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“Keyleth said you want to be liked,” Vex says. Percy startles, but doesn’t deny it. “Is that why you gave us all your money?”
He’s quiet a stretch - if Vex had any guess, it’s that he’s mulling over his answer - before he shrugs.
“It felt like the easiest way,” he admits. “You had every reason not to like me. If all you wanted was my coin, then we could be shot of each other and have done. And if you were genuine-” he shrugs again. “I thought it would put me in better standing. I learned rather quickly that most only ‘like’ nobles as long as said nobles have the money and power to demand it. As soon as they don’t - one’s standing becomes much more tenuous. One’s accent and manner and bearing become a dragging weight more than a useful tool.”
That’s... a sharper read than she expected from someone as posh as Percy, to be honest. She doesn’t expect his small huffed laugh.
“What am I doing explaining this to you?” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve no doubt you and your brother learned that first hand yourselves.”
... He is sharper than she thought, isn’t he?
“Not as much as you’d think,” she says. “Vax is very good at picking up the local accent and I can drop my elocution as needed - we didn’t start learning it ‘til we were older, with our father.”
“Oh.” Percy’s voice is quiet, his expression thoughtful. “Is that why- forgive me for prying, but despite your accents, as a group we don’t have a huge amount of money at our disposal, do we?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” she admits.
“Could you not ask your parent for support? Your father?”
Well. They could. And Syldor would help them, is the thing, even if it was difficult, but it was something she and Vax had agreed when they’d left - no more burden on him, no more weight. He’d done so much for them, loved them so caringly despite everything - despite all of Syngorn! - it wouldn’t be fair to ask more now, when he finally has a chance at happiness not overshadowed by their grief for their mother and Syngorn’s racist bullshit.
“Or-” Percy's voice is much more tentative - he may not be sure of his reads on all of them just yet, but he has got propriety well and truly ingrained, hasn’t he? “You and your brother are half-elves,” he says which... stating the obvious a little darling, but she recognises the preliminary step to making a potentially touchy point. “Are you- do you mind my asking - are you first generation?”
Oh, he is a clever boy. Beneath all that awkwardness, anxiety and shyness there really is a smart brain churning away - she might find herself genuinely liking him if he can navigate the rest of where this is going without being a racist shithead.
“We are,” she says and Percy nods to himself.
“Is your father-” he pauses, considers. His tone is apologetic as he continues: “I’m given to understand Elves are often... less than ideal parents to offspring not wholly elven themselves.”
“Yes,” Vex says. "But no-” Trinket mrrhs and she reaches to scratch behind his ear. “Syldor - our father - is an elf, but he’s not terrible. Syngorn was, but he did his best for us- we could ask him. But he’s got a life he won’t be mocked for now - they were almost as bad to him as they were to us, because he loved us, and we could just leave to get away. His job makes that harder - he’s a very good diplomat, our father.” She shrugs, pulls her thoughts together. “Vax and I decided not to ask him for help. He helped us plenty when we were leaving - we don’t want to worry him.”
Percy’s got a strange look on his face when she looks back to him - strange, sad, perhaps a little fond or wistful. It’s not slipped her by that when he’s mentioned family, it’s always been in the past tense. As she watches he opens his mouth, pauses, and seems to think better of it.
"Percy?” He startles but- for someone so sharp he can be insightful. She’d like to hear what he has to say.
“Oh!” He says. “Just-” he pauses, weighs his words. Pushes on, when he sees her waiting expectantly. His voice is very soft when he speaks; Vex is glad of her half-elven hearing. “If he loves you,” Percy says, “I imagine not hearing from you is more worrying than you requesting help.”
There’s understanding in his voice. Familiar grief in his expression. How much, she wonders, of what Percy says is from experience?
Syldor’s in Emon. Their father is in Emon. Darenthal gapes to see them before bolting off to fetch him and when their father sweeps in, arms opened wide, Vex doesn’t even try to pretend she’s not crying as he wraps them in his arms.
“I’ve been so worried,” he says into their hair, pressing kisses to her and Vax’s heads even though the feathers by her ear have to tickle. “Not a word in months, in almost a year-” He sighs and pulls them closer. “Oh, I’m so glad you're both all right. I’ve got so much to tell you.”
“Is Devana-”
“Your stepmother is fine, Vax,” their father says, stepping back at last and ushering everyone through to a parlour. “In fact- it’s been so long since you were in one place long enough I could send you a letter- you have a little half-sister now.”
“Yes!” Vax punches the air. “Is she a terror too? How old is she?”
“She just turned six - she was born a few years after you left, I’d have told you sooner if I could-”
She reaches out a hand to catch their father’s wrist. “You told us now,” she says. Unbidden, she thinks of Percy, eyes clear behind his glasses as he’d offered his thoughts. Too late now. Best remember for later though - and remember to speak to Percy. “Is she here? Can we meet her? What’s her name?”
Father laughs. “She’s here - Darenthal is fetching her and Devana as we speak. Her name’s Velora - you’ll love her. She’s as much a terror as you both were.”
They all take seats and Father gives Trinket a scratch behind his ears - the good one, the scritch Trinket loves best.
“Are you just here to see me?” Syldor asks. “Not that it’s not a pleasure - I just wasn’t aware you knew I was here-”
“We weren’t,” Vex agrees. “It was- there was a notice, asking for help, and we need funds while we’re here helping investigate something from Westruun-”
“The dragon incident?” he asks. “I’d heard about that, terrible debacle-”
“If we’d known you were here we’d have come by sooner,” Vax admits. “We were putting it off, we thought they’d finally replaced you with-” he waves a hand “-that prick, Phil-”
“Phyleas Navale,” their father fills in. “Noo, he ah…” there’s a small, pleased smile on their father’s face, and Vex remembers how often it had appeared as things got worse in Syngorn for him, as he’d started actively picking fights over their treatment. Somehow, whatever happened, it was their father’s doing. “He had an outburst,” he says diplomatically, “at a multicultural gathering. He said he’d only had a drink or two, but he certainly seemed to be deeply in his cups. The council flatly refused to work with a man who harboured such awful prejudices and would admit them openly after only a glass or two - so I retain the position.”
Vax’s expression is something close to awe.
“Dad.”
“I did nothing at all, I assure you,” their father lies - they know him too well to be fooled. “But you’re here for the Fince job, then?”
“That was the hope,” Percy says and-
Oh. Shit. This has all been in Elvish hasn’t it? Aside from them, only Percy and Keyleth are fluent. Oh, the others must be so lost!
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador,” Percy continues, still in Elvish. “Vex speaks very highly of you. But yes, we are here for the Fince job, and- could we perhaps switch to Common? Not all our group is as fluent as your family, Keyleth, or I.”
“I’m so sorry,” their father says immediately - in Common. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen my elder children-”
“Daddy?”
There’s a girl in the doorway, dark hair, skin the same shade as theirs, one hand reaching back to clutch Devana’s skirts, the other clutching an owlbear cuddly toy with beautifully stitched feathers.
“Hello, Velora,” their father says, smiling broadly. “Come on in, dear- your older siblings are visiting! And their friends also. You remember your mother and I told you about Vex and Vax?”
“...Siblings?”
Oh she’s such a sweetheart.
“That would be us, darling,” Vex says, waving from her seat. “Hello - if we’d known we’d have visited sooner. It’s so lovely to meet you.”
“You’re the ones who left because Syngorn elves are all prej-oo-dissed pricks,” Velora says and oh. Oh, that’s a quote isn’t it, something Devana or their father said to the other in their baby sister's hearing. “But I’m not, I promise!”
“Of course you’re not,” Vax agrees. “You’re our lovely sister.”
Syldor offers them a place to stay - at the Embassy even, but as Percy calmly points out that might seem like a conflict of interest. Instead, he insists on placing his resources at their disposal - seven years of missed birthday and Winter’s Crest gifts for the twins, he claims, and support for those assisting him in his work. It makes things rather easier, when they can grease palms for answers and get people to turn away as they break into Fince’s place, though it hardly helps them through the immediate aftermath. Finally, at least, they’re back at the Lamia, and Syldor’s funds let them pay for much-needed baths and a late dinner.
“You know,” Vex says quietly once the others have largely ambled up to bed. “I think you had a point.”
He glances up from his sketchbook at that: she’s fiddling with her feathers, spinning them between her fingers instead of leaving them tucked neatly into her hair. “I often do, dear,” he agrees. “But- about what specifically?”
“We should have written him,” she says. “You- you were right, he worried about us.”
“In my experience, all good parents do,” he says, and swallows. “I know mine did.”
“Why don’t you write them?” she asks and oh, oh, he wishes she hadn’t asked.
“I wish I could,” he admits.
“We’ll have to have you to visit,” Vex says when Syldor drops by at the Lamia after the entire debacle is over. “We’re being given a Keep, Father! Promise you’ll drop by?”
“When I return,” he promises and Percy recognises the look of pride on the man’s face - his own father had worn it when Julius and Vesper had started taking on more administrative court roles. “Unfortunately I must return to Syngorn and report back - but I’ll visit again as soon as I’m able.”
“Bring Velora?” Vax asks. “We need to teach her every trick.”
“I’ll endeavour to,” Syldor promises. His eyes are more than a little damp and it makes something twinge in Percy’s chest, a painful kind of nostalgia for his own parents and their warm, clear affection. “Oh, come here, both of you,” he cries, pulling the twins in close. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of the both of you.”
When Syldor finally pulls back the twins eyes are as red and puffy as his are, but they’re all beaming, familiar warmth and affection Percy misses like a limb.
“Promise me you’ll write this time,” Syldor says. “And give me a forwarding address so I can write back.”
“These people,” Vex asks, when he asks to borrow Natibe to investigate the Briarwoods- “Percy, you almost never ask for anything and now you want to investigate strangers?”
“I would rather be prepared,” he says. “I promise I wouldn’t ask-”
“Are these people the reason your parents are gone?” Vax asks, blunt and direct where his sister is tactful. Vex, reasonably, punches him in the ribs, “Ow, stubby!” He gestures. “I’m not an idiot. Family always in past tense, looking all wistful and nostalgic and sad whenever Dad comes by and Dads at us-” He pauses, speaks more quietly. “He looks like you do whenever you think of Mother.”
“That’s no reason to be rude about it, brother-”
“He’s right.” Better, Percy knows, to nip sibling bickering in the bud. “I- suffice to say I don’t wish to go into the details. But- they are the ones responsible. I would prefer, if possible, to be better prepared the next time I face them. Last time-”
“Are they why you’re all scarred u- fucking OW , Stubby!”
Vex’s hand withdraws, the woman herself looking justifiably smug.
“I’d rather not go into details,” he repeats. “But- as you say, I rarely ask for anything. This at least is one thing which would set my mind at ease.”
Vex’s gaze is piercing, only accentuated by the eyeliner she’s put on today, drawing from the edge of her eye to point towards the feathers by her ear and it’s piercing enough he takes his glasses off to avoid it, polishing them on his sleeve.
“Percy?”
Vex’s hand is warm on his as he settles his glasses back on his nose. As he watches, she swallows.
“You know you can tell us anything, don’t you dear? We - Vox Machina - we’re family now. We’ll be there for you no matter what.”
A lesson he knows their father taught them.
“I know,” he says, though he doesn’t know how much he believes it. “I just-”
“Not now,” Vax says. “If you don’t want to. But, y’know-” He gestures vaguely.
“I’ll send Natibe,” Vex agrees. “And- if you ever need anything-”
“I’m not going to ask you for any more money than I need,” Percy says with a laugh. “I have more than learned that lesson.”
“Percy-”
As insistent as Keyleth. He can’t help the fondness he feels. “I’ll remember,” he promises. “And, ah- thank you.”
Kraghammer, Vex is sure, would be significantly worse if they hadn’t gone with Syldor’s reams of advice about diplomacy with dwarves and the Vessar family crest neatly stitched into her and Vax’s clothes. She just knows that elven shopkeep would have been even more infuriating without it, let alone the difficulty they’d have had dealing with the Carvers without Syldor’s well-earned diplomatic chops to get them through the red tape.
Percy’s still indignant on her behalf about the shopkeep, though, which is delightfully endearing. He’s all puffed up like a chicken, grumbling complaints to Keyleth while gesticulating wildly - and the next day he emerges with an arrow, almost certainly stolen from her quiver but altered, and oh. Oh is he going to turn into her own personal quartermaster of delightful devices if they run into more Elvish pricks? This might almost make her want to visit Syngorn again, dragging Percy with, because over the next few days he gifts her several more, and blushes delightfully when she kisses his cheek in thanks after each one.
It’s hard not to be wary of noble pricks after Syngorn, but Percy really does make for a delightful reprieve - fully aware of the bullshit and willing to make it dance to his tune, believing so firmly that status and power doesn’t give one free rein to be a prick. Honestly, if Father had been the same as every other elf in Syngorn, Vex is half-convinced Percy would have fought him over it - as it is, she suspects the pair of them intend to convince all of Syngorn and Emon high society, by hook or by crook, to treat them all fairly.
He’s stubborn. It’d be annoying if it weren’t so frequently endearing.
He’s endearing. He’s sweet and funny and cutting when needs be, Percival is, and that’s why it’s so striking when he goes still and quiet the moment the Briarwoods are mentioned.
The name has stuck in Vex’s mind since he asked to borrow Natibe, and Percy is frequently quiet but never like this, never like his life depends on it, never the quiet and still of deadly terror.
(Vex remembers: a wooden cage, poacher’s laughing, head woozy from whatever they’d slipped in her stew.)
Trinket butts his head against her arm and she reaches to scratch his ears.
Hopefully Vasselheim will prove an adequate distraction. Somehow, she doubts it.
“Father!”
It was the last thing she’d expected, Syldor waiting to meet them at the keep when they return from Vasselheim but he’s there - albeit with no Velora or Devana to accompany him - and he waves as they head on in.
“There was a boy,” he says, “waiting outside hoping to meet you - a bit young to go adventuring, I thought - I got his address and promised to pass it on, and Seeker Emring is here as well, I assume for much the same reason I was invited to Emon.”
“The Briarwoods’ visit,” Seeker Emring says and god damn he makes her jump in a way no one but Vax can these days. Then the words catch up to her. Oh no.
When she glances over, Percy’s eyes are as wide as coins behind his glasses.
It’s a disaster. An utter disaster and only kept from being worse by Syldor swooping in to vouch for his children’s character, to remind Uriel that dismissing his children’s statements out of hand could just have legal ramifications with Syngorn.
Percy finds he doesn’t have the patience for visitors - not the twins’ father, helpful as he is, not their unexpected guest and ally with a bounty on her head - and secretes himself down in his workshop at the earliest opportunity.
Unfortunately, it seems the twins inherited their persistence and perceptiveness from their father.
“Apologies if I’m disturbing you,” Syldor says from the door. “But I believe I owe you a conversation.”
Percy’s quite sure he owes the man thanks at least, and for that alone he opens the door and shows Syldor to a seat.
“Vex’ahlia tells me,” Syldor says, “that it’s due to you she started writing more - while you all were travelling, before you vanished in Kraghammer, when you returned. She said you seemed to think I would prefer to know than to worry.”
“A guess,” Percy admits. “I only intended to-”
“You were right,” Syldor interrupts.
That’s… that’s a great relief, to know he hasn’t offended the man.
“Would I be right in thinking you… guessed due to your experiences with-”
“Yes.” His mouth feels dry.
“May I ask-?”
Percy swallows. “They murdered my entire family,” he says. “Most of the staff too. I don’t know about the people down in town but I can’t believe it good- they are monsters, sir-”
Syldor simply nods, even and measured.
“My children mean to accompany you,” he says. “For all the friendship you’ve shown them - they’re very loyal, my children.”
“Yes,” Percy agrees, “I know.”
“There is little I can do to help,” Syldor adds. “Syngorn is loath to involve itself in other polities at the best of times, and that goes double when they’re predominantly human. But - for whatever it is worth, I will speak to those I know. Try to see the Briarwoods aren’t greeted with open arms - to ensure if you succeed, no censure will fall on you for fighting them.”
That- that would be useful. And he knows very well just how much of politics is done unofficially, with quiet words between powerful friends.
“Thank you, sir,” he says. “And- thank you for vouching for us to the Council. For reminding Uriel of that.”
“I refused to let my children be dismissed or disbelieved by one half of their heritage,” Syldor says with a small smile. “Why do you ever think I’d allow the other half to get away with the same?”
Whitestone is-
His sister lives.
“I was a terrible brother,” he admits, when Vax insists on talking the night before they break into the castle. “I used to chase her out of my workshop, I left her behind-”
“You’re still her brother,” Vax points out fairly. “And- it’s not like Dad didn’t have shit he needed to improve on when he took us in - it’s not what was which matters, it’s now.”
That’s… fair.
“Besides,” Vax says with a grin. “You have a sister.”
“Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third, you will fight this monster inside of you!”
Vex’s voice rings through all of the shadows, smoke gusting out of the way as though in the wake of a raven’s wings and he’s reminded then, of her piercing gaze, of her promise months ago. We’ll be there for you no matter what.
Vex believes in him, even if the others doubt. It gives him just enough strength to believe in himself.
Whitestone is won. Emon is lost. That’s why they’re down in a loch, in a submerged, half-buried tomb, and that’s how Percy makes a mistake he thinks he’s going to regret as much as he did leaving Cassandra bleeding out in the snow.
On the damp stone floor Vex is terribly still.
“You’re very lucky,” Vax says, and Percy’s cheekbone still smarts from his blow, “That it’s me here. Don’t you ever get my sister hurt again. Don’t ever touch something again, that’ll get her killed.”
“I promise,” Percy says, “I have no intention of doing so.”
And then he bolts himself in his workshop and works the night through.
Vex, at least, seems remarkably none the worse for wear - and seems delighted when he offers his apology.
“This,” he says, presenting the arrow to her, a culmination of all his previous attempts, “is an evening of unbridled guilt.”
Vex’s laugh is soft and warm and it gives him hope, just a little, that maybe he might be forgiven.
“Come here,” he says, “let me show you. In theory, this is a siege arrow - shattering stone, shattering doors, breaking things that should not be broken.”
Vex’s laugh fills her voice: “Breaking hearts left and right?”
“If that is what you’re after,” he says, before really registering what she said. Well. She hardly needs his help with that. “Never forget you’re my favourite,” Percy says, “And I’m so sorry.”
Vex watches him, head tilted like a bird, impression only accentuated by the feathers behind her ear and soft smile on her face.
“You know,” she says, “I actually believe you when you say that.”
Part of him wants desperately to ask which? but he knows better than to expect an answer.
“Just don’t do it again,” she says, one hand brief against his cheek before she glances down again at the arrow in her other hand, genuine pleasure in her gaze, “or- if you must, then I expect treats like this in future.”
“I’ll make them for you just because you ask, you know,” he says. “And, ah- I too would prefer to avoid a repeat of that. Better you’re alive. Better you’re well.” A moment of brief consideration. “Your brother already punched me,” he says, “I dread to think what your father will do when he finds out.”
Vex’s laugh is bright and lovely.
She sidles into his workshop after that, whether he’s working on new shot or old designs, repairing things or adding the new seat to her broom - she takes the time for peace and quiet, ledger in her lap and pen tapping at her lips, every now and again rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms up, rising to peer over his shoulder at whatever he’s working on.
“That’s terribly distracting, you know, dear.”
Her huffed hmm is warm by his ear, blustering about the arm of his glasses even as her hair tickles his cheek like feathers. “Sometimes you could do with a distraction, though.”
Is that- no.
He’s the one who got her killed, the one who had a demon in his heart for five years and still bears the scars - he knows full well the kind of people she might seek sex with and he is not one such.
“Perhaps,” he agrees politely, “And this is certainly a nicer one than the usual explosions and screaming.”
Her laugh is a delightful warm chuckle in his ear, the kind that gives him shivers of the lovely variety and no. No. Thankfully she withdraws at that, arms uncurling from where they’d fallen by his side, but the loss is almost worse, the cool air - no blazing forge to warm things today - making stark her absence.
“You’ve been down here for hours, darling,” she says. “At the very least you should take a look at a bed.”
Syngorn is-
It’s strange, the twins are so loved by Syldor, it had never occurred to him just how awful the elvish prejudice from every other source must have been in contrast. It makes it striking then, to see Vex pacing, irritation bright on her face, when he goes to tell her the damned satyr had Charmed him.
“I am sorry,” he adds. “I don’t imagine we can get out of it now, even given-”
“No-” Vex agrees. “No, I know, bloody Feywild. Elves are bad enough, let alone full, actual Fey. I’m sorry, Percy-”
“It’s hardly your fault,” he interjects. “I should have known better, I read so many books about it all.” He gestures. “Besides. I rather think you’ve got enough on your plate.”
Vex’s laugh is barked and bitter, none of her usual warmth.
“A penny for them?” he asks. “I’ve found it can help, sometimes, to share the burden.”
The laugh Vex gives then is a little more real. “You’re more close-lipped than Scanlan,” she comments. “No- it’s nothing.”
She is still, Percy notices, pacing. When she walks past him again, he catches her wrist.
“Not if it has you like this,” he says. “Vex-” He sighs. “You hardly have to share,” he says. “But you all stood by me in Whitestone. I could hardly do less for you.”
“It’s nothing,” Vex repeats, then groans. “It’s just - they’re pricks, in Syngorn, even more arrogant than you and with far less cause, and always so ready to look down their noses on Vax and I - it’s not like we could help how we were born! You’d think they’d think less of Father for it, but somehow he was cleared of all blame until he started fighting for us - it’s just so infuriating!”
“And we have to go back in there,” he says.
“I’m not looking forward to it,” Vex says, shaking her head. “That bullshit - it’s why we left- years and years of it, and to Father too, and Devana too for being kind to us, and then when he and Devana announced their engagement-”
She slips free of his grasp, slippery as an eel, but doesn’t resume pacing. Instead she goes to slump on the end of her bed, and Percy doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so small.
“I remember what one of them said,” Vex says quietly, rubbing her arms. “Just- the pricks, they had to know we’d hear, we were right there. But- instead of being happy for Father or Devana, what one of them said was Finally. Maybe now he’ll have a proper heir.” She throws her arms up in the air. “Like what were we, chopped liver? Trinket’s leavings? Like Father hadn’t marked us as his primary heirs if he predeceased us?” She huffs, anger and bitterness years old but still sharp and stinging, and then she shrugs. “So we left. We waited for the wedding, for Father and Devana to settle in and then- we left. It was just- just so stupid and Father didn’t deserve to have to deal with shit just for defending us, not when we could just leave. So we let him know and… we left.”
“And you don’t look forward to going back,” Percy guesses. “Even after-” He gestures, all you’ve done, all you’ve achieved, all the people you’ve saved. Vex’s laugh is dry.
“I learned a long time ago that they’ll never recognise anything I do except to shit all over it,” she says. “Father always said that says more about them than it does about us, but…”
“It still stings.” He knows that well enough. His situation had been far more minor, being picked at by siblings and cousins for burying himself in books, for loving rules and learning how to use them to his advantage - for being the boring one. His mother had said much the same as Syldor, but he knows the bruises it leaves all the same.
“We’re fucking- heroes of Emon, we’ve defeated dragons and every last one of them will just scoff at us as though the idea of us doing any of that is laughable.”
“They’re laughable,” Percy says. “If that’s all they’d think- certainly, maybe be snide about our failure to save Emon given our status there, but in the face of all else…” Oh. Oh now that’s a thought. “You know,” he says. “That’s a wonderful point. We were rewarded for saving Emon, but Cassandra and I completely failed to consider rewards for all you’ve done for Whitestone - you especially, with how you helped me stay focussed despite Orthax-”
“I told you to fight him,” Vex says with a fond, nostalgic laugh.
“Yes you did,” he says. “And I did. So- there’s a title, you’d still have to go through a trial to prove yourself, but honestly it’s so suited to you I can’t imagine you failing-”
“Well that’s flattering to hear,” Vex laughs.
“It means you’d be recognised for what you did for Whitestone,” he says. “And you’ve never failed my home nor me. But for you, I would have failed, because of you, I didn’t.”
“Percy,” she says.
“It’s true,” he insists. “You’re entirely deserving.”
Vex’s smile is small, pleased, preening. “All right then,” she says. “If you insist.”
“I think I have to,” Percy says. “Lady Vex’ahlia.”
“Is that it?” she asks, laughter crinkling her eyes and oh. Oh. He’s going to be in so much trouble, but he can’t bring himself to care - Vex has withstood so much, remains brilliant and kind and lovely: she deserves every good thing the world can offer. “Just Lady Vex’ahlia?”
“Baroness of the Third House of Whitestone,” he continues, “and Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt.”
Oh he is in so much trouble.