YOU SHOULD SEE ME IN A CROWWWWWN

It's been five weeks at the border already. Hot sun beating down with scant cover to relieve it, sand getting in everything. Sweat is pretty much the only smell Dolan can remember anymore. The insurrectionists right over the dividing line haven't been making it easy on them.

Dolan spends his days under a thin, beige tarp baking in his thick khaki field uniform and the oily, heavy camouflage face paint, finger tapping restlessly along the trigger of his assault rifle. He spends his nights switching off lookout shifts under the same tarp, this time shivering. Damn this stupid desert.

But things have shifted since they've been here. The most recent intel puts the conflict they've been working up to for weeks now out on a few more days, a week at most. The rebels are terribly undermanned, undergunned, and planning an attack along this route anyway. What a rude awakening they're in for. It's making Dolan a little antsy- excitement, adrenaline, all of it- but none of it shows on his face. If he's learned anything in his years working up the ranks, it's that a blank face- a willing demeanor- covers a multitude of unspoken sins.

Dust kicks up in huge clouds that rise about the sand dunes. Dolan squints into the sights of his gun, finger itching at the trigger. Armored trucks are flying up the dirt road, the only road in or out of this small, makeshift covert camp. A camp nobody should be coming to or leaving from.

He taps his earpiece, gives the low, calm order for the rest of the men to stand down. The insignia on the cars doesn't belong to their enemies. After he ends the transmission, he curses under his breath. Two armored cars blowing weeks' worth of painstakingly established cover. It'll be a miracle if they don't draw unwanted attention.

He flips the tarp off his back with a low grumble in his throat, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and brushing the front of his uniform free of all the hot sand he's been lying in for hours. Out of habit, he checks his belt and each of the weapons secured to it- the two small handguns strapped tightly to his leg, the knife sheaths against the other.

The trucks roll at an irresponsibly pace right up into the middle of the camp, kicking up so much dust that the camp becomes shrouded in it in a matter of seconds, before they stop abruptly. When the passenger door of the first truck is thrown open, Dolan gets a quick eye roll in before he has to stand at attention.

"A little grittier out here than I imagined."

Kvanne isn't dressed appropriately to be here, but Dolan figures he'd done the absolute best he could, considering. Shiny black boots, a dense black suit with double rows of brass buttons up the side of the chest, a dramatic and authoritative looking collar. His brother has always been one for prestige.

"Oh? How else exactly did you imagine sand would be, Kvanne?"

"That's Chief Advisor Fox, to you."

There's a hint of a coy smile to soften Kvanne's tone.

"Alright, Chief Advisor Fox. You gonna tell me why you've likely blown my operation here with your box car toys, or am I gonna have to carve it out of you?"

The coy smile fades a bit into something more hesitant. More alarming.

"Dolan. You have new orders. We're taking you back to the Imperial Palace."

Dolan swears he can feel his eyebrow twitch. He's nearly cutting off his own circulation with how tightly he's gripping his wrist behind his back. He has to stop himself from speaking for a moment, take a deep breath, and choose his words carefully. By now, many of his soldiers are peeking confusedly out from under their own tarps.

"Ex...excuse me?"

"You're being reassigned. In all likelihood, it'll be temporary. We just had a recent-"

"We're barely a week at most from finishing this, Kvanne. What's more important that securing this border which, in case you've forgotten, was a number one top priority when you sent me out here?"

Kvanne sighs, the slightest hint of trepidation mixed in with exasperation at the irritation bleeding slowly in Dolan's tone.

"Her Imperial Majesty. That's what's more important."

Silence. Dolan blinks a few times.

"And... that's all the detail you came prepared to share?"

"For God's sake, Dolan. Maybe this was a bad idea... We had a recent security breach within Her Imperial Majesty's personal guard."

"Yeah? Well I'm not a guard."

Somehow, Dolan's arms have transitioned themselves from a respectful at attention stance to folded across his chest.

"Good thing you handle change well when you're ordered to. The Empress put some... difficult stipulations on the council's attempts to enhance her personal security. And you are our current best solution."

Dolan chuckles deep in his throat.

"Don't laugh, Dolan. Careers are made through opportunities like this."

"I've been making my career out here for weeks. Now you want to pull me off this highly important matter of national security to go be a glorified babysitter? And to thank you for it?"

Kvanne licks his lips, takes another heavy breath.

"I am taking you off one matter of national security and assigning you to another, more important, one. And you are not required to thank me. But you are required to comply."

Of course, he's right. And that's the whole matter in a nutshell, nothing more to be argued with there. Dolan is a soldier, and soldiers don't argue, they just do. He's lucky, at least, that it had been his brother instead of some other council member, or worse, a military superior.

It doesn't take long to gather his things. The soldier replacing him settles down right into Dolan's spot, already briefed, ready to command this operation through right to the end. To Dolan's hard-fought end. And that stings. But he'll pretend it doesn't.

He pretends it doesn't for hours of uncomfortable silence all the way to the Imperial Palace, staring straight at Kvanne for long stretches until Kvanne grows so unnerved he has to look away first. Dolan has been to the Imperial Palace twice. Once one idyllic summer before he'd been sent to military school, when he visited his father who'd held a spot on the council then. The other time, after he'd graduated with honors at the top of his class, he'd gone to receive his qualifications and his initial orders. He'd gone straight on to black ops. One after the other after the other, some overlapping even, in one long unbroken strand of success. Unbroken, of course, until now.

"Well, at least tell me it's good to be seeing grass again instead of all that sand."

Kvanne tries to lighten the mood, directing Dolan's attention out the heavily tinted window as they approach the palace and the lush, green grounds.

The palace is- Well, it's loud. It's always loud. Servants running around, maids trying to clean, soldiers stomping away in their clean little lines. Someone coughs a few doors down, someone on the floor above drags a chair, the floor below is home to an argument between workers. The noise never stops.

The only remotely quiet place around the palace are the floating gardens, and even that can be hit or miss. On the first level of it, maintenance workers hurry to fix broken sprinklers, some men cut the grass, tend to flowers. On the floating islands suspended by magnetic waves of the "second" level, the more exotic international plants grow, spill over the sides of the hovering land masses that stay a couple of stories up above the ground level below. The third level is a round track near the greenhouse roof, one that circles around the entire perimeter of the garden high above everything with a walkway big enough for only one to two people. That's for the people who manage the weather simulator. Only specialized workers are allowed up there.

Specialized workers for something that isn't even necessary. The large class ceiling can retract and close rather quickly for being the size it is. If the plants need some rain, why not just open it when a passing rainstorm is coming through? Need to protect them from the cold? Close the ceiling. None of it seems that difficult to put together.

Between the masses of suspended earth are free-standing bridges to connect them, the walkways made of clear glass to let light shine through to the plants below. Her heels click on the hard surface as she makes her way to the next little island. Just another noise to add to the mix.

A gardener trying to tend to a rather unruly vine spots her and tenses, standing to attention immediately. She waves the elderly man to calm down as she walks past. People being up-tight is required, it means she has their respect, but if it isn't obnoxious and annoying. The hand motion is meant to calm him down, but she doesn't add any words of comfort, meaning it probably comes across as aloof or annoyed. It's not that she intends to be rude, all she wants is to be alone.

The swish of her structured pants, the slight sound of the heavy fabric of her half skirt billowing behind her, nothing is quiet. It doesn't help that, poking out of the hair piled into some sort of elegant, royal updo, stands two long rabbit ears pointed forward, always on alert. They hear more than she would like them.

Maybe she shouldn't complain. They're how she heard her advisors planning to increase her personal security tenfold after last weeks failed assassination attempt. It's rude of them to assume she needs the help. No guard stopped that sad excuse of a spy, she saved herself. She pieced together what was going on, she picked up on all his failed cover-ups, and she's the one who actually fought him off. And won.

Why does she need more guards? They clearly can't do their job. She has to do everything around here.

A small bench sits under some sort of fruit-bearing tree, tucked in a small cove to almost look like it's anywhere but here. That's where she wants to be. Before sitting, she wipes the bench off with her hand, making sure the white fabric of her suit isn't ruined. The ladies doing laundry would have a fit, and then finally takes her seat among the foliage, adjusting the deep scoop of her neckline back into place.

From her pocket, she pulls a small rectangle of metal out, flipping it open to reveal a semi-transparent screen, charts in a column on one side, graphs flicking quickly up in a corner, and reports taking up the main center portion. Work really never stops, does it? With a sigh, she starts scrolling through everything, her eyes dragging across each line quickly.

Until more noise. Someone calls for her specifically just as she felt like she was starting to tune some things out.

"Having fun?"

A man with dirty blond hair crosses a nearby bridge, an easy grin on his face that crinkles his gray eyes. His suit is that of an advisor because, well, he is one. The light gray compliments his eyes and the fabric is neatly pressed other than the rolled up sleeves and the undone top button. The sigh is enough to pull a small smirk from her as she examines him.

"I was, Advisor Killian."

"Until I got here?"

"It's like you can read my mind."

In a highly inappropriate casual manner, he saunters over and plops down on the bench beside her, slouching so he can lean back and look up at the leaves of the tree. There's a hum coming out of him, a perpetual noise. He's prone to those. The gardener from before glares at the man, mumbling something under his breath before turning to storm off.

No, technically speaking, this isn't how an advisor should be acting. Then again, that's why she's always liked Lance and he's become one of her favorites. He's honest and open, to a fault, and doesn't get caught up in the formalities of speaking with her. It's a breath of fresh air.

"Didn't Advisor Fox tell you to button your shirt and stop rolling your sleeves?"

"Did he? Must have forgotten. Oh well, I'm sure he'll tell me again."

"So you can forget again."

"Exactly."

That grin pulls Lance's lips more. Looking at him like this, it's not hard to understand why all the maids, and a lot of the servants, adore the advisor. He's a natural at winning people over. The exact type of natural she needs as her head of foreign affairs. He may not seem like he, but he has a lot of working knowledge of the world, so pair that with his charisma and he's a force to be reckoned with.

Not that she always listens to everything her advisors say, but, with Lance, most everything he says has some amount of merit to them in regards to wooing the masses.

"I assume you have a reason for bothering me, Advisor."

Trita sighs and goes back to her reading, now trying to ignore the man. The break was nice but things are demanding her attention. Lance doesn't seem to mind, simply standing back up to reach to a branch and pluck a ripe apple right off of it.

"The Chief Advisor is back with your new guard. You'll have to meet them."

"No. They can come to meet me."

The stubbornness makes Lance laugh, wiping the apple off on his sleeve before taking a large bite right out of it. His crunching is loud enough paired with every single other noise that it nearly sets her off right here and now.

"I kinda figured you'd say that so I told the guard at the gate to send them this way."

Her red eyes flick up at him with unhindered annoyance, annoyance that he easily ignores just in time for a servant to come rushing up to them.

"Your Imperial Majesty, your visitors are entering the front door of the garden now."

Kvanne seems nervous as he waits at the garden gate, pulling his squared off jacket down and straightening his shoulders as if he’s uncomfortable in the clothing. Both he and Dolan know that certainly isn’t the case. He’s always nit picky about many things in life. How everyone in their family behaves, how their reputation is upheld, and, of course, generally everything to do with the empress. He’s good at his job, Dolan will give him that.

Though Dolan finds this uniform not as comfortable as the one he’s gotten used to from years in the field, he’s not fidgeting nor complaining. They’d sent him to get cleaned up nearly as soon as he’d set foot in this place, and he can’t say a good long shower hadn’t done him some good. He’d turned it as cold as he could get it and stood under the running water for what seemed like forever, letting the coldness seep as far under his skin as he could get it.

His hair is still slightly wet, but pushed back from his face like this, it barely shows. Kvanne still furrows his brow in disapproval when he looks over at Dolan, examining him head to toe. He’s never grown out of that older brother role.

“Now, listen. I️ know you’ve been out away from all this for a very long time. This isn’t the field, and it’s not war, so remember your manners.”

“I’m not going to slit anyone’s throat, Kvanne. Maybe yours, but that should be a given by now.”

Kvanne huffs a little, clearly rethinking this plan now that its too late. He catches the glimpse of the servant inside nodding at him, and the gates start to retract, a soft whirring sound accompanying their movement.

Inside, Dolan can barely choose where to look first. He knows this is probably part of minding his manners like Kvanne had said, not ogling at everything as if he hadn’t seen civilization before. But this... this is at once beautiful and disgustingly extravagant. He’s not sure whether to be mystified or horrified.

He doesn’t have much time to figure out, because Kvanne leads quickly up a set of transparent stairs and right there on a bench, a few interconnected floating islands away, is the empress.

Dolan’s never met her before, but there’s no missing her. He’s seen her photo, heard all about her. Hell, he wouldn’t have blindly thrown himself into years of bloody rebellion wars if he hadn’t known who he was fighting for.

But seeing her in person... something about it is different. Its easy to idealize a disembodied idea, a figure, a philosophy. But there she is sitting under an apple tree, a real embodied person. Dolan doesn’t mean to frown, and he’s sure he probably doesn’t. But he’s not sure what to make of this strange feeling yet.

“Your Imperial Majesty.”

Kvanne starts addressing her before they’ve even made their way over to her fully, in some stage of a regal and proper bow their whole way to her. She simply lifts her head, red eyes taking them both in. Dolan freezes behind Kvanne.

“I️ want to introduce to you Commander Dolan Fox, hes been brought in to act as your new royal guard.”

It takes all Dolan has not to sigh, or even draw in a heavier breath than normal, but he has a lot of practice keeping his reactions internal. He hates having his rank thrown out in front of his name like somehow that’s the core of who he is. But Kvanne is forever obsessed with status, with puffing everything up, inflating it far beyond what it really is so it will look better.

It takes a second because Dolan is looking over the empress as much as she’s studying him. But he does bow, a less dramatic, more choppy version, abridged probably by his military experience.

“Your Imperial Majesty.”

He gives an extra little bow of his head toward the end, addressing her. Kvanne glances off to the side at him, as if he expects his brother to say something more. What more can he say, though? I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t die?

Kvanne accepts that Dolan intends to stick to the barebones of formal introductions and presses onward. He directs his attention to the young man seated beside the empress, wearing a lighter version of Kvanne’s own uniform. Kvanne does audibly sigh now, eyes roving, traceable, over the man’s clothes from his rolled up sleeves to his undone buttons.

“Advisor Killian. Don’t you look... quaint today.”

"Oh my, you've only been back a short time and you're already flirting with me, Fox? In front of the empress herself no less?"

Lance wiggles his eyebrows up at Kvanne much to the older man's immense irritation with just about everything to do with him. It's something Kvanne never hides well and, clearly, Lance feeds off of that. He playfully sways where he sits, his shoulder bumping into Trita's which just riles Kvanne up on a whole different level. If lax dress is inappropriate, touching the empress is punishable by death in Kvanne's mind.

"Did you hear that, Imperial Majesty? He called me quaint."

The tone he's speaking sounds like a schoolgirl hearing her crush call her cute for the first time. It's enough to make Trita laugh under her breath for a short second. No, she's fully aware that, while Lance seriously flirts with most anyone, Kvanne is not one of those people. All his flirting with the older advisor is simply for the sole purpose of annoyance. As Lance once said, it makes the day go by faster. He's most definitely not wrong. All the times she's had to watch Kvanne deal with Lance have made painful days just a little easier to push through.

"Mhm. I think the long-con is paying off. He may even ask you out soon."

When she humors Lance, she can feel the exact second Kvanne's glare shifts to her. It softens a little from hatred to just a disapproving scowl, remembering somewhere almost instantly who she is in relation to him. That's one thing she'll always have to give Kvanne credit for: He's good at staying professional and remembering rules and formalities. It's not her favorite thing in the world, but it has a time and place, she'll give him that.

"You can be my best man at the wedding."

"Wow, what an honor."

They back and forth just a second longer before they remember that they're all gathered here for a reason. Trita stands from the bench with a bit of a sigh, immediately throwing her hand up to stop Kvanne from trying to bow or kneel again, trying to put himself lower than her or... Something. She's not entirely sure why people do that but it always makes a situation incredibly awkward.

Yes, she's the empress, but she wasn't always "royalty." People feeling a need to be on a lower step than her so she can be above everyone is probably the most confusing tradition she had been thrown into once she took power. One that she would absolutely love to demolish if the other advisors would let her.

Standing, she lets her eyes sweep over Dolan, head to toe, not even trying to hide how she's examining and analyzing him. One of her ears flicks a little when she gets to his face, earning a quiet "uh oh" from Lance still seated on the bench behind her as he watches in amusement. Something in the set of his jaw, the angle of his eyes, screams... Bored? Displeased? A great number of things one wouldn't want to see in their new personal guard.

If they had even wanted one in the first place...

"You look disappointed, Commander. I assume I don't live up to some expectation."

Everything is a statement, not a question, and her tone is even the entire time. It's not like she can blame him, really. When people think of rebellion leaders that turned entire nations upside down, she's not exactly what most people have in mind, she would assume. Then again, it's not like she hides her face. How many pictures has she been forced to take for publicity? How many times has she been forced onto some news show or her speeches been televised? If her appearance is why he's disappointed then that's entirely on him.

No, there must be another reason he appears this way. Her eyes narrow, the corner of her lips twitching up for a fleeting moment.

"Or. You don't want to be here."

Kvanne shifts uncomfortably now, shooting his brother a glare, trying to tell him to get his act together. In all honesty, Trita doesn't mind if Dolan agrees with one or all of those reasons. This wasn't her choice either.

"Advisor Fox, when you told me you found someone under the stipulations I gave you, your brother was the first to come to mind?"

She waits for Kvanne to respond acknowledge that she's looking at and speaking to him now. He sets his shoulders back and she takes that as her cue to continue.

"Well. He must have an extensive and impressive background for you to think he fits the description. Tell me, what was he doing before he was reassigned to me? Either one of you can answer, I'm not picky."

Lance watches the scene with a lazy grin, resting his chin in his palm as he leans forward. He can't see Trita's face but he can hear her tone. It's playful, teasing, her general default for situations like this. But. It's also intimidating, like a predator, a lioness stalking around her prey. She's has her mind fixated on something. He can take a guess that it's just her dissatisfaction with having a fulltime guard now, dissatisfaction she's intentionally not trying to hide from Kvanne.

Dolan presses his lips together, keeping his amusement at Kvanne's sudden discomfort to himself.

"No, ma'am, not disappointed. Just. Trying to... acclimate myself."

Kvanne cuts him off before he can go any further, before he potentially take that down any disrespectful or inappropriate tangents. Kvanne shoots him a desperately disapproving glare to encourage him to not open his mouth again.

"Your Imperial Majesty. Please forgive my brother. He's been in the field way too long. But his manners will come back, I assure you. However, I and the council firmly believe that his experience is to your advantage. The Commander was decorated for service in the First and Second Rebel Wars and has been working tirelessly to keep Her Imperial Majesty's borders unharassed by those squabblers."

Dolan mostly sneaks glances up at the ceiling during Kvanne's speech, watching with mild disinterest as the workers go around the track, monitoring complex tech systems, overseeing the care of exotic looking plants. How easy it seems to be to condense what Dolan does, what he's done, down into this pretty, short, sterilized version of the true story, all tied up with a bow. A prestigious sounding story that really does nothing to answer the empress's original question.

So before Kvanne can pinch him into sustained silence or kick him in the shins, or reengage in some other form of control Kvanne had developed during their childhood, Dolan clears his throat and squares his shoulders.

"What I believe your Advisor means to say, ma'am, is that I'm the one who's been running all your black ops since you came to the throne. The ones my brother probably doesn't feel comfortable discussing in your presence because of who he is as a person. Although those ops are also the reason I'm assuming he thinks I'm qualified to personally guard you. So I'm sure you can imagine how conflicted he feels in trying to give you an answer to your question. Ma'am."

Dolan can almost audibly hear Kvanne dying beside him, which makes him have to press his lips together even tighter. But with the Empress's attention right on them both, Kvanne doesn't have many options as far as throwing a scolding expression Dolan's way. Still, Dolan assumes Kvanne is beyond that now. His fists are clenched behind his back.

"Oh, well, how fun."

Her tone comes across in a wild mix of flat and amused. Honestly, she's feeling somewhere between the two emotions. Bored by how bored the guard looks but amused by how the advisor is stumbling around his words. They're an entertaining duo, these two.

"I used to be in the frontlines of war, too. It wasn't that long ago but the entire political and cultural climate has shifted since then. I wonder what it's like now-"

Trita's eyes wander up into the leaves of the tree above them, tracing patterns she sees in them. The way they block the glass above and how the sunlight filters through, it's almost like she's not even in the palace. Just somewhere far, far away. A different small country under this massive empire, a different setting, different people, a different life. What she wouldn't give to go back, sometimes, do it all again-

Kvanne clears his throat at the mention of her in war, fighting, as a soldier or any sorts. It obviously makes him uncomfortable to think about the figurehead and ruler of the empire in that level of danger... Even though that's exactly where she came from. Then again, that had been before she had been thrust into this position of power. Now too much responsibility rests on her, the balance of lives from the advisors right down to the common baker depend on her.

She knows that. Deep at her core, that is one of the most steadfast facts she can hold onto. Irrefutable truth that keeps her going. It doesn't mean she enjoys it all the time. Most days, it's a burden. It's taken away her freedom and autonomy to a certain degree, things she values desperately. But. those are truths or facts, promised things the world is expected to give, she knows that all to well. In this debate, the foundation of everything in the empire being built on her and constantly watching her must win out more often than not.

"Relax. I'm a good little empress, I'll sit on my throne, drink tea, and sign papers. I won't go chasing down any more assassins."

All of that doesn't stop her from making comments about her situation to people she feels comfortable with. Unfortunately for him, Kvanne is one of them. He typically gets the brunt of her annoyance, of her glares and eye rolls. Lance gets his fair share too, but he's learned to not take it personally and not have it feel like a threat against his job.

The object in her hand begins to vibrate, demanding her attention. When she flips it back open, a new message is scrolling quickly on the screen. Some sort debate over taxes. Joy.

"Well. Speaking of signing papers. I guess my signature is needed in the council room. Along with my inevitable counterpoints and argument."

Lance laughs, standing up behind her, taking one last bite of the apple. He offers what's left to her but she just shakes her head. Kvanne visibly stiffens at the gesture, only adding to Lance's growing amusement before he throws the apple clear off the island they're on, down to the level below. A maintenance worker yells up some awful insult to whoever is littering in the garden, but the group ignores it.

"Guess that's my cue that we're having a meeting. You comin' hot stuff?"

His gray eyes sweep to Kvanne suggestively but the expression doesn't last. The way the other advisor reacts has Lance howling with laughter.

Trita's ears flick at the loud noise but she lets Lance have his moment of fun before interrupting.

"No, Advisor Fox needs to take the good Commander to his new room. If there's still time left, he can join us in the meeting once he's finished. He'll be late of course."

"Awh, boring. Guess it's just us walking over for now."

Lance turns to leave but Trita pauses, her eyes sweeping back to Dolan for a moment, still completely sure he has a million places he'd rather be than here. Oh well, they can be trapped together. She'll just drag him down with her.

There's no point in him just sitting around his room bored waiting for her, though. A smirk pulls her lips up, her hand snapping the foldable tablet closed to fit back into her pocket.

"While I'm gone, why don't you write down a report of the operation you came from so I can read over it. Apparently, there's a section of our military I need to be caught up on."

Kvanne keeps a warning glare trained on Dolan, but Dolan ignores it altogether, as he's very much used to doing. The Empress is smiling, something kind of smug and amused and Dolan can only imagine what it must be like from that position. Nobody to tell you what to do, nobody to pull you off missions you've given blood sweat and tears to.

"Just so I'm clear on what your'e looking for, ma'am, would you rather I estimate my general understanding of what the outcome of the mission would have been if I had been allowed to see it through, or should I just omit that section of the report altogether?"

Kvanne curses under his breath, and his glare drops to his shoes for just a moment, probably trying to get himself together. He clears his throat uncomfortably, most likely to get rid of the taste of the vile and unfamiliar word in his mouth. It's not like him to curse, but damn if Dolan doesn't just bring it out of him in spades.

"Your Imperial Majesty, I assure you we will brief the Commander fully on all the details of his new assignment and he along with this report you've requested will be ready and waiting after your very pressing business. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us."

Kvanne bows low again, his stare at Dolan a clear instruction to follow him in doing so. Dolan gives a slight half-bow, more with his head than anything else. He's still trying to feel this woman out. Her intense, confident stares. Her toying ways. Dolan refuses to fall into Kvanne's same pattern of over-formality, the exhausting Your Imperial Majestys peppering every other sentence. But he'll have to figure out how he does want to relate to her. He's going tome seeing an awful lot of her here very shortly.

"Hm, that's a fair question."

Trita crosses her arms in front of her, appearing deep in thought as if he had just asked her for some deep life philosophy.

He's snarky, that's for sure. Definitely different than everyone else around here. It's nice in a way. Makes her want to keep playing right along with how her mind had been previously turning.

Is this wrong of her...? She's just so incredibly bored all the time, stuck inside, being told how she should act while the message of her responsibility is shoved in her face day-in, day-out. And he's... Clearly annoyed with her. Some advisor somewhere would probably tell her this is not how an empress should behave, especially to those she employs, and, deep down, she knows that's true. This man just came to do a job, he doesn't deserve for her to be searching him with teasing, mocking words just for a small moment of amusement.

"Tell me how you think it would have gone had you stayed and how you think it'll go now. But don't miss the details of the mission leading up to it, I want to full debrief. All speculations and full analysis. You're a peach."

Her smirk flicks more into a smile, something a little more genuine though she doesn't hide that she's still having fun, messing and toying. With that as her goodbye to her new guard, she gives a quick bow of her head to Kvanne.

"I'll see you towards the end of the meeting, I'm sure."

Not one for formal goodbyes, that's the only farewell she gives him, too. As soon as the last word is out of her mouth, she spins on her heel and walks away towards the back entry of the garden. Lance gives both Dolan and Kvanne a friendly wave before he's turning and jogging to catch up with her, making their way across more crystal clear bridges, through other islands.

Once they're alone walking a large ornate hall, Lance snickers to himself, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"So. You gonna hit that or can I?"

"I think he's a little too old for you, dear. He's a little too old for me, even."

"Age is but a number in this regard. Not in others, though, I'm not a creep."

"Thank you for the clarification. But. No, I do not have plans to hit that."

"What if... We hit that together?"

"Oh? Still haven't found your perfect threesome yet?"

"No. I have such high standards. Though, something tells me the two of you could meet them."

"I'm sure I could meet them on my own."

"Oh-ho, you willing to give me a little taste of that? Put your money where your mouth is? I can think of a lot of places I'd like your mouth."

"You do realize you'd be thrown in jail if someone else heard you, right?"

"But you'd bail me out because you know I'm harmless."

They always have casual talks like this while walking. They've been overheard before but most of the servants fear Trita too much and like Lance just as much so they never tell. Honestly, Trita thinks nothing of them and finds harmless amusement in them. Most of the time she thinks that Lance views it the same.

Others she's quite sure he's absolutely serious. Something tells her that, were she not raised how she was, in the position she's in, she'd probably cave to a night with Lance. He's charming and attractive, no doubt good in bed with all his experience. But, as she is now and where she is in life, there's no way that will ever happen. He's more of a puppy sort of brother-cute to her now, and she's told him that before. And he despised it.

Not much can be done about it now. He will always be that to her, no matter how hard he tries. It doesn't mean they can't still joke. He's one of the few people that will with her anymore.

Their conversation dies out as they approach the council room, two guards opening the large wood doors for them. As fun as it was, they both know when it's time for work and their own brands of professionalism slip back on.

Kvanne had berated Dolan the second they were out of the empress's ear shot, all the way out of the garden and back into the main structure of the palace, down the halls toward the residential wing, and even for a while once they were standing in Dolan's new living space.

"-and what's more, if you don't straighten up and start taking this assignment as the blessing it is, I swear Dolan, we will go pluck some other soldier out of deep cover and switch you out. You'd think you would be grateful to be somewhere you're not being shot at. With clean water. And air conditioning."

"Well why don't you, then. Switch me out with someone better."

Dolan slings the backpack with the bulk of his personal belongings onto the bed, the slightest of smiles twitching at his lips. He doesn't need an answer from Kvanne- he already knows it. But it's still fun to watch his brother huff and squirm around it.

"You know you're the most capable person for this job. Stop poking at me."

Kvanne stays standing near the door, arms folded in a mix of exasperation and petulance, watching Dolan take the items out of his bag. The room is nice, Dolan will give them that. He hasn't stayed anywhere this swanky for a long time and part of him doesn't want to get used to it. This will be a temporary assignment, like Kvanne had said, and then he'll be back in the sand, back in his element.

"What is this about, Dolan. You wanted her on the throne as much as I did. As much as we all did. You personally fought to make it happen. Now you don't want to keep her safe this way?"

Dolan cuts a hard stare over his shoulder, letting it only glance off Kvanne before he goes back to unpacking. It's mostly just his personal weapons, a jacket, an extra set of boots. He's sure someone will swoop in soon and give him some new uniform to wear, tell him all the new rules. But until then, he likes the simplicity of just looking at everything he owns like this, laid out. Easy and unburden some.

"You've been working with her personally face to face for years, Kvanne. I just met her, once. If it were any more obvious that she can handle herself, we wouldn't need to be pushing back rebels at the border. We'd just put some hologram of her up. She obviously doesn't want this, either. Why do you think she needs protection so much?"

Something in Kvanne's face softens for a fraction of a second before he squares his stance again, clears his throat, lets his eyebrows pinch together in a show of seriousness.

"The Empress is a young woman. Yes, she has fought herself and is capable of quite much. She knows what she's doing, and that is very settling in regards to her being on the throne. But don't think any of us are blinded by that into taking frivolous chances. She's a good ruler and a good person. And while all this conflict with the rebels continues, I personally would like to employ a better safe than sorry approach."

"I could be making that happen at the border right now."

Dolan mutters it under his breath, a little bitterly, and he knows he's being a child. He should just let that go, he's here now. But some part of him still isn't ready to let Kvanne off the hook yet.

"Well why don't you make that happen here in the palace, and then we'll talk about expanding your success to the border, hmm?"

Kvanne shoots him one last look, a warning stare to rival all the others, a very general command to be on Dolan's best behavior, and better than that if he can manage it, before he slams the door behind him. No doubt rushing off to try and salvage his punctuality to that meeting.

Dolan sinks onto the foot of the bed and lets out a long, deep sigh. It feels like he's been holding that in all day. He takes a moment to look around him, survey this place that's apparently his now. It's a decent sized room- he expected as much when they'd passed the Empress's rooms coming down the same hall. Of course they'd give him a room close to hers, if he's supposed to be on her guard at all times. He hasn't received his full brief yet, but he half expects to be ordered to sleep on some cot at the foot of her bed every night, or better yet to never sleep at all. He wonders who would be more frustrated by that- him, or her?

The ceilings are high, a huge oversized angular glass chandelier hangs, and looks small, compared to the dimensions of the ceiling it hangs from. The furnishings in general feel too grand- velvet on the bed and polished slate at the floor, a dresser and table and bookcase of black wood so shiny he can almost see his reflection in it.

Still, there's a stark coldness to the room that keeps him from being entirely uncomfortable. No rugs, no curtains. Bare, in its own way. Something to remind him that he won't be here forever. To keep him from settling in too much. To remind him of what his old commander used to say, back when he'd first started receiving black op mission orders: go in, complete the mission, get out. Move on. That's exactly what he needs to do here.

Aside from his belongings on the bed, the only real personal item in the room is a small tablet laying on the table, which reminds Dolan of his first task here. He's pretty sure she'd asked for a mission report simply to taunt at him, to drive the stake in just a little deeper that she is the one with the authority. And to her credit, if the roles had been reversed and a soldier had spoken to Dolan the way he had to her, he'd probably have reacted the same.

But his isn't the military. He's going to have to keep telling himself that, isn't he? As if the room around him and the people he now finds himself surrounded by in this palace aren't reminders enough. He is going to have to acclimate himself to all this newness, and even though rehashing his last mission and dragging himself afresh through the details of it might not be the best place to start, he might as well get it over with.

He sits down at the table, leaning back slowly in the chair to try and get some of the tension to melt out of his back. From there, it comes a little more quickly. He slings his legs up across the table, leans the chair so its front two legs don't touch the ground anymore. He spends a few more minutes staring at the ceiling in thought before he picks up the tablet.

"Knock-knock."

It's been several hours since the meeting started, outside the large windows of the palace night has begun to settle on the world around them. Lance peeks inside the door to Dolan's room with a smirk, flinging the door open once the guard is looking his way.

"Hello, handsome. How's the report coming?"

As if this were his own personal room, he saunters in and plops down in a large plush seat, slinging his good leg over the one with various sheets of metal molded to it in a stiff, shiny cast. The metal creaks a little but stops once Lance is settled in.

Dolan doesn't seem to want to humor him, not that Lance can blame him. Given what little he knows of the man, their personalities should be an... Interesting mix. That's a shame. He enjoys all the joking he gets to do with the empress and was hoping her new guard would be the same. Apparently not, given the cold look in his icy blue eyes.

"Relax, relax-"

He waves his hands up innocently before letting his eyes sweep around the room, noticing the bare walls and windows. It almost looks exactly like- Huh. Weird. Maybe he should bring that up with Trita the next time he sees her, see if she knows what the maids and designers were thinking. It's an uncommon choice of decorating throughout the entire palace save one singular other room.

"Well, I was sent to tell you that Her Imperial Majesty is having dinner down in the reclined dining hall. As the name implies, it's one of the smaller halls meant for more informal dining. She would like for you to join her."

To anyone unaccustomed to the empress, he's sure that sounds like an extremely odd request. It's not. She's always had a habit of wanting guests to join her when they can. At first, it hadn't been that way, but then Lance started sneaking in to join her and she had grown to like small company around her. He has his suspicion as to why, why she detests eating alone and why she put on a face so people wouldn't know for the longest time, but that's not his business to walk around sharing. Besides, it's just a suspicion, nothing concrete.

Dolan doesn't immediately stand, so Lance decides to stand first, to give him the hint that the invitation was for now, not later.

"I'll lead you there so you don't get lost and make her wait too long."

Dolan reluctantly pulls himself out of the chair, stretching his shoulders a bit and pulling the jacket of this uniform down. He's still trying to get used to the different way it hangs on him, to not brushing sand out of it every few minutes. He still mimics the action, out of habit.

He turns to follow this advisor from before out of the room, slowing his normally quicker gait a bit when the flashing metal of the man's leg brace catches his eye. Dolan toys with it for a few minutes as they walk down the hall, lit by huge and geometric looking light fixtures that glint off the glass of the darkened windows. He thinks better of it at first, but he can't get himself to give it up entirely.

"What'd you do to your leg?"

He refrains asking it the way his instincts tell him to: which war were you in? Because he knows the Palace here is not like a war zone. Not everyone here has been a soldier. But he also knows that with the Rebel Wars barely behind them, there are many more former soldiers around than meets the eye. Everyone had volunteered, and the soldiers on the frontlines then hadn't met the normal stereotype a commander is conditioned to look for. It could swing either way, so Dolan goes for delicacy at least this time.

Besides, this advisor had seemed, for some reason, very close to the empress. In a casual and familiar sort of way. Far be it from Dolan to start assuming roles, but who's to say he's not her closest friend. Or lover. Or anyone who has her ear. He's not going to start off his assignment here offending anyone close to the person he's going to be spending all his time with. Speaking of which.

"Do things normally go... the way they did before?"

He clears his throat in the middle, realizing halfway through that he can't think of a better or clearer way to phrase that question. What he means, of course, is the style of the interaction as well as the schedule. To meet an empress in the garden in the middle of the day- most rulers would have been entrenched in meetings, not burdened to be called away to one. Dolan assumes she's set up the government to run to a certain extent without her, at least, as far as it can. He wonders what she does with all the rest of the time.

"You like a man with some battle scars, Commander?"

Lance laughs and, despite all the metal wrapped around his leg, he moves smoothly down the hall. Only the clanking of the material itself really gives any sign that he's handicapped in any sort of way. A few maids walk by, crowding together in little groups. They stare at the two men as they walk by, quietly whispering amongst themselves for the most part, but erupt into giggles when Lance winks over at them and waves. They run down the hall in a frenzy to go tell their coworkers what just happened.

"I was a soldier in the rebellion. I won't say I was a very good soldier, I had a... Well, rebellious nature. Orders for a cause I believed in or no, I liked to do things my own way. My superiors hated me for it, threw me in the front a lot. Well, because of that, the old imperials thought I was way more important to the rebellion than I actually was. They saw me all the time, spies saw me constantly talking to superiors. They kidnapped me, tortured me within an inch of my life. The way they shattered my knee and bent my leg all out of place... Gruesome stuff. Hardly something you'd imagine a human doing to another human, but there I was strapped to a table."

He shrugs casually while discussing everything. None of it really bothers him. Truth be told, it hadn't bothered him back then either. Well, after he was found, that is. It bothered him a lot when he was just waiting hundreds of feet below the earth's surface to die.

"I should be gone. I should at the very least be permanently maimed much more than this. Oh well, the miracle of medical science, the world couldn't off me that easily."

That thought makes him grin. His unusually good luck always does. He loves defying the odds, beating faith. The story of the impossible recovery and survival is one of his favorites.

They turn down into a smaller hall. All the marble is still as polished as anywhere else in the palace, but this hall is narrower, more of an off-shoot than a place guests would frequent often. To help with the size, designers have placed floor to ceiling mirrors all along the wall across from the windows so things feel more open.

"And as far as Her Imperial Majesty is concerned, she likes to sneak off and hide to herself. You'll have fun with that one, good luck chasing her around."

Without looking, Lance can tell that the warning doesn't settle well with Dolan, that it sounds like this new assignment is going to be an annoyance. It may be, in all honesty, but Lance hadn't meant to present it that way. There's no one in the palace who is more fond of The Empress than he is, and not just in the respectful "she's the ruler" sort of way that Kvanne seems to be. No, it's much more in line with "she's still a person" thought. Romantically, she's off the table, apparently, but, as a friend, she's fun to be around, great at dishing back the teasing Lance tries to throw at her.

Not everyone sees her that way and he hates that he probably just started this guard off on the wrong foot with her.

"She basically does everything government-based around here, but she does it herself in her own space. She likes autonomy and being forced into meetings from sunrise to sunset does not fit into that desire. Granted, she still does come to a lot of the meetings, but the ones she feels like she can just do her own research on or be called into, you'll never see her there."

He pauses briefly.

"Well. I guess if you do your job right, you won't be there either. You got the point, though."

Dolan frowns slightly through Lance's story, knowing there are power hungry and corrupt people in leadership on every side, but still not liking to image it to this extent on theirs. His lips twitch a bit in the silence before he looks over at the other man with the slightest wry look on his face.

"You must have been pretty damn annoying for all of that, then."

There's a tight, barely discernible smile to soften the harshness of the joke before Dolan trains his eyes back on their way down the hall.

"All the same, I appreciate your service. People think now that the wars are won, we don't need soldiers on the front anymore. It's comforting to have reached some type of peace, but. Almost makes me wish something would go wrong just so people would start enlisting again."

That same not quite so serious look is still over his face, but he's more serious than before at least. During the wars, people signed up in droves to fight. To man technical posts, to study to be army medics, to do anything that needed doing. And the Rebel Wars hadn't been a walk in the park, but the conflict would have stretched on and on forever if the military had been as scarcely manned as it is now. Which is another reason why Dolan fears for the borders.

They could be staring down another full-on Rebel War, completely unprepared for it. It may only be a matter of time. But of course, that's no longer his concern. Or at least, it's no longer his job description on paper. So he swallows and shakes his head, changes the subject on his own.

"Are you at liberty to say... what happened with her personal Imperial guard before? My brother said something about a breach... an assassination attempt, wasn't it?"

Truthfully, Dolan has very little information going into this job. He's been assured that he'll be briefed fully, but from where he stands, it's looking more and more like it's going to be one of those, thrown into water to learn how to swim jobs. And if he's going to have to mine for information on his own, then so be it. He's going to start early.

"Hmmmmm."

He hums as he thinks the question over, as if there is really any debate that he's going to tell Dolan about it. Unless it's a life or death situation, Lance is a pretty open book.

"Well, she had some guards before you. Nothing super personal or anything, they weren't following her around as close as you're going to be, but they were supposed to be aware of her presence in the palace at any given time, no matter where she took off to."

He remembers it so clearly, the sound of panic all around the palace whenever Trita went missing. The guards back then had been great at their jobs, you could just walk up to one and they'd tell you the exact room she was in. Then the palace would quiet down. They were her own little force.

Of course, it had been the very nature of that set-up that caused the breach.

"Well, as usual, she went missing one day and no matter which of those specialized guards were questioned, no one knew where she was. Then, that's when we noticed, one of the guards was missing from the line-up. To be completely honest, once we noticed that, most everyone thought she was already dead and that we were looking for a corpse rather than Her Imperial Majesty. It was... Sort of terrifying, to be completely honest with you."

Lance finally frowns a little, more to himself as he replays the memory than for Dolan to see how upset it makes him. For all this thinking about being Trita's close friend, he sure had screwed up in that department. Some friend he was letting things get to that point.

Trita has often told him there's no point dwelling on it and it's obvious she doesn't blame anyone for what happened, but it doesn't stop from people taking in guilt or shifting blame to others. For the sake of her and their friendship, it's not something he thinks back on too deeply in front of her.

Nor does he like for her to be reminded that the personal guard had, in large part, been just as much his idea as it had been Kvanne's.

"We searched for hours and hours. Can you imagine what that would have done? The leader of the Old Rebellion, of the hybrid-human peace movement, the one the general public rallied behind and believed in, enough so that they near unanimously voted to appoint her as The Empress, just... Gone. In the blink of an eye, that important symbol just disappearing forever? And not even five years after the Rebel Wars ended. It would have devasted the empire."

Dolan thinks the issues on the borders are bad now. They would've have been hell on earth if Trita had been killed.

They're approaching the small dining hall, just a few more turns and they'll be there, so Lance decides to shift his tone, pick the topic back up. He's not entirely sure just how well Trita's rabbit ears can hear, he's just aware it's damn good and has got him in trouble quite a few times. Better safe than sorry.

The pep is back in his step and he's smiling again.

"But, of course, Her Great Imperial Majesty was ten steps ahead of all of us. She had suspected there was an assassin in her guard, narrowed it down to one man, and she's actually the one that cornered him. Granted, there was a fight, she had some nasty cuts on her by the time we made it to the scene, but the assassin? Dead as dead can be. He probably wishes some cuts were all he got. Well, if he could wish from the afterlife."

"So my deduction was right. She doesn't see the need for this little arrangement, either."

Dolan naturally lowers his voice along with Lance's, staring at the wall behind the other man's head and chewing on the inside of his mouth. If the Empress doesn't want him here, doesn't want a guard following her around at all times, why is he here? That leftover paranoia from years' worth of war sweeps through him, sending hot flashes through his brain. Trust no one. Trust. No one.

He can make it through one dinner, though, can't he? One thing at a time. He can keep an eye out on everyone around him, watch their movements and analyze their motives. He's done it before, in much more volatile situations than this. Maybe he should just think of himself as an undercover operative on an information gathering mission instead of the Empress's personal guard. It might make him feel better. But still.

"So, Advisor.. Killian, was it? If the Empress doesn't want me here or need me here... what am I doing here."

He phrases it in the flattest way possible, low and dry and monotone, rerouting his gaze to stare right into the advisor's eyes. Everything is starting to feel like conspiracy, and Dolan knows it's probably a side effect of the last decade, the regime shifts, the constant not knowing, the treachery. But if he'd learned anything during those times, it's to always be on his guard.

"Am I really here to be this woman's shadow? When she can so clearly take care of herself?"

A thought pops into his head, something he hasn't thought about it years- maybe ever, if he's being honest with himself. He had seen her on the front lines, once, maybe twice- hadn't he? He'd never fought beside her, hadn't even been in the same company. But he remembers seeing her fight. She's probably the most capable ruler they've ever had.

"You seem pretty close to the Empress and I'm unaccustomed to this sort of assignment. What does she- or the council, or whoever the hell it was that decided I should be here- what do they actually want from me?"

"She's too important to just be left up to people thinking we live in an idyllic, utopian society. Commander, with all due respect, think about it: What would happen to the empire if she were to go down? All the lives lost for no reason, all the work gone. She needs to be protected by someone who can watch her back while she's looking ahead. According to Advisor Fox, you're the best one for the job."

Lance sighs, feeling a little worn-out by having to explain something he feels should be obvious.

It's short and simple: If she goes, the empire goes. Anarchy would spread without a symbol that the common citizen believes in, weaken everything enough for the Old Imperial wave to sweep back in and establish itself once again. Being such a new piece and such a new state of politics, the empire is fragile and thus easily broken. Trita by her very presence keeps it together, keeps it in check.

Besides, as much as Trita dislikes the idea of a guard...

"She did agree to this, you know? Granted, the first plan was to give her ten guards, but she specifically requested just one. That was her stipulation to all of this: One highly- capable guard. Nothing more."

He can feel Dolan look over at him, waiting for the answer to continue, but what else can she say? As much as Trita doesn't want to be babysat, she is very aware of everything she stands for to the empire, of what her presence alone does for it, and who it holds back. Had this just been about her, she probably would have refused a guard at all, but she's intelligent, insightful. This goes beyond her.

No one doubts she can protect herself, not even she does, but, given the state of everything, no one, her included, wants to leave any blindspots open.

"I think she wanted only one because she still wants her freedom, true. I also think it's more than that. As you know, she was a soldier, frontlines, she's actually one of the soldiers that found me and took me back to base to be operated on. There's little she can't do. I think her trust is hard to win, especially now after the failed assassination attempt. One person is easier to watch and read than a group of ten. She wants to examine you as much as we want you to watch over her. She agreed to this, she doesn't like it, but she's willing to go along with our idea as long as we follow her terms. I don't think that's so bad."

He shrugs a little, stopping a few feet away from a modest wood door. Modest being it isn't twenty-feet tall, but it is still painstakingly carved with fine, obsessive detail.

"I'll announce you, hang on-"

"There's no need."

One of the doors slowly opens, Trita on the other side holding it in place, looking at both men expectantly.

"If Kvanne saw you opening doors like that and not having people announce guests, he'd have a fit."

"What doesn't he have a fit over anymore."

She rolls her eyes, pushing the door to swing back, giving them enough time to step inside with her. The room is large but small in comparison to other palace rooms. There's a large fireplace glowing on the opposite wall, fabric of warm colors and hues draping off the ceiling and walls, no window to be seen, though it's obvious that there are many hidden by layers of fabric with how they glow from behind. Everything is softly-lit because of all these design choices, pleasantly dim, alluring.

Rather than a dining room table, there are several chaise lounges in a small casual circle, small round tables by the headrests of each. Trita makes her way over to a deep crimson one, picking up the flowing cape behind her off her suit in one arm as she sits to recline back. It doesn't stay in her arm for long, as soon as she's seated, she throws the fabric out over her legs almost like a blanket built right into her clothes.

Lance follows her, picking an emerald green chaise to kick back on, his pose a little less regal that Trita's but this doesn't seem to be a place for formality. They sit across from each other as friends or family, Lance ever unbuttons his shirt a couple more buttons, runs a hand through his hair to brush it out.

"You can sit, I didn't call you to be on watch. I called you to join me."

Trita points to a chaise near hers, rust orange in color and just as plush as the rest. As Dolan makes his way to his spot, Lance quickly snatches up the wine glass on his table, beginning to sip away.

"Hmm... What do I see here? Beef stew? That's rather homey for an empress."

"Sometimes I get tired of them always shoving exotic fruit in my face and want something simpler. Back off. Besides, they're bringing a meat and cheese board in soon, calm down. You have such expensive tastes."

The two shoot playful glares at each other before Lance decides it's time to eat. He shifts on his lounge to better hold his bowl. Most of the time, you're supposed to wait for Her Imperial Majesty to start but, when it's just them, she very clearly doesn't care about silly rules like that.

With Lance occupied, she props her elbow up on the rest near her head, chin in her palm, looking over at Dolan with an eyebrow raised.

"Well? How was the room? I actually didn't get to see it once the designers were done. No idea what it looks like."

Dolan eases down into the chaise the Empress has motioned to, his movements suddenly a bit more choppy, careful. While it's not his intention to be as up-tight and formal around her as his brother is, he's not ready to be as casual and care-free as her advisor friend is, either. There's got to be a good middle ground, especially when Dolan hasn't decided what exactly he thinks of this empress as a person quite yet.

He mulls over everything Killian had said. Of course he understands the better safe than sorry approach, that the Empress is an asset- the asset, the crux upon which the empire rests. But what he's still unsure about is how efficient or helpful it is for him to be guarding someone who, in all likelihood, will make him chase her around half the time. It seems like an ill use of time.

"... everything is fine, ma'am. Perfectly fine. Thank you."

He dips his head a bit, starting to bite at the inside of his mouth again but stopping. He's just now starting to realize how uncomfortable he is. Which is a difficult feeling to push him to. He's adjusted to all kinds of scenarios and situations, operations that were tense and high-pressure. But the warm colors and the dim lights and the cushions, the fireplace. This feels like something he can't settle into. It feels like something designed to keep him on high alert. But he's not sure why.

He leaves the food untouched for the time being. He's not really here to eat. Just like he's not really here to hang out with her, despite her friendly invitation. He's here to figure her out, to understand her, to develop some kind of approach to doing this job that will be, somehow, useful in the long run. He's just here on an information gathering mission. He has to keep reminding himself.

In the presence of these two, leaned back and comfortable looking, it makes the stiffness of his own back, the way he's sitting, his lack of comfort, that much more uncomfortable. He ponders sitting back at least, but it feels wrong. It feels like a concession, somehow getting used to this environment that he's not made to be in.

"Um, I would like to go over what's to be expected here, ma'am. If you wouldn't mind."

Trita frowns as soon as the words are out of his mouth, turning away from him immediately, shifting so she no longer has to look at him.

In just a few short words, she's bored of him.

"You're just like your brother..."

She mumbles to herself, reaching for her own glass of wine to sip on, suddenly finding that much more interesting than this new guard of hers. Yes, when she had agreed to allow a guard to be hired for her, she had known the intent would be that he would get right to business. But she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been hopeful that it would be someone she could actually talk to. Someone grounded to discuss the state of politics outside the palace, the state of the soldiers and army she took so long to build up. Not in an information dumping kind of way, but just... A genuine talk about life.

Something so ordinary that she took for granted years ago is suddenly the most interesting thing to her now. When he had been so snappy and snarky with her in the garden, she was on the fence as whether or not she believed he would be that good amusement she was looking for or just another boring advisor running around. Going into her meeting, she still wanted to remain hopeful. Go figure, she should have learned not to hope years ago.

He's not a guard, he's a prison warden.

Lance eyes Dolan from across the room, lips pulled down into a tight-lipped frown, trying to warn him not to continue.

"The Empress doesn't like to discuss business over dinner, more specifically not dinner in this hall. She-"

"No. If that's what he wants."

Trita, oddly, obliges. Lance is clearly not expecting it because he looks back at her with wide eyes, several questions on the tip of his tongue that he's not sure how to ask.

"You want to know your role? You follow me around like a loyal dog on a leash. Bark when I tell you to bark, sit when I tell you to sit. That's what you think, isn't it?"

As she speaks, she gazes into her glass, swirling the dark wine around, watching how it moves against the container.

"Or is it that I follow you around like a loyal dog, barking and sitting on command? That's what I think, I believe you've already figured that one out."

Her eyes snap to the side to shoot him a glare.

"Must be incredibly dull for you to be here. I'm sorry your brother pulled you away from your work. Black ops? I know all about you. Kvanne didn't want me to know so I never brought it up. I give him enough trouble, sometimes I'm kind enough to lessen how much of a burden I am, believe it or not. Work on the borders, right? Sounds engaging."

She had so much hope that maybe she could find some good in this situation, that maybe she could find a way to make this feel normal. But of course not. Kvanne picked someone as stoic and professional as he is.

When did people stop treating her like a person? She's really just a symbol in everyone's minds, isn't she? Does no one remember everything she did before this? No? No, now she's just some treasure to sit pretty and keep peace.

Yes, she does so much more than just sit around, it's part of why she runs off so often, to catch a break from work. But for once it would be nice to be a person again, not an object.

"Trita, come on-"

Lance clears his throat awkwardly, angling himself to look at Dolan and take charge of the conversation.

"You will attend everything she attends, scope out areas the best you can before she enters them, keeping an eye on them for any changes the entire time she's in the space, be aware of all the people around- I mean, it's just basic security stuff, really. I have no doubt you can handle it. Kvanne wouldn't have picked you otherwise."

Trita sighs quietly out her nose at that note, turning to stare at the fire burning away in the fireplace, looking at neither of them now. In fact, she's altogether ignoring their existence in the room completely, isolating herself off in her mind from them.

Dolan slowly nods, despite the fact that the Empress isn’t even looking at him anymore. He keeps nodding, mostly to himself, even after the advisor is done. He’s piecing things together, not well enough to say he’s figured things out yet. But he might be close.

“Well. Soldiers always someone’s dog, Your Imperial Majesty. You understand that better than most would in your position, which I️ see now. And I️ apologize. All I️ want is to make sure that the leash is of bearable length for both of us.”

Dolan keeps his voice low, quiet, conceding. The voice you use with superiors when they’re angry, the voice you use when you’re admitting you’re wrong and are done pushing the envelope. He’s apparently found the Empress’s boundaries, and strangely enough, she’s been triggered by too much business.

He cocks his head a little as he watches her, then looks back to the advisor. He seems to be the one she gets along with best around here, talks to him in a different, happier tone. Dolan’s brow knits. She couldn’t possibly be expecting another lounging buddy, could she? Another confidant to spill secrets to or joke with. Dolan hasn’t been trained to joke or dish or be friendly. He’s been trained to be lethal.

But something in her look still bothers him. He’s clearly offended her somehow far beyond just her office- he's offended her as a person. And this has been an awful way for him to start off.

“I️ can see I’ve jumped the gun, and I️ should have waited for that eventual briefing. Again, I’m sorry. I’m used to... to how things work in the field. Like my brother said, I️ don’t quite have my house manners down yet.”

He didn’t know it was possible, but he’s feeling even more uncomfortable than before and it’s really tempting to throw back the whole glass of wine on the table beside him, but how would that look in terms of house manners? Still, he’s just staring at his boots now while the other two seem to be exchanging looks, making him the perpetual outsider. They probably won’t even notice.

So he snatches the glass and downs the thing in three large gulps, sighing on the end of it before replacing the empty glass and rubbing at his forehead.

“Was there. Was there something else that. That you’d planned to discuss, ma’am? I’ll leave the conversation starting up to you from here on, then.”

Trita still refuses to acknowledge him for a long moment, so long that Lance thinks Trita has decided to completely ignore Dolan's presence for the rest of the night.

Her eyes are transfixed on the fire, away from the room, her food untouched and her wine still mostly in tack. Lance wonders if he should speak up, maybe even dismiss Dolan, but just as he opens his mouth to try something, she finally says something.

"... Have you ever been to that old market down near the east side of the river? Maybe not, it was a mostly hybrid area before the rebellion. I was there when the previous imperials burned it down. There were hybrids trapped inside the buildings, a lot of deaths. I haven't been back since."

She really more sounds like she's musing to herself, just talking out loud as if completely alone in the room. It's only obvious that she means this as a talking point when she finally turns back around to study Dolan, head tilted in curiosity.

"Do you know if they ever rebuilt it?"

Lance leans back in his lounge again, huffing out a sigh, relaxing his shoulders now that the tension in the room is slowly dissolving. It makes him feel comfortable enough to reach for his bowl again to work on his meal. While, of course, still watching the two across from him.

"A lot was destroyed during the Rebel Wars, I have a feeling that old market is the last place on the list. I guess it doesn't matter, now that everyone is co-existing, there doesn't need to be separate markets. I wonder if it's best to let the past rest and not dig up that old memory."

A little smile plays at her lips as she judges him for what he's thinking, what must be going through his mind. The Empress invited him to dinner in her person dining hall just to talk about trivial things? That doesn't seem correct. If he were some ambassador from a different country, they'd be in a large grand hall only talking business. This is more personal, intimate, how she likes it, really. You can really get to observe and know someone in situations like this.

He keeps fidgeting and looking down at his boots, he's uncomfortable with what's going on. It's precious in its own way, this well-decorated soldier put off by a small dinner. She can't wait to see his response to how the advisors have determined breakfast should go. He appears more human like this and she finds that utterly entertaining in a very nice way. Not so much like his brother after all, huh?

"Isn't it funny? I know we should probably let the place rest, I want it to stay down more than anyone, yet here I am considering sending out the order to make it a top priority. People are such sentimental creatures, even when they shouldn't be. Why do you think Lance walks around with the same metal cast that was made for him the day we found him near-dead?"

Lance chokes on his soup.

"Ah, so you heard us talking about that?"

"No. I just know you've been thinking about that because you try too hard with your steps like you're trying to make up for it."

"So you heard my steps?"

"I did."

Her eyes sweep to Lance and soften a bit. With anyone else, that comment would probably be seen as insensitive but Lance just laughs, wiping up his mouth with a nearby napkin.

"Yeah, guess you got me there. The metal they used for this cast is metal from Quent. You know, that town up north that was razed? I knew an old guy from there years ago, he made this cast for me before the town was leveled. It's not sad or anything, he and is daughter are still alive, but you can't get that metal anymore. So... I guess I kinda still use this one as a working symbol of their home."

"One you shouldn't use anymore if I remember what the kind Nurse Yvaine said."

"Well- Yeah, probably not but, I mean, did you see the one she wanted to give me? They just don't make these things like they did in Quent anymore."

"Which is fair. Quent did supply a lot of the metal pieces the rebels needed during the war. Great craftsmanship."

"The absolute best. I wonder if my friend is still blacksmithing. I should look him up."

Lance gets lost in the thought long enough for Trita to turn back to Dolan, motioning to the pensive Lance with a bit of a smirk.

"If you listen close enough to people, you pick up on all sorts of things to remember for a later conversation. That's what I miss the most, the spying, gathering information. There's not enough of that around here. The most fun I've had in years was that assassination and that was such a shit-show of an attempt that it bored me nearly as soon as I figured out something was going on behind my back. And now you're here so I'm assuming I won't get much more of those anymore. You better be able to fill in that void."

Dolan sits back slightly, a tiny but comforted by some direct language for a change.

“You want me to... let a little something through every now and then? To keep you sharp?”

It had only been a glass of wine but it must be doing its job. Its been forever since Dolan had any sort of alcohol, but he’s feeling a little less tense, just slightly. He almost goes to grab the glass again but remembers its empty and decides it should stay that way.

“I’m sure there a lot of things to hear, ma’am. Just not a lot of people willing to say anything in your presence.”

He takes another look at her flicking ear and pauses, shrugs a little.

“At least, as they define it.”

He knows- he’d had it happen day in and day out with his men. Smiles and nods to his face, all the discontent and arguing and anger behind his back. It had been a personal enjoyment of his to always try to hear these covert criticisms and bring them up later in group settings, watch the offending soldier’s face turn white before issuing a long, bumbling apology.

Kind of like the one he’d just given the empress. In a lot of ways, the roles are reversed now, aren’t they? Maybe that’s why he’s so hesitant to relax fully into the role she seems to think he should play, as evidenced by this casual room and conversation. He’d never had a personal relationship with any of his commanders. Any offhanded or casual or too personal comments were cut off, often punished.

Of course, that had been before the rebellion. The military had changed a great deal after that shift, when everything had split down the middle. Dolan had only been a part of the military life since his father had chosen it for him at eleven years old and shipped him off to the Imperial Academy. Things were a lot harsher then.

Even though in this regime, things are more open and aimed at wellbeing, its still been hard for Dolan to shake what was imprinted into him in those young years. Hell, it had taken him years to accept that it wasn’t disrespectful to look a commanding officer in the eye when he wasn’t directly speaking to you.

The Empress is definitely not of that old school. Obviously, she’s the source of the new regime itself. He sighs and leans back a little more until he feels his back touch the cushions. So she wants him to talk so she can listen and figure him out? What is there to figure out, he wonders? He’s a soldier. He takes orders, he shoots guns. Not much to converse about there.

“... Rebuild it. I️ think it’s a good idea.”

It comes out of nowhere, must be the wine talking.

“Down near the border to the south, there used to be a lot of trade routes. Well established roads. They all got blasted. To see it now, you’d think nothing could have ever existed there. But stuff blows up in sandstorms every now and then. Most random things you can think of.”

He swallows, suddenly taken by the texture of the fabric beside him as his finger traces over it absently. A few days before he’d been reassigned, a child’s teddy bear had blown right into his tarp, dusty and sandy and threadbare, sleeping under sand for years now. He’d debated all night whether to keep it and in the end, he’d decided he couldn’t. He couldn’t look at it all the time and wonder what had happened to the child it had belonged to.

“I️ think part of bringing the empire together is rebuilding some of these places better than before. Gives some hope, I️ think.”

When he finally looks up from the chaise cushion, he realizes he’s been talking more than he’d wanted to, and shakes his head at himself.

“Sorry. I️ don’t actually drink, so. That was probably a bad idea.”

Trita watches him relax more and more, finally seeming to settle into the groove of the whole point of dining in this hall. It's about talking out thoughts and ideas, things you have on your mind. She smirks at him, folding her arms on the rest of her lounge, resting her cheek on top of them, head tilted and eyes narrowed.

"So you think we should rebuild it? All of it? No telling what we'll find under all that rubble. Could be a lot of things people want to keep buried."

Maybe he's right and maybe they should rebuild. It's actually not that she disagrees with him, she just enjoys hearing different thoughts and opinions on whatever issue. You can learn a lot about humanity as a whole by having conversations like this.

You can also log a lot of dirt on a person to use later, but that's not really her intent right now.

"You know, I like to have guests in here all the time. The relaxed atmosphere, the food, the drinks... People finally get to talking. Not just moving their mouths, but actually talking. You know, my little rebellion I started was because I wanted more of that and more action, no more lip service and standing still. This room reminds me of that mindset but with individual people rather than politics or an ideal."

A door on the opposite side of the room opens slowly as a maid wheels in a cart with a large board of meats and cheeses in the center, a couple of bottles of wine next to it. The woman stands awkwardly once her delivery is in place between the three people, trying to piece together what's going on but, more than that, there's a knowing look in her eyes, something dreamy that washes over her. A memory flooding back.

The look makes Trita smile as she waves the maid away so it's just the three of them again. Lance stands immediately, nearly hopping right over to the cart.

He starts to pile some food on a small serving plate, eyes scanning the new wine selection.

"Oh, Miss Empress, they brought your favorite white today."

With a sigh, Trita stands to join him, bringing her glass with her for a refill.

"I invite people in here to dine with me every night I can and, every night, I learn something new. It takes them a few minutes to warm up to the idea of eating with me but I find I designed this room rather well."

Her eyes sweep across her work, taking it in as Lance fills her glass for her. He is clearly more fixated on the meal itself than this conversation but that's probably because he's heard something similar before.

"The way the tapestries defuse the sunlight, the warm colors, plush seating, the fire- Ah, not to mention the aroma that I have filling the place. It's inviting and comfortable, almost like hiding in a pillow fort as a child. That's where all the best secrets are told. Everyone who steps in here remembers something that sets them at ease and thus it becomes my job to figure out what it is. That maid from earlier? Her grandmother used to have an identical tapestry to the one hanging over the fireplace here. That was a cute story, I enjoyed it."

Lance walks over and starts filling Dolan's glass for his second round as Trita finds her way back to her seat, settling herself down, reclined back again, the position so spot on to how she had been sitting before that it almost looks like she didn't get up at all. Like that had just been a daydream.

It's all intentional, this is her little realm where she can actually do as she pleases, learn all she wants, relax and be whoever with whoever. So, of course, she knows how to work the space to her advantage, make everything dreamlike.

Her eyes shift back to Dolan, still narrowed at him, examining him.

"I have a feeling there's something in this room for you, too. But. It's probably going to be harder to figure out what exactly you think while you're in here. Apparently, we have all the time in the world, so I welcome the challenge. I just wonder if it'll be worth the wait."

“I’m... not sure what you want me to tell you-hey. Did you?”

Dolan’s eyes snap over to the wine glass on the table near him, now full again. He narrows his eyes at it.

“You’re. You’re trying to get me drunk?”

He glances over at the advisor who seems pleased at the idea and at all the food he’s got in front of him. Of course, its hard to imagine him acting unpleased at anything.

It’s also hard to imagine what the empress thinks is going to reach out and grab Dolan about this room. He takes a few seconds to look around it. Not for threats or exits or the general layout, like he had when he’d first walked in, but this time to actually look at it.

He could tell her that he’d never made pillow forts or told secrets as a child. He’d been bosses around by Kvanne, bullied by the other children his age for being too small, and then sent off to military school. He doesn’t have a grandmother that he’s ever met before. Maybe he wasn’t made for warm things, for mementos or comforting objects. He’s not sure what to make of her insistence that he was.

“Do you want... I️ can make something up if it would help you feel better. Ma’am.”

The wine glass is back in his hand and he swears he didn’t put it there, but it’s there now and he doesn’t feel like putting it back on the table. So he swirls it around, watching the tiny bubbles rise to the top of the goldish liquid.

“I’m going to guess it’s the stew that does it for him?”

Dolan mumbles as he casts his eyes over the advisor again, who is steadily working away at more food. But then something else pricks at his mind. Something he’d never voice if he hadn’t been holding a wine glass.

“What about Her Imperial Majesty, then? What in this room makes you feel safe?”

He has suspicions at an answer already. She’s an outward person, it seems to him. Focused on everyone and everything around her, giving her time and efforts and attention without too much expected in return. Maybe her desire to learn and know so much about everyone else is to distract her from not participating in the comforts of it herself.

Thank god he manages to say none of that outloud because his lips are around the wine glass again. He barely tastes it before its gone, but this time he keeps the empty glass in his hand to prevent it being refilled against his will.

"Isn't that obvious?"

She grins at him, amused by the question, especially because he knows the answer, or at least part of it. It's written all over his face.

Which part does he know, that's the question. He's refusing to speak up, just looking from his glass to her.

"Well, first I'll tell you that your guess about Lance is mostly correct. You see, his is more the comfort of food. He used to save up all the money he could when he was younger just to buy homemade food from a local woman in his town. There are... Reasons for that which I probably shouldn't share because it's not my business to share, but, yes. You are correct with him."

Sure enough, Lance is happily munching away, smiling all the while, only looking up when he hears his name. When he does, he looks at the two of them like a deer in headlights, clearly not having been paying attention and now a little worried about why they're looking at him, talking about him.

It's almost childish how he looks at them, but that's how everyone looks once they're lost. Their eyes are filled with awe and wonder, there's a calm magical quality to it that Trita adores. Guard and walls dropping, pure emotions showing... Life is simpler in those moments.

She waves for him to keep eating which he very happily does.

Now, back to his question about her... A coy smile plays on her lips as she taps the rim of her glass to her mouth, sorting through all her options.

"And, for me, it's everything about this room. Everything from the drapes, to the carpet, the lounges, all of it. There's a little something in every piece for me."

Her eyes shift to Dolan to see his brow knit at the answer. The incredibly vague answer. That's like asking someone what their favorite color is and they respond with the rainbow. It was a very intentional answer and she doesn't try to hide that from him.

"Do you know why? I'll give you a hint: I see something for me in every piece in here but it's not about the pieces themselves."

She's not about the give the answer to him, that defeats the purpose of the game. No, he'll have to work for it, tipsy or not.

A slight frown tugs at his mouth, and he feels himself go back to biting along inside his cheek. Is she asking him to go spewing theories? In front of her? When it’s clear that he knows apparently very keenly how to upset her using a very conservative amount of words?

Thankfully he’s only had two glasses of wine. Still, that’s two more than he should have had.

“You like to see everyone else at home. At home enough to open up to you and feel safe. That’s all the comfort you can really allow yourself in positions like yours, isnt it.”

He stares down into his glass from the top, eyes fixed on where the glass stem meets the glass cup, blown to perfection, smooth and jointed without flaw. Maybe he’s not even judging right anymore, because he’s certainly not thinking straight to be saying all of this out loud. Maybe he’s just projecting. He hadn’t chosen to go into the military at first, but he’d sure as hell embraced it after a while. All to keep other people safe. To throw himself around because he’s not good at feeling safe himself, so it’s a better use of time to invest in others.

He clears his throat a little, feeling the heaviness of some kind of incense or candle burning around the room. Part of the scent stings in his nostrils, but he tries to ignore it. He keeps scanning the place. For what, he’s not sure. Part of him wants to find something. Something familiar or warm to latch onto, to identify with. But the other part of him knows it’s a fruitless search before he’s even begun.

“So you bring all the visiting dignitaries in here too? To figure them out?”

Dolan’s sitting forward again, hunched a bit with elbows resting on his knees, wine glass dangling between them, so he can let his eyes rove over everything better. Strangely, he feels more comfortable in this stance than leaned back. Still at the ready, still somewhat alert. Well, as alert as he can be like this.

“I️ thought for sure you would have taken a peek at my files or something. You’d know I’m as boring as they come. No... soft spot for tapestries or anything.”

He won’t lie, even though the food smells appetizing, he knows his stomach won’t be used to the rich nature of it after weeks in the desert on standard rations. The thought of throwing it all up later erases his desire for it.

Then, something hits him. It hits him hard as his eyes finish their trip around the room and land back on the empress again. SHes watching him with an intent red eyed stare, which he meets hesitantly. Something in her eyes. That’s the familiar thing. That’s the thing in this room that feels, in a strange and uncanny way, like he recognizes it. He averts his gaze quickly, trying to wrap his mind around it.

Sure, they’ve been soldiers, both in similar positions. Maybe they think somewhat alike. But he cant put his finger on it, or the strange feeling when he’d come to the realization.