Chapter Text
The queen always keeps up with courtly affairs. She’s always been more the socialite between her and her husband. She knows every lord's name, every notable knight in the barracks, so why doesn’t she know where this jester came from?
It’s rare that her husband grants entry to anyone without her knowing, and even rarer that he finds anyone so strange. The five knights are an obvious exception, but even then they were just faceless warriors at first who rose through the ranks through their talent and effort, their eccentricity irrelevant to their status. This man… he must be an entertainer, yes? He certainly carries himself like one, but the magic she’s seen him wield is unlike anything else she’s ever witnessed. It’s not the elegant strings of the weavers, it’s not the strange power of the crystals in their kingdoms' peaks, and it's most certainly not the wisps of the old light.
A wanderer, then. Someone from a far off kingdom with strange magic and skills, not unlike Ze’mer. Perhaps her king required yet another strange magic for his… experiments. She was already hesitant about drawing upon the power of the abyss, what could this flame juggler do that soul could not? A flame cannot burn away mind, only shell, after all.
Or perhaps the stranger is an aspiring warlock? It certainly would explain his theatrical nature, the few warlocks she knows are quite the egoists. Perhaps her husband is looking to diversify their warriors ranks once again. It’s been quite some time since Isma and Ogrim were knighted. Perhaps they are overdue to turn the great 5 into 6. Having some extra firepower around cannot hurt, especially in times such as these. Would a warlock truly count as a knight? Perhaps they’ll have to rebrand.
She supposes it does not matter, if he’s managed to stay this long in the castle without being torn to shreds by kingsmolds he must have royal blessing. She will leave him be, for now.
-
Despite her settlement on passivity, the stranger still occupies much of her thoughts. Her husband rarely leaves his workshop, and heaven forbid she interrupt him. She’s been meaning to ask about the stranger, why he’s here, what purpose he serves. And most of all, why he is so insistent on bothering the vessel.
From one of her favorite balconies she sees the stranger practically hanging off the unmoving vessel, talking it’s ear off like it has any mind to hear. A part of her almost smiles at the sight, her motherly instinct happy her child has found such jolly company. She shoves those thoughts down quickly. The vessel is just that, a vessel. Whatever had been her child is not there, carved out in the abyss, the only thing left an empty container of shell. It has no mind, it has no spirit. It never acts without orders.
Thus, she knows it’s just her sorrowful mind playing tricks on her when she thinks she sees it move when the jester blows a plume of crimson smoke in its face. She’s at quite a distance, and the supposed twitch of the vessel's shell easily blends with the shining white walls. A shift in the light very well could’ve mimicked the movement. This mortal form’s eyesight is unreliable at times. She shouldn’t get caught up on the impossible. She’ll leave those thoughts be, for now.
-
The infection seems to be waning. Not so much so that her dearest wyrm foresees it’s end, but it is lulling. The newest and least severely infected seem to be all but cured, and even moderately infected bugs have been retaining their sense of self, even if their movements are a bit sluggish.
Before she’d taken a form more suited to walk among the mortals, she had planted her roots all across hallownest, raising pale plant life to live alongside and sustain the bugs of the land. Unlike her husbands dramatic and deadly transformation, she can still feel her roots. She can feel what’s happening throughout her kingdom in real time, she can feel the vile veins of the infection that had taken up residence in the kingdom’s soil thinning and crinkling dry, almost like they’d been burned away. Pulsing heat, beating though the ground. The lull in their disaster is certainly not unwelcome, but adding yet another variable to their situation seemed to stress her love even more, which she hadn’t even thought possible.
With any hopes she had of him emerging from his laboratory in the near future dashed, she finds other ways to busy her mind. In the absence of the king, all duties fall to her, and the weight of the kingdom is more than enough to distract her. The sudden lull of the infection has done wonders for her people's morale, the palace livelier than it’s been in many a harvest. The stranger seems gleeful as well, as she watches him dance among her subjects. His power is undeniable, but it seems her initial assumption of his nature was correct. A traveling performer, juggling scarlet fire for the amusement of her subjects. Perhaps traveling is no longer the word for it, as he has resided in hallownest for quite some time now.
The ashen cloak he used to bare has been replaced with clothing more befitting of someone in the palace, a red vest over a puffed dress shirt, a black cape slung around his shoulders. He still sticks out against the endlessly pale walls, but she finds it a bit more tasteful. He was likely hired by one of the lesser nobles, then, since he has become so recently official. She can’t imagine how handsome the pay must be to encourage an outsider to take refuge in a plagued, dying kingdom. Or perhaps he stays for other, more tragic reasons. She does not miss how the clown’s gaze lingers on the vessel as it mindlessly watches his performances.
He has her pity, to be enamored with an object, unknowing of its true nature. How lonely he must have been to have found company in a narrowly animated statue, an unmoving, unthinking outlet for his thoughts. She hopes he comes to realize this soon, stops mistaking the vessels quiet for an understanding listener. Not only for his heart's sake, but for her own as well. Seeing her spawn in such a light pains her. The passion of the performer leaking into her view of the vessel, she wishes she could witness how it would react. A child’s first encounter with the affairs of the heart is a milestone any mother would hope to witness. I’s final molt was rather recent, wasn’t it? It is about the same age any true child would normally begin courting efforts. She muses over the drama that would ensue over a mere jester attempting to court a pale royal. Outrageous enough in concept, made even more unfathomable by the magician’s unknown origins. It sounds like something out of a romance novel.
An alluring stranger seeking to woo a stoic pale royal. She doesn’t fancy herself a writer, but it’s a pleasantly amusing thought. The unreality of the situation washes over her, and she wonders when she had become such a romantic. She will have to share this tale with Isma when times are better, she has always been quite the fantasist. She’ll file her silly story away, for now.
-
She does a double take, the next time she passes the courtyard.
The vessel is not standing by the door it is always posted outside. It isn’t scheduled for any spell work or training today, is it? It’s just about the time that most mortal bugs head to bed, there wouldn’t even be anyone awake for it to train with. She is certain she’d have been notified if her husband had summoned it to refine the weave of spells on its carapace, or if he’d ordered it to train with the knights outside of its schedule. A quick glance around the courtyard relieves her panic at its disappearance, but also leaves her with infinitely more questions.
The vessel is standing in the very center of the courtyard, the usual passerby of nobles or castle staff understandably absent given the late hour. It stands alone, save for one strange, tiny creature that floats at its side, seemingly defying gravity. She has seen the way the strange uoma swim through the air, but this creature lacks the distinct bobbing motion of those jellyfish. It holds an unlit torch, mimicking the grip the vessel has on its great nail. The black grooves on its mask reminiscent of a certain strange magician.
The small, blob-like creature quits its mimicry with a mischievous laugh, swirling around the vessel. It settles in front of the vessel, looking up at it. The vessel moves their head down, as it returns the stare.
It moved without command.
The light pitter of footsteps echo through the still courtyard, and the small creature flies to hide behind the vessel, torch dropped at it’s feet. The vessel moves again, lowering their gaze again to look at the torch.
“Ah, I knew I was missing one.” The magician says, as he picks the abandoned torch off the floor. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen the owner of this torch, would you, my friend?” The vessel's head moves back up to its natural position, coincidentally staring straight at the magician. It shrugs its head slightly back, alluding to the hidden specter behind it. The small black creature soars up from behind the vessel's shoulders and rests between its horns, flopping dramatically at being sold out.
“There they are. I suppose this little flame has taken a liking to you, haven’t they?” The stranger reaches up to remove the blob from the vessel's head, lifting it as if it were a mere grub. He returns the torch to it, and gives it a small pat on the head as he releases it to float just in front of him. “You head home now, alright?” The blob moves its body in a motion resembling a nod, before darting out of the courtyard.
“I’m sorry for the bother, truly. They have all grown quite restless as of late. I’ll see you again soon, my friend.” With a bow, the magician exits the same way he came. She cannot help but think the vessel looks dejected, now that both he and the creature have departed.
She had been frozen as she watched the scene play out. There must be a reasonable explanation for this. Should she alert her husband? Or was he already perfectly aware? Was this intended behavior? The vessel had of course been instructed to never hurt the common bug, did that include entertaining and returning missing grubs? Could denying a citizen assistance in locating their child be counted as harm? It should not even have the mind to ponder such a moral question. Even if that were the case, that does not explain why it was out of position.
Perhaps she is simply not meant to understand. She had never liked the vessel plan, anyways. She is no longer a part of it. Her only intended involvement was as a beneficiary of shells for the void to hollow out.
Who is she to question it? She may be queen, but a mindless shell is no citizen of hers. She will ignore it all, ignore the traitorous thoughts picking at the back of her mind. She will not think of it, she will not speak of it, she will not get involved. For now.
-
She has been finding other ways around the palace recently. She has found different places to enjoy her leisure time than her preferred balcony, overlooking the courtyard. She has avoided the vessel, whenever it is scheduled to be anywhere besides the courtyard.
In truth, she wants nothing more than to observe it as much as she can. Try and capture another of those moments of mindfulness. Prove that it wasn’t just a fluke, and that they will have to call off this rotten plan, for the vessel has a mind of its own. Of course her husband will try again, as he had done with the last vessel. She wonders if it too had a mind, before it broke. A broken vessel with a mind would no doubt be in incredible pain. She shudders at the memory.
But perhaps she could fight back. She can refuse to partake in his ploy. They will find another way to rid their kingdom of the old light’s plague. She would not have to allow another child of hers to die.
Alas, she is not brave enough to go through with it. How pitiful, a higher being, mightier than thousands upon thousands of mortals, a coward. She can only pray that whatever is slowing the infection brings it to a permanent halt. She knows how unlikely that is, the sickly orange glow still creeps through her land, but what else is she to do?
“If it isn’t the lady of Hallownest! I do hope it is not too blasphemous of me to address you so forwardly.” A hoarse yet beguiling voice breaks her wallowing train of thought, dancing around the corner of the hall. She scorns herself internally for allowing herself to get distracted as she turns to face her interruptor. “I can’t help but notice you have been absent from my improvised stage. I would hate to have offended one of the rulers of this fine kingdom with my presence.” The magician bows to her, though his form is that of a performer rather than a follower. She can’t be bothered to care for the formality at the moment.
“Worry not. You are without blame, magician.” It isn’t a lie. The magician is not at fault for how the vessel behaves when he is around. It is only her fault for being so unwilling to perceive the circumstances. “You are a welcome guest of Hallownest, traveller. I assure you. Please, speak your name.”
“I am Grimm, master of my troupe. You are right to call us travelers, but we will preside in your kingdom for some time, should you allow it. There is business here that requires our attention.” So he is not a solo act, then? Other than that small, strange creature she has not seen nor sensed any other members of this supposed troupe. She hopes they simply take up their temporary residence outside her range, rather than the implication of her presence weakening. She can only wonder what business a circus troupe has with a dying kingdom. Mortal affairs never fail to bewilder her.
“What business do you have with the pale court, troupe master? If you are not a hired hand, it eludes me how you have entered our walls.” So far she genuinely prefers him to the snooty nobles, but she must retain some level of authority. She can’t allow a loose clown to run amok. It would set a bad example.
“The troupe has been around for quite a time, your highness. Acquainted we are with your nobility. Old friends, perhaps, to one or few.” She can most certainly say that she does not recognize him from earlier in her kingdom's life. A magic like his would’ve certainly drawn her attention. The former members of his troupe must have been of less peculiar enchantment, then. New members are naturally going to be picked up as a troupe travels. She wonders where he is from, and how a kingdom of fire would operate. It seems rather costly to build structures of naught but metal. Perhaps the wood of his homeland is flame-proof?
“So these friends granted you the blessing of entry to the palace, then?” She pauses. Only herself, the king, and very select other few could grant such access to those outside their employment. These uncertain times have made the lesser nobles quite bold, then. She will have to rectify this at a later date. She hums audibly in thought. “…you have not caused any trouble, so I see no need to remove you from these walls. The people enjoy your clownery. They could use the distraction.” She contemplates bringing up the vessel, but ultimately decides against it. It’s out of both of their hands. If a higher being is avoiding involvement, a circus bug certainly shouldn’t interfere. “You have my blessing to continue, troupe master. It was my pleasure to meet you formally.”
“It is an honor, your majesty. Your kindness will not be forgotten by my kin. You shall of course always be welcomed in our audience, should you visit again soon.” The troupe master gives a quaint bow before looking past her, down the hall. “Your conversation has been most pleasant, Lady of Hallownest, but I’m afraid I must be going. We hope to see you again soon.” With that he briskly continues down the hall, his footsteps disappearing shortly after he rounds the corner. What a strange bug, he is. For all his dramatic respects, he is not phased by her position of power in the slightest. Most bugs wouldn’t dare to dream of addressing her directly, and much less excuse themselves from her presence without her permission. She supposes there is nothing explicitly stating anyone must do so, and she must also remember he isn’t of this land. Her husband would accuse her of growing soft, if he were here. A well meaning rule breaker is still a criminal nonetheless, but it is a crime she isn’t above overlooking.
Perhaps she will find time for another visit to the courtyard. Even if she must bear witness to the guilt inspiring visage of the vessel, who would she be to refuse an invitation? She continues too down the hallway, be it much slower than the troupe master. She must recollect her initial directive before this chain of distractions. Invitations of clowns and debates of responsibility can be put off, for now.
-
She does eventually make her way back to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The table is just where she left it, the assorted things she keeps here expectedly untouched. She finds her seat and looks over the railing, immediately trying to spot the vessel. It’s in its normal spot, today. The troupe master stands beside it, more refined than how he had pestered it when they’d first met. The troupe master is speaking to them. She cannot hear what he is saying, though with how he is gesturing she assumes it is some sort of story. The audience he normally draws isn’t here today, but nor is he performing. The jester pauses as if to allow the vessel a chance to reply. She doesn’t see any sort of reaction, but the troupe master certainly must have as he seemingly responds conversationally. She brings her gaze away from the pair and begins to steep her tea. It’s rude to stare, after all.
He must have noticed, as a cloud of red smoke appears in the corner of her eye, and suddenly the troupe master is right behind her. She doesn’t physically startle, but it’s still an unexpected occurrence. “I see you have returned once again, your majesty. I’m afraid you have missed today’s performance.” He takes the opposing seat, the one that has never been used by anyone other than her betrothed, and begins to inspect her choice of tea. She can hear the murmurs of passing nobles at his audacity. She hopes they are not getting ideas.
“Say, do you think you could herald our mutual acquaintance up here? I left their side rather abruptly, and while it’d be rude to not greet royalty on one’s own invitation, it’d also be quite rude to abandon a friend, would it not?” She isn’t sure she is hearing him right. She gives the passing nobles a glare which quickly sets them off on their paths before continuing.
“It is also quite rude to ask favors of your guests. Especially when those guests are nobility, and you invited them to their own home.” Her tone holds a fair amount of bite, but it earns a laugh from the troupe master anyways. How jolly. She takes a sip of her tea, glancing down at the vessel. Still unmoved.
“Well I could hardly invite pale nobility to a circus tent now could I? My options for venues were rather limited.” The troupe master also looks down at the vessel in turn with her. “It really is strange, you know. I haven’t seen them walk a single step since I first met them. The nobles assure me they are capable, but I’m not quite sure I believe them. They’re rather resistant to my attempts to relocate them though other means. Whatever spells have been cast upon them makes attempting to warp them incredibly laborious, if not impossible.” The troupe master pulls a simple teacup from his sleeve, despite there clearly not being room. She isn’t very impressed by the simple party trick. The ability to teleport is rare among her citizens, but not enough to alarm her. “Mind if I borrow a spot of hot water, your majesty?”
She lightly nods and he pours the water from the warmer into his cup, the red needles resting in it dissolving a tad in the heat. Must everything he does be stained vermillion? She has never seen red tea before. She looks down at the vessel, silently judging it. She will not summon it. If it is capable and really wants to, it will bring itself here without her command.
“I suppose I understand your hesitance. My friend isn’t very keen on expressing their preferences outwardly. I’ll be sure to apologize to them after we’ve finished our tea.” A flame sparks from his palm beneath his cup, and she watches the water reach a boil. She truly hopes he doesn’t intend to drink that.
“Pray tell, troupe master. Are you aware of the nature of the vessel? You claim it a companion, but I find that difficult to fathom.” A jagged grin appears on his face before he speaks, it’s one of smugness, like she has finally taken the bait. She does not mind having to be predictable if it means putting her inner turmoil to rest. His jovial nature is growing a bit annoying, its novelty fading with exposure. It’d be wishful thinking to expect a clean cut answer from a clown.
“Ah, I had only stated true their outward lack of performance. What is left unsaid can be just as loud as a spoken word, should the listener know how to attune his ear. Quiet they are, even in the realm of the unspoken, but I find them rather adept at the art of brevity. Though to answer your query, I would be foolish to be uninformed of a monarch’s child. A union between higher beings is quite rare, and even rarer is a child brought from such unification, or so I hear. The origin of their darkness is one of a third party, I presume, but untainted in presence they remain. Only the blood of gods runs through them.”
Nothing the jester says is particularly untrue, but his talk of the vessel’s darkness unsettled her. The void is of course a secret kept from the denizens of Hallownest, the bare minimum number of workers needed to manage the lighthouse are the only mortal bugs who will ever know the whims of the void sea, barring the dreamers. It isn’t too uncommon for a common bug to question the pure inky black of the kingsmould’s and vessel, a particularly well travelled thespian way have very well heard of dozens of other higher beings. To guess the void’s origins to be divine should be no cause for alarm. Rewarding the clowns pondering with an emotional reaction would be detrimental.
“Your words are not false, troupe master, though they are not the answer I was seeking. You seem to have grown… ‘fond’ of the vessel, for lack of a better term. I think it is only fair that you know it cannot reciprocate the sentiment. It is to be a seal for the plague of this land. Devoid of will and emotion, an object blessed with the ability to move, and nothing more.” She speaks as plainly as she can, but she doesn’t miss the uncertainty in her tone. The circus bug looks like he may break out laughing at any moment. She wonders which one of them is in denial. She does not know which of them she’d prefer to be wrong.
“Are you sure we speak of the same bug, your majesty? They may be statuesque in appearance, but there is much more going on inside their shell, I assure you.” The confidence with which he speaks only serves to further her doubt.
“And how do you know this?” She spits back, unthinkingly. The troupe masters composure breaks, and he lets out a laugh, before simply smiling.
“Your majesty… have you ever thought to simply ask them yourself?” She almost wants to join in his laughter at the stupidity of the idea. She loathes even being in the same room as the vessel, talking to it would only drive her mad with grief. As curious as she is, perhaps it’s better she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know if she could handle knowing that her child isn’t dead. That she and everyone around her, barring present company, had treated them like a mindless object. Even higher beings are not immune to grief.
“Well consider the question asked. If the vessel has enough mind to answer such a query, joining us at the table will be plenty an answer.” The troupe master smiles devilishly as he peers over the railing at the vessel in the courtyard. She doesn’t know how keen the vessel's hearing is, it’s much more likely that it didn’t even hear her. So long as it doesn’t respond, she doesn’t care the true reason for its inaction.
…
A bright flash of soul blinks beside her. Her grip on the porcelain handle of her teacup tightens enough that it breaks, the cup and its contents scattering along the floor in a high pitched clatter.
If bugs weren’t staring yet, they sure were now.
Well shit.