell it is that Godżo does...
Even remembering makes her shudder, that sensation of his power laying against hers, briefly, as he completely covered her shattered barriers and wards--
It's too much.
And the worst part is, she's somehow certain that he had done it that way on purpose, just to give her a taste of what had cheerfully wandered into her camp to teach her recruits, and exchange flagrantly public displays of affection with his lover.
Husband?
Wife?
The thought has occured to her, especially after glimpsing the images of the children on one of their devices, portraits so realistic as to be indiscernable from life. Adorable girls, and a boy pouting through a curtain of dark hair, like a drowned rat. The children resemble them, especially the girls, and stranger things can and have been done with magic.
Just thinking about it makes her feel exhausted again.
“They’re a bit like that, aren’t they?” Harvey asks, from his bed near hers.
“Aye,” Fionnula agrees.
"I think they're basically good lads though," the dwarf adds. "They didn't hesitate to pull all that fancy medical equipment out and help me, and let's be honest with each other, between the two of us, I'm not the sort that that sort usually bothers with."
She wants to protest his assessment, but he's not exactly wrong; the high and mighty--among humans or elves--do not, as a rule, bother with anyone so far beneath them, no matter the species.
"You aren't wrong," she finally sighs. "What do you make of them otherwise?" Harvey has a keen eye for a number of things; she trusts his assessments of character, for instance, even above Darraigh's.
"Half-elf or better," Harvey says immediately. "I'd say they have at most one human grandparent each. Have you ever seen a human so tall? I sure as hell haven't. Powerful sorcerers, obviously, and probably well-trained and in practice. Older than they look of course, but maybe not by much; I'd put them both under a century. Maybe as young as fifty."
“I think them closer to a hundred and twenty, give or take,” Fionnula replies. “Since you’ve been laid up, you missed it, but they’re also both exceptionally skilled warriors—they gave a demonstration,” she explains.
Harvey hums thoughtfully.
“An exceptionally juvenile century-and-a-quarter, then?” he asks. Fionnula laughs.
“Roughly what I was thinking,” she agrees. “Anything else?”
“I don’t think those two are used to thinking of most other people as people,” Harvey says, slowly. “They come across as some kind of nobility, yeah? Maybe even royalty. The only rules that apply are the ones they decide apply.”
This is one of the reasons Fionnula likes Harvey; he’s smart, and insightful. So, so insightful.
“But?” she prompts.
“I think they like us, for some reason.” Harvey scratches his cheek, and hum again. “Especially that Godżo… even if he isn’t…”
“…Quite right in the head?”
They share a laugh.
“Ehh, the other one’s all of his impulse control, isn’t he?” Harvey asks, still chuckling. “At least, he wants to seem that way. We’ve got us some powerful allies, Finna. Provided we keep on their good sides.”
“So leave them to a few eccentricities and oddities, and ignore the improprieties, is what you’re saying.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Harvey agrees.
“…all right,” Fionnula finally replies. “Let’s see where this goes.”