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Twenty years into Neuvillette’s tenure as Chief Justice, Fontaine experiences her first flood.
The first of many, he thinks bitterly. Mounds of upturned earth mar what was a field of flowers only yesterday. In place of their petals is a sea of black.
Those who survived the flood bear the heavy burden of burying those who did not. Many more cling to cypress coffins in grief, crying out a chorus of names, too many for Neuvillette to commit to memory, though he did try. Tied to each name was a life, Furina had told him, and a story that had come to a swift and tragic end. Remembering them was the least he could do. The only thing he could do.
“We have far fewer casualties than projected.” Furina touches his arm reassuringly. Though her subjects weep, not a tear graces the eyes of the Hydro Archon.
“If it was foreseen, why wasn’t it prevented?” He recognises the bite in his own voice, pointed in its accusation, but Furina remains unflappable.
Furina’s smile is strained when she looks at him. “What would you have us do against the might of the ocean, Monsieur? For now this will have to be enough.”
“And what exactly is it we’re doing standing here?” he asks her.
“We’re giving them hope,” she says softly. “We’re reminding them that they are not alone.”
Furina leaves him then, still standing impotently on the hill as she goes to console her people.
Subconsciously, Neuvillette runs a hand across his sleeve, feeling the indents left by Furina’s nails.
He finds little relief in the Palais Mermonia.
The flood was due in part to the sudden monsoon passing over Fontaine, and while Neuvillette typically enjoyed walks in the rain on any other day, the recent tragedy brought with it a deluge of human suffering pouring from the sky.
Tears dried on the mourners’ cheeks then fell upon Fontaine as rain. If the onslaught of emotion wasn’t making him so miserable, he might have waxed poetic about the rain connecting the hearts of each citizen to the ones they’ve lost. But as it was, there was just too much literal sadness in the air, and it was starting to take its toll on him.
For the first time in twenty years, Neuvillette postpones all trials that day and retreats to his room to wait out the migraine.
He should have expected it by now—he tells himself—weepy, emotional creatures humans are. He’s had more than a decent helping of anguish in the courtroom. If Focalors had told him that his grand seat would put him at the forefront of human emotions, he would have swallowed her scroll and slunk back to the bottom of the sea to sleep for another two centuries.
Neuvillette sighs, rubbing his eyelids to relieve a little pressure on his nerves. He would have asked for some tea, or better yet, fresh water to put him back on his feet, but the thought of seeing yet another human—another being who was no doubt processing the same tragedy as everyone else in the same emotionally explosive way no less—made his stomach turn.
He’s tossing and turning for a while when he hears a knock on the door.
“I’m not receiving visitors at the moment.” Then because he is feeling petty, he adds, “Go away.”
An offended gasp comes from behind the door. “Why, is my dear Iudex so emboldened that he dares shirk his duties and reject his Archon?”
Unhindered by closed doors or common courtesy, Furina strides into his room, surveying the state of it with a small ‘huh’.
“Lady Furina.” Neuvillette manages a shaky bow. “My apologies, I have been under the weather of late.”
“Indeed, Fontaine has certainly seen sunnier days,” Furina says, watching raindrops hit the glass panes then trail slowly downward.
“...Not every rainstorm comes from me. My lady,” Neuvillette tacks on. During his early years in Court, Furina herself had made it her sworn duty to drill one hundred years worth of legal codices and court etiquette into his dragon skull. Though without formal titles, the two of them were effectively royalty in this land, and Furina made sure he acted like it.
“Not this one perhaps.” She goes right up to him, peering straight into his eyes. “My, you do look positively ghastly. Anything your Archon can do to help?”
Neuvillette blinks twice. “No, my lady, I will be on my feet as soon as the rain lets up.”
“Hm, I would have thought creatures like yourself would enjoy frolicking in these spring showers.” Furina hums thoughtfully.
His silence provides her with no answer, so she takes a seat by his windowsill and watches the rain fall.
“Is the funeral still weighing on your mind?” she asks without peeling her gaze away from the window.
“No more than it should,” Neuvillette says. “I— must admit that I wasn’t prepared for the extent of their grief.” There were only so many years in a human lifespan, and Neuvillette had barely spent a quarter of it living amongst them. Yet so many of those years seem to be taken by mourning.
How did they do it, these short-lived creatures? How did they find the will to go on when so much of their natural lifespan was occupied by grief?
Neuvillette in all his centuries of life was unable to come up with an answer.
“Ah, so you aren’t as detached as you appear to be.” Furina exhales quietly. Neuvillette hadn’t even noticed she was holding her breath. “Good. It is heartening to know that my Iudex doesn’t have a heart of stone.”
Neuvillette snorts. “Do you think me as unfeeling as our neighbours to the south?”
“I’m sure even the Lord of Geo sheds a few tears every couple of decades.”
Furina moves from her place by the window to perch on his bed. She lifts her heels, so her knees are aligned with the mattress. Giving him a meaningful look, she pats her lap. “Come here, Neuvillette.”
Neuvillette stares at her quizzically. Knowing Furina this was either one of her eccentricities or a human custom he had not yet learned about. He takes a gamble on the latter and crawls his way to her.
She cups his face in her hands, once again searching for something in his expression. Then she releases him and again pats her lap. “Lay your head here.”
“On your…lap, my lady?”
“Where else?” Furina laughs, a little too loudly. “My dearest dragon is in pain, how could I be considered a just ruler if I shied away from providing him with comfort?”
Neuvillette stared at her legs, mentally computing the link between justice and thighs.
The longer he stared, the more strained her smile was becoming. Frustrated with his passivity, Furina says, “It’s a type of restorative treatment in Inazuma. The one in need of consolation rests their head on the lap of a trusted partner or family member. They call it a ‘lap pillow’. I have yet to see the results of this treatment myself, so your cooperation would be very beneficial in helping me assess its effect on my grieving subjects.”
“I…see.” Neuvillette had a few words to say about how physical Furina was willing to be with her mortal subjects, but his head was thundering and her thighs did look very soft.
Slowly he lowers his head onto her lap. There’s a sudden drop as his weight pushes her heels down, but it was very comfortable, yes.
He gazes up at her, wondering if this is how she feels every time she has to look up to speak with him. Furina indulges his curiosity; brushes strands of hair out of his eyes so he can get a better look.
Neuvillette has never seen her like this before. Even though she was gazing down at him, he was suddenly very aware of how small she was. All she had to do was lean forward and their noses would touch.
“Turn to your side,” she commands, turning slightly pink.
How bossy, but Neuvillette does so anyway. He feels his ear press up against one of her garters but it isn’t uncomfortable enough to make him move.
“What next?”
“Next—next I lull you to sleep with a song,” Furina says. She mutters something Neuvillette doesn’t quite catch. He shifts a little to get more comfortable, provoking a small cry of pain as he unwittingly pulls at her garters. Once he’s settled, Furina begins to sing.
He doesn’t recognise the words of the song, but that allows the music to wash over him all the better. It reminds him of the summer nights of his first years of dragonhood, when he would peek above the waters to watch a village in slumber.
He feels a hand in his hair, carding through the silver locks, and then carefully, moving lower to stroke one of his horns. Unwittingly, he purrs, and Furina stops singing.
“Keep singing,” he urges her. And she does, and the image of tranquil waters on a warm summer's night returns once more, washing away the pain of their people.
He awakens later to find that the rain has stopped and his migraine has all but left.
Furina was gone too, he noted. The mattress was still warm where she had sat. He imagined that, pleased with the results of her experiment, she had run off to offer her services to others. Imagining other people laying their head on her lap as he did sent a pang through his chest. Neuvillette scowls.
He must not be all well yet. There was, after all, a lot of bodies still buried under the debris. It would be days yet before the villagers would be able to find closure.
He would speak to Furina about allocating more manpower towards the rescue efforts. If it would bring his own discomfort to a swift end, Neuvillette would get on his knees and dig through the rubble himself. For now he just wanted to rest.
Neuvillette lays back down on his pillows, again tossing and turning to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Experimentally, he pushes two of his pillows together and lays down in the divet between them. It wasn’t quite like Furina’s lap, but it was better than nothing.
Maybe he could convince her to extend her services to him, he muses, quickly drifting off into a dreamless sleep.