Name one hero who was happy. [Brenner]

[Ursula Fletcher]

7th of Glade

Brenner Dornkirk. A hero.

Yes, Ursula had said, oh yes, smiling like she meant it. These were the sorts of things most girls dreamed of, heroes.

Her mother fussed over her outfit as she explained. A second son, new money. Her father hadn’t been excited about the meeting, initially. He’d hoped to see Ursula paired with a first son, if she was married to a new family. He’d worried that she’d end up with less.

And then, things had changed.

Brenner Dornkirk, who was only a second son, became Brenner Dornkirk, the First Minister of State. A man who risked everything to protect against, if the rumors were to be believed, assassins sent after Kalzasi’s princeling. A wedding massacre, she’d whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief, when she’d heard the tale. Her eyes grew wider still when her maid locked her in a corset and tied tight enough that her sight blurred.

Oh, what we do for beauty, she thought, not realizing she’d lost her smile trying to breathe.

Darling, you look unhappy, her mother said, watching from the couch. A woman can feel uncomfortable, but a lady wouldn’t show it. Ursula smiled. Yes, mother. Ursula smiled, and she made sure the smile reached her eyes. Another maid painted her face, according to current trends, of course. Nothing overdone. The goal was to look perfect, but not obviously so. A kiss of blush on her cheeks. A blush of rouge on her lips.

Pearls, a simple green dress, black shoes. A maid pressed her hair. Perfect, her mother said, perfect. She watched her mother see the dress, the shows, the face, the hair, but not her.

I would rather so many things than to marry, Ursula thought.

Your father hopes you impress him, her mother said, her arm slipping through the crook of Ursula’s. A hero! He risked it all, her mother said, slipping one white glove on one hand, and then another on the other. Silk, Ursula thought, the ones she bought me last season.

Silk, Ursula thought, for Brenner Dornkirk. Pearls, for Brenner Dornkirk. The dress, the shoes, the hair, for Brenner Dornkirk.

“Olivia?” Ursula turned, even if it wasn’t her name. Her father, sometimes. The Admiral, now. He was in uniform. The uniform, for Brenner Dornkirk.

The Fletcher’s were an old family. A moneyed family. Few compared to them. People impressed them, her father once said, not the other way around. “He’s arrived. The Dornkirk boy,” he said, straightening out his jacket.

And yet, Ursula thought, for Brenner Dornkirk, the hero, the statesman, we do impress. Or, at least, her parents hoped she would.

[Brenner Dornkirk]

Brenner nodded to the Fletcher footman who offered to take his overcoat, handing his hat over first before turning his back on the man who helped him free of his sleeves. With that layer gone, he wore a sleek suit of brass and black brocade that evoked a military uniform, though it wasn't one they'd have seen in any official capacity. Brass-coloured epaulets hung at his shoulders dancing as his knee-high black boots clicked against the floor as he was led in to meet the family.

His eyes quickly scanned the room, but paused as soon as they landed upon the paterfamilias.

"Sir!" He straightened his back and saluted the admiral in a formal fashion. Despite of his new position in the political machine of the State, he was still a soldier and of far lower rank in that sphere than the Fletcher father. Having acknowledged him, Brenner's eyes turned to his wife, Olivia, to whom he bowed slightly.

"Ma'am." He looked next to the reason for this visit. "Miss Fletcher." He regarded the daughter next with a faint, but cordial, smile and stepped forth to take her hand and bowed to kiss it. He stood up straight and stepped back, taking the trio in with a crystal blue gaze.

"Thank you for inviting me. With all the work I've been undertaking of late, I haven't seen much of society since Searing." There had been his brother's wedding, of course, and Eitan's, but those felt more than mere social engagements as he held a position in both wedding parties. He'd seen quite a bit of Kalzasi's society, before that fell to ruin, but that hardly rated in the mind of the Air Commander.

"Having spent time abroad, I am that much more appreciative of a setting where a man isn't out of place in a proper suit." He cracked a grin, "I swear, even out at the opera in Kalzasi I felt overdressed- ever surrounded by people in their flowy pyjamas. Quite jarring."

[Ursula Fletcher]

The man, the wife, the daughter. This was the order of things.

Her father - no, the Admiral bristled with self-importance. “Commander,” he said, returning the salute as graciously as anyone could. It had always seemed so violent a gesture, Ursula thought, so abrupt. There was something sharp in the movements that unsettled her.

“First Minister,” her mother beamed. Ursula had suspected her mother had pushed for this meeting, long before Brenner had become a hero. His family, after all, was like hers. New money, she’d heard her father say.

New money, he’d say, with a tap to his nose and a wink.

“Commander Dornkirk,” Ursula smiled, savoring the blue of his eyes. The color reminded her of robin’s eggs. Like pale sapphires, she thought, like her favorite pair of earrings.

“Ah, yes. They do tend to overdress, don’t they?” Her mother said, snaking her arm through the crook of the Admiral’s. “And the Opera house, it had such a funny name, didn’t it? Oh, darling, don’t you remember?”

“Peacock, or something similarly avian,” the Admiral's nose twitched, like he smelled something unpleasant. “We traveled there, some time ago. I suppose even then, the local costume was…whimsical.”

“Such it was, darling,” her mother said, offering the Admiral a smile before turning to Brenner. “But enough about fashion. Are you interested in a tour, First Minster, before lunch? Have you heard rumors of our gardens? They’re a pet project of Ursula's.”

Before lunch. The gardens. Ursula’s project. She’s heard those same three sentences, or some variation, with every potential suitor since last Glade. She wondered if her mother ever tired of it. Ursula did. Ursula was so very tired with it all.

“My mother flatters me. I merely oversee the gardeners' efforts," Ursula said, as warmly as she could muster. "Do you have any interest in horticulture, Commander Dornkirk? The Glade lilies should be ripe in bloom, early as we are in the season."

[Brenner Dornkirk]

Brenner's gaze lingered on Ursula longer than the others. She was, after all, the subject of the visit however genteel they all may have been about broaching that subject directly. His eyes danced back to the parents as they joined in his amusement at the expense of their northerly neighbours.

"Quite right!" He chortled, "The Golden Peacock, as if the normal sort weren't gaudy enough. They treated us to opera in the Zaichaeri fashion. "Tristian and Yseult". The performance was actually remarkably traditional- More so than anything one sees at the Pfenning, these days, so that was refreshing." He'd been struck by the shrewdness of the managing director- A rakish red-haired human named Aurin Kavafis. It had apparently been his notion to produce a Zaichaeri piece and he'd managed to get it produced in time for their visit.

"A tour would be splendid." He inclined his head in a sharp nod. There was an air of stark formality to his posture and gait, though whether that was his default or in deference to the presence of a higher ranking officer was unclear for the moment.

"Ah, I am afraid I am little more than an appréciateur when it comes to matters botanical. I, of course, enjoy the atmosphere of a well appointed garden, but if you asked me to distinguish the tulips from the daffodils I would be at a total loss." He chuckled and cast a sly, sidelong glance to Ursula as they began to lead him out of the room.

"But perhaps Miss Fletcher would be kind enough to impart some of her botanical knowledge. I do ever strive to improve and expand my education." He turned his eyes forward once more, and admired the décor of their surroundings.

[Ursula Fletcher]

“The Pfenning! Oh, First Minister, there has been no greater disappointment -,” her mother continued on and on about the theater’s failures. The Fletcher family had once proudly supported the Pfenning, under its previous director. The recent trends towards experimental works, while unfortunately popular, were not the sort of things Olivia Fletcher wished to associate with the Fletcher name.

While her mother lectured, Ursula caught Brenner’s glance, however sly, and cut her own smile into a sharper sort. “Mother is -,” her lips curved with a sudden burst of mischief, as her eyes flicked between her mother and the Commander, “Quite passionate about her philanthropic pursuits. Preservations of Zaichaeri culture being predominant among her interests.”

Ursula strung her words in whispers, twisting the exchange between him and her to something conspiratorial. A jest, shared between them and only them, as her mother complained about the last Opera she’d attended. The Admiral carried alongside, saying little.

The Manor was similar to many of those belonging to the families once called nobility. Portraits decorated the hallways, each depiction holding memories of the dead. Old books opened to personal diaries, or maps, encased in glass. Everything was for show, to be seen, admired. It was, perhaps, more subtle than some, but it was clear that the Fletcher family was proud of its roots.

--

“I’ve tasked the gardeners to nine separate areas, all of which make up the gardens south,” Ursula explained, a maid trailing behind her with a parasol. “The Greater Institute so kindly helped develop the landscape plan. I believe it’s called a tiered garden. This was all hills, previously, and this arrangement provides more workable land.”

The gardens south were portioned along five tiers, the first four divided further by a spacious stone staircase. The last section contained what appeared to be a maze of hedge. Flowers of all sorts, on trees, on bushes, ones that sprouted straight from the earth, were in various stages of blooming.

“Those,” Ursula said, pointing at a kaleidoscope of color, a bushel of bright flowers, “are the Glade tulips. Native to Zaichaer, but again, so is everything else here.”

[Brenner Dornkirk]

Brenner nodded along with a good-natured grin as the lady of the house exposited her various and sundry woes about the cultural decline of the Pfenning.

“I shall have to introduce you to my brother. Perhaps you’ve heard he was another of those whose station improved with the recent regime change. He is now the Chief Science Officer of our glorious state, but he’s long been a patron of the arts. His work kept him close at hand in the capital, whilst mine often took me abroad of the city proper. Perhaps with my new position I will have more opportunities to support the local cultural hubs… the arts are one of the exports that stand to benefit our repute in neighboring realms.” He noted, as if the notion was just now occurring to him.

As they embarked upon the garden proper, Brenner regarded the landscape with an appraising eye. He’d been in earnest when he said he had an appreciation for the botanical arts, though he had no particular interest in tending a garden himself. Like a beautiful painting or a stirring theatre piece, a lovely garden was something he enjoyed when he was immersed in it, though it wasn’t something he actively sought out on the day to day.

“It seems exquisitely cultivated to my untrained senses. The aromas complement the view beautifully, and the layout seems quite savvy.” He turned to Ursula and tipped his head in an approving nod.

“Gardening has always seemed to me to be an eminently ladylike pastime. It speaks well of your upbringing that you’ve come to enjoy and excel at so proper and upstanding an aesthetic endeavour.”

[Ursula Fletcher]

“Your compliments are appreciated, Commander Dornkirk.”

Ursula felt that the gardens were one of the few things that truly belonged to her. Ursula’s pet project. The words always stung. It felt, to her, condescending. It didn’t help that her mother only showed interest in the gardens when a suitor came calling.

Oh, her mother would say, you simply must see the gardens, her mother would say, Ursula, tell them about the flowers, her mother would say, there are the gardens west and east and south and -

“I try, very much, to see the gardens maintained through every season. Land is such a precious resource. Gardening, I find, reminds me of that - and, of course, of the responsibility one has, of cultivating such a resource,” she said, “Nothing is to be wasted.”

She watched as a few gardeners went about weeding.

“And you, Commander Dornkirk? I am ashamed to say I know little of what interests you,” she said, offering him a quick smile.

“Now - before you tell me, I have a proposition for you. A game, of sorts.” Ursula said, stepping down further into the garden. “I do consider myself quite good at reading people. I’d wager I would better guess your hobbies than you would guess mine,” her words were colored with playful tones, “But I could be wrong. Perhaps you might best me.”

A butterfly passed in front of them, fluttering from one side of the garden to the next.

“Does that sound intriguing to you, Commander?” Ursula asked, casting the same sly, sidelong glance he’d sent her way earlier. “Though, I’ll admit that I haven’t a clue as to what might be a suitable prize for the winner. What would you suggest?”

[Brenner Dornkirk]

"Well, they are earnest." Brenner emphasised with a wan smile, as they went about their leisurely stroll through the grounds. Her mention of the seasons reminded Brenner that the chill of Frost was not at all far behind them and, indeed, still lingered in the air. It made the vibrancy of the many hues represented in the garden that much more impressive to his layman mind. He wondered whether his mother was attentive to the landscaping on the Dornkirk grounds, or whether they simply relied upon the adeptness of their gardeners. He'd not have been surprised either way.

He parted his lips to reply, but she halted him before he could speak of his hobbies. It seemed, instead, she was keen to guess. He chuckled a bit nervously and nodded.

"A game, then." He might have sounded a bit more anxious than enthusiastic about the prospect, but he would play along.

"Sure..." He glanced to the flittering butterfly and pondered the question at hand. What sort of prize, indeed? It was a deceptively challenging query. Something overly familiar might be taken for intimacy or the intention toward it, and something too impersonal might be taken for a lack of interest. Beyond that, if he chose an activity for the prize it might tip his hand as to one of his hobbies.

"If I win, you will visit Dornkirk Manor and give us your advice on how to improve our gardens..." He suggested with a smirk. He knew one of her pastimes, after all, and the skill might benefit the aesthetics of his own home. It would also be an encouraging sign for the Fletchers that he was tacitly inviting her to his home, albeit under the condition of his winning the game.

"And what would you have of me if you should triumph, Miss Fletcher?"

[Ursula Fletcher]

He was anxious.

Ursula wondered why. Did he presume to understand something about the game she hadn’t implied – no, she decided, because if he had he might have proposed a prize of a different sort. Perhaps he wasn’t comfortable gambling. No, she decided, because then he would reject the game altogether.

Control, then. Perhaps.

The men of her peerage weren’t willing, generally, to let go of the power they had. Whether their power had come to them by way of silver spoons or bloodied swords, she hadn’t yet met a man (or a woman) that willingly released the reigns of control.

She might challenge that, in him. She was perfectly capable of playing the doe to his stag, but this place was hers, after all. A bit of push was hardly impolite.

“I would like to see the gardens of Dornkirk Manner,” she mused thoughtfully.

He’d been chaste in his idea, which won him points with her. There had been suitors who’d tried to gamble a kiss – or more. They were her suitors no longer. “I am terribly curious. I don't think it'd be much of a prize at all if it meant I wouldn't see the gardens. I may find some inspiration there,” she said, “I suggest that I see the gardens, whether I win or lose. But if I win, you’ll pay for my advice. A donation, of course, and to a cause of my choice, but one made under your name.”

Hardly a small ask, she thinks, but an entertaining one. She wouldn’t have dared if they hadn’t been here, in the gardens alongside her home, where her family’s wealth and power were on full display. She would be upset if he were to think she was fishing for gold.

How dour an impression that would be.

But money was nothing to her – and she assumed it was the same for him. Otherwise, there was little doubt, in her mind, that this match would be no match at all.

“And – to make things more interesting, I wouldn’t name a price for my services. Rather, you would donate whatever you thought equal to my advice.”

She wished to test his humor. She wondered if Brenner Dornkirk, hero, the First Minister, the Commander, might take up her game in good spirits. She wondered if he was competitive. There were many things she wondered, about him.

Today, she hoped she might discover some answers.

“Does that sound an appropriate prize? If so, you may start – I have a strong suspicion you might already have a guess at the ready.”

[Brenner Dornkirk]

Brenner arched an eyebrow, but his smile remained intact. Ursula was not as he'd anticipated. He was starting to get the notion that she was a bit of a spitfire. So many of the society girls he'd met seemed, in a word, simple. Their interests gravitated toward the superficial and their wit lacked lustre. With Miss Fletcher, however, he was beginning to note the welcome signs of complexity. Within moments of meeting Brenner she was, quite literally, challenging him. There were many who might have been nervous to do so in light of his ascendant star.

He smirked at her suggested prize. He'd made a safe choice and hers was a bit bolder. He could appreciate that, albeit to a point...

"As long as you select an appropriate charity, that is agreeable." He cast a glance to her parents and grinned playfully, "I cannot afford to have my nascent political career complicated by records of having donated to the dispossessed war witches of Karnor or some such controversial cause." He chuckled to indicate he didn't suppose Miss Fletcher would actually pose any such untoward suggestion, but the boundary was set all the same and the game was afoot.

"Well..." He pursed his lips and stroked his chin, turning his eyes on Ursula and regarding her with a surveying eye as he considered his options. "I shall begin in a charitable spirit and omit the hobby you've already admitted to enjoying. Gardening is off the table." He drew his hand away from his chin and pointed his index finger skyward.

"Gambling, however..." He canted his head and smiled wryly, "That I have deduced through observation. My first guess is gambling." He paused a beat, "Gardening, gambling... I wonder, will all of your pastimes begin with the letter G?"