Chapter Text
I’m a failure. This is an unusual thought for Saul Silva, as he has the habit of excelling in everything he sets his mind to. Well, excelling could be interpreted very broadly, but he is generally very generous towards himself. How can he not, when he has just been appointed Headmaster of one of the most prestigious schools in Solaria? And all of that despite Saul himself being from Eraklion, and thus basically a foreigner. But the Solarian Specialists had accepted him because he had proven himself to be exceptionally capable, with a talent for quick assertion and decision-making.
Except today.
As he enters the building of the Common Regional Association of Educational Institutions, Saul strongly reconsiders the decisions that have led him to be here – and not in the icy tundra of Domino.
As Deputy Headmaster, he had managed to avoid the dreadful biannual conferences with the Association that could have very well been texts, according to everyone with a sense of time. But now that he has scratched “Deputy” from his title, he couldn’t avoid them anymore, nor the board meetings that were apparently purely established to torture him personally. His predecessor, an ancient Specialist the size of a twelve-year-old who could hit your shin with a precision and speed that amazed him to this day, had only shrugged in his face and walked away with a cackle when he complained about this absolute waste of time. So instead of wisdom, Saul had been left with a school and a calendar full of meetings and conferences.
He scoffs. How bad can it be? He will tackle this challenge like the Specialist he is.
With newfound energy, he turns on his heels towards Conference Hall 2.
The first thing he notices when he enters the pretentious glass hallway leading to his destination is the woman walking in front of him. Saul can’t even say what it is exactly that is pulling his gaze towards this person. Her blonde hair is pulled into a complicated updo that must be taking ages to deconstruct, and her gaze is fixated on her phone. He would have mentioned she has an almost majestic aura, if Saul believed in that kind of bullshit. But he doesn’t, even though the woman has caught his eye like no one else in this building has managed to. If he had to guess, he would say she is probably the Head of a prestigious school in either Solaria or Melody, or maybe even a minister of the Queen’s cabinet. For once, he regrets not bothering to research the other attendees of the conference. Maybe he could snatch a seat next to her later to find out more about this mysterious woman who, for some reason, is giving him either mind or air fairy vibes. She definitely is some kind of fairy at least, he has worked with enough of them to recognise their je ne sais quoi.
The potential walking red flag – if he trusts Riven’s word, which he probably shouldn’t – is still passionately typing on her phone, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. Saul wonders what could be important enough for her not to realise she is about to walk into a giant roll-up someone had wisely placed in the middle of the hallway.
“Excuse me, blond-haired lady, be careful!” Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t notice him since her gaze is still glued to the device in her hand. Another reason might be that “blond-haired lady” isn’t exactly what others would consider veryspecific.
Today, luck was on her side, because a Specialist will always protect those in danger, even if said danger is a giant Post-it. Within a second, he is next to her.
“Careful!” Saul closes his hand around her elbow and gently pulls her towards him.
At least, he was planning to be gentle. Unfortunately, he forgets to take her fast pace and his own momentum into account. As a result, she more or less tumbles into him, the phone in her hand forcefully pressed into his chest, crumpling his only good suit in the process.
His hand reaches out, stabilising her as his Specialist senses kick in. The fabric of her blouse feels soft beneath his skin and a strand of her hair caresses his cheek. The scent of Earl Grey tea and something else washing over him. Maybe he should give Tea Time a chance.
“Excuse me?”
She looks up from her phone. Unsurprisingly, since that device is still pressed into his sternum. He would have to check for an imprint on his body later. Her eyes are piercing into his soul. She must be a mind fairy. Saul’s brain immediately starts to dissect the tone of her words.
As a Specialist he is used to assessing situations and calculating threats. And a fairy who seems to have an important function within the educational division of the throne and who has just been ambushed – albeit in good faith – could certainly be considered a threat. With fairies, one was never sure about the extent of their powers and their wrath. And especially with the one in front of him, Saul has a gut feeling she isn’t one to be messed with.
“I’m sorry but you were about to collide with this giant Post-it,” he hears himself say breathlessly. “I didn’t mean to then run into you.”
Somewhere, Sky is cringing to death right now.
“Not that I wouldn’t want to run into you, but I’d rather do that without the threat of bodily harm.” His effort to save the moment is met with a small sympathetic chuckle. The woman doesn’t seem to mind his bad sense of humour. Or she has an amazing poker face.
Silence is spreading between them until they both realise in the same moment how close they are standing together. Suddenly, it dawns on Saul that one of his hands is still comfortably placed on the waist of a woman whose name he doesn’t even know.
He lets go of her and takes a step back.
“Where are my manners? Excuse me, my name is-” before Saul can finish his introduction, she interrupts him.
“Saul Silva,” she says. “You were just promoted to Headmaster of Blue Fountain Academy – congratulations – which means this is your first official conference. My apologies for that.” The smile lines next to her glistening eyes remind him of the sun breaking through the clouds on a stormy day at the North Cap.
Saul blinks. Somehow, his brain isn’t feeling like forming proper words. Certainly not a sudden bout of stage fright, right? He has encountered other people before, so he can’t really explain his surprising lack of nonchalance in the presence of this mysterious woman.
“I’m Farah Dowling.” She takes a step back, hands raised in defence. “I promise I wasn’t stalking you, I just looked up our newest member. Which is you.” She brushes a small strand of hair that has come loose from her hairstyle behind her ear.
This gesture convinces his brain to finally start working for its money again.
“So you were stalking me,” he states and takes half a step forward. His face is hopefully decorated by a handsome smile right now.
Farah Dowling seems to take this as a challenge. She raises her eyebrows at him. “I was not.”
Saul gives his best impression of a dramatic shrug. “If you say so. And here I thought you would consider me worth stalking.” He shakes his head.
The woman in front of him lets out a laugh. “You are certainly important enough to have someone wanting to find out everything about you,” she states. Saul is this close to bowing before her. The way she looks at him makes him want her to be that someone.
“And you saved my life,” she adds.
Saul looks at the giant Post-it behind her. The neon yellow monstrosity – seemingly impossible not to notice – is plastered with facts about the pros of taking notes. According to it, the biggest advantage is the notes one acquires after writing things down. What a revolutionary concept.
“I’m certain you would have survived the encounter with this thing.” There he is, Eraklion’s number one smooth talker. There is a reason he had left the realm of his birth.
Farah’s smile turns into a delightful pout as she thinks dramatically about her potential collision. “You’re right. Let’s agree you saved my dignity and reputation.” She offers him her hand and smiles again, maybe even somewhat bigger than before.
“That I can agree on, Farah Dowling.” He shakes her hand as if they were old friends, and in the heat of the moment, he quickly leans forward. “I will collect your debt when the time is right, Farah,” he whispers into her ear.
Farah makes a sound that is a wonderful mix of a scoff and a snort.
“I’m looking forward to it, Saul.”
“I support Dowling’s proposal.” The voice is loud and clear with only a hint of boredom, and something else. Excitement? The voice also belongs to himself, Saul Silva, unfortunate attendee of this conference, who just listened to a budget proposal without having to pinch himself to stay awake.
He even enjoyed it for some fucking reason.
Sure, Dowling seems to have a talent for speaking in front of people and presenting boring topics as something almost interesting. She answers everyone’s questions with ease and is supported by so much data that he can’t help but be impressed. He even laughed out loud when she made a joke in the beginning, earning himself annoyed looks from his less humorously gifted colleagues. But what surprises him the most is how passionate she was. The moment she started speaking, her eyes had lit up, as if the savings on heating costs with properly insulated buildings could save the seven realms from bankruptcy. Not that any of them are in crazy debt, but if they were, Farah Dowling could certainly save them.
Had she announced her candidacy for the presidency of the seven realms, Saul wouldn’t have been surprised - and he would have voted for her. He would always choose her.