under suspicion (fiaethe, aeotha, leironuoth, elemmire)
When someone said 'map room', Skandra usually expected the thing to be full of maps. They were there - endless wooden tubes capped in bronze, which could be unscrewed to reveal the carefully waxed map inside. Yet there was only one map on display. A stretch of leather had been carefully inked with the whole of Astarii's borders visible to anyone that looked. Skandra's fingers were tracing this name, that name, all of it in the tongue of the High elves. Yet always his fingers found their way back to Ra Arato Sapsa. Always he was left with more questions than answers. It was just a name on a map. It couldn't tell him anything that he didn't already know. And if this, what he despised, was any indication... then his life was not about to become less complicated. It was about to become more complicated. And the most he could hope for in all of this madness was a little bit of luck and a lot of good will. Ramga had to be the one, didn't he? Only what To had explained didn't make any sense.
There was very little that made any sense.
That leather map of Astarii was secured by brass bolts to the surface of a long, wooden table. The lacquer shone brightly even in the dim torchlight. Skandra had seated himself at this table as soon as they'd arrived. Someone had thoughtfully arranged for food to be available; roasted beef was sliced thick and still steaming. Bread was peasant food, in these parts; someone had still given them three crusty loaves of the stuff. Skandra was halfway through eating one of them, pinching jagged bits of the fine food between his fingers before shoving it into his mouth. Apples and sunfruit were in great supply. Some sort of candied fruit that he didn't recognize was hidden behind a cloudy glass lid. Wine was also in great supply; drinking out of a long-stemmed glass was a frustration that he endured for the sake of the nourishment. Someone had also arranged for cheeses to be present. Cheese. When was the last time he'd eaten cheese? Ashara, probably, and that was... some time ago. Skandra shoved a wedge of it into his mouth all the same, and smiled blandly as he chewed.
All of those wood tubes, capped in bronze, were arranged in a careful military style, long rows three-deep to one side of the room. Skandra looked up at the domed ceiling to find a map of the world, with the lines commonly used for seafarers to find their way based on the patterns of the sun. Another slice of roast beef was folded by one hand and shoved past his lips. Eating food this rich was probably going to make him sick. Not right now. To's story could hardly be credited. After Eiron's death, a bit of digging had revealed Eiron's role in trafficking dark texts. Blood magic, the grim sort of thing Skandra might hav eexpected Gershul to read. And those texts had come through Eruheran, a fellow at the temple; Eruheran had proceeded to point the finger at Ramga. But if Ramga was truly guilty of that, how had he stayed second to Eiron for all of these years? Why had no one heard of him in a serious way before now? Why was it just coming to light? And why would someone with all that power play games with Ilúvatar?
Apparently, nobody here was very bright.
"I thought you two fixed this place," Skandra grinned at Aeotha.
"I thought killing Eiron would fix things once," as usual Aeotha was serious and stern; as usual, that was kind of a turn on. "But we both know now that revenge hardly solves all problems. It only exacerbates them."
"Please!" Skandra scoffed. "As though you're the first person to figure out revenge is ugly. I'm talking about everybody in this country looking out for themselves. What makes you think we can trust anyone we've met since we got back?"
"Because I know Ilúvatar. I trust him. And if he trusted these people here, then I do," now she was making that semi-pinched angry face at him. "Be cautious if you like, but we cannot afford to be rude. There isn't time to examine everyone, Skandra."
"There's always time," Skandra said around a mouthful of apple. "Don't give up so easily."
She didn't answer. Which was probably for the best.
So Ilúvatar had made friends with a widowed lady, and this widowed lady had been helping him. That also narrowed Skandra's eyes. Not just because he was tired of watching Elemmírë's hips sway without knowing what to say to her. Not just because he was tired of Aeotha looking at him like he was some sort of monster. But also because in general women were not trustworthy. This lady had been offered the role of spy for Ramga, and accepted, then used her position to lure Ramga into a trap. Or so they all thought. The trap had been for Ilúvatar after all. Skandra wasn't sure he believed that this lady - Evarahl was her name - could be trusted. To would not say why he trusted her, either, or why he believed that she hadn't arranged for Ilúvatar's capture. Well, there was pretty and then there was pretty, and chances were she was pretty. That could pull a lot of wool over a lot of eyes. Anyway, he didn't know the politics of the land, and he wasn't about to start trying to figure them out. Probably best to sit and let this unfold for now.
To had helped them avoid a meeting with Maeglin - who Skandra remembered vaguely as the sort of sword-wielding psychopath that was easily disapproved of and less easily dismissed - by waiting for Maeglin to leave the compound with his retinue, then smuggling them in through the servant's entrance. Apparently all of the servants here were loyal to Ilúvatar. All of them drying stillborn tears and swearing their lives to whatever could be done. What exactly had To fucking said? When Skandra asked, To revealed that he'd informed Captain Baila and Lady Evarahl of their arrival. Word spread quickly. Something might be done about Lord Ilúvatar's imprisonment. No one here had any real faith that Maeglin was going to be able to save Ilúvatar's life. Which was sad, when you thought about it, but that was just another reason never to be a lord. You had to hate yourself to be a lord, didn't you? And probably want to die on top of all of that. Skandra wrapped a wedge of cheese up in a slice of roast beef, and deposited it on his tongue.
Riding all over the countryside, abandoning the roads and hoping that the rain would let up and your horse wouldn't twist or break an ankle, was hardly a worthwhile use of anyone's time. Skandra wanted to ask for his time back. That probably wasn't going to happen. Those five hundred soldiers, wherever they were, had not forgotten about what had happened. The fact that Aeotha had arrived here before rumor only spoke to the difficulties of moving five hundred men quickly in any weather. Skandra wouldn't want to have that job again. And he wouldn't want to be Aeotha when it got out that she'd picked a fight with Ramga's soldiers, then let one of them die. Skandra supposed he should feel guilty about that. Fuck it. A murderer was asking to be murdered, and fuck off with high-minded ideals. Nobody wanted to live in a world where the other cheek was turned until they were assured that they wouldn't be the ones to do it.
Getting full yet?
Rescuing Ilúvatar was not their only problem. If Ramga accused Ilúvatar of treason in the same breath that Ramga declared himself the king - and then the traitor were rescued, by no less than the High Priestess of Astarii and the Champion of the Lion... well, that would look very much like the Temple had chosen its path and its path was divergent from the path of the fucking king. No matter how this went, a lot of people were going to fucking die, and the only people who didn't seem to realize that were the people who at the moment were making all the decisions. They'd come here before going to the White Tower on the off-chance that Aeotha could learn something or do something that would be useful. Skandra was starting to think that this whole enterprise was a waste of time. It could be Ramga that he was looking for, but that hardly made any sense, either.
None of them - Aeotha, Elemmírë, or Leironuoth - were under any illusions. This country was rapidly turning into a death trap, and the only way to escape it was to die. If they were going to do something they would have to do it quickly. And with as little interference from the proper authorities as possible; Leironuoth's position was too tenuous yet to go unchallenged. And nobody would hesitate to throw the disgustingly earnest Aeotha in a cell if that was what it took to shut her up. Nobody's position was guaranteed here. That meant they were going to have to operate with as much stealth and cunning as they could, then hope that luck made up whatever they were short.
Ha. If he even had any luck left. The wood-paneled double doors swung open, creaking on brass hinges, to reveal a pretty elf and some tall and broad-shouldered bastard in Ilúvatar's colors. The soldier did not stay - as soon as the pretty one was inside the room, he withdrew, and closed the doors behind himself.
Skandra slurped his wine loudly instead of introducing himself.