Arthurian Cultivation

Maeve paced outside the office. She could burst in, her grandmother wouldn't begrudge her, but she wasn't about to act spoilt. She was one of the few people the old monster would tolerate such an interruption from, and the more she leant on that the more she would feed into the idea she was the ‘favourite’.

Peggy sat on her shoulder, watching her, so of course she knew she was waiting out there. She'd know Maeve was here even without the raven, at Mithril her senses could probably track every person in the keep. The raven was her way of signposting she was aware.

She'd awoken from her breakthrough in a washroom. Still in her outfit from the wedding night. If the dress hadn't been ruined before it was now. Black ooze soaked out of her, and a bucket of water and her new armour and fresh clothes awaited.

The sludge had been grim. While she'd stayed mostly free of impurities she like any cultivator picked them up just by living.

At Iron level she was now a Knight, having moved beyond the Squire of Bronze. The armour that waited for her was resplendent, shining full plate in Albion style, meaning it covered more than most and was split into many parts. Probably the spoils of the battle. While it was mostly unadorned, she noticed her pauldrons were etched with Ravens. A subtle pattern of feathers spread over the rest of it.

Was it meant to be a gift or had someone done this in the time she was breaking through?

She'd found food as well and a missive that her grandmother was out doling out some justice, and she was to remain within the keep. Spend the time solidifying her cultivation till she returned.

She'd found her Governess waiting for her. Together they helped her get on her new armour while she got caught up. Maeve was limited to just one gift, the gift of blades, it was stronger than anyone else's and she rarely felt she lacked the flexibility that having two gifts would've allowed her. Putting on new armour she felt the restrictions keenly. After the first time, a storage ring could handle it, but it had to be placed properly at least once.

Madame Rensleigh was back to her hawk-like self. Explaining the breakthrough had taken five days, an astonishingly long time. It was a reflection of her struggle to push through it. She'd been stuck there for five years. She'd reached peak bronze at thirteen, once-in-a-generation levels of growth. Then sat at the bottleneck waiting.

The Twins had been sent home, and stripped of their cultivation privileges until they could prove they could move up without being spoon-fed by the family. Their teachers changed and the plan was to put them through the wringer. There was also going to be a heavy review of the family practices in guiding the younger generations. Grandmother had not been happy.

On a larger scale, the wedding massacre was the first beat on the drums of war. The Divine Cultivators were up in arms, while the true cultivators of Euross found themselves keenly aware of just how deeply they'd allowed this creeping corruption to spread. There were said to be small skirmishes going on throughout the many kingdoms.

The armies were slowly forming up. Preparing for battles on a scale not seen in centuries.

Over the next two days, Maeve solidified her new rank. The rise to Iron had turned the glamour in her Hearth into a liquid. A drop of perpetually burning oil sat within her core, a haze of misty glamour surrounding it. It gave her far more raw power to work with, and her body was drinking that in.

At Bronze things like her muscles and bones were at peak for a human. Not peak for an average human, it was like every part of her had been copied from the best mortal out there. Like the muscles of the Land of Woads warriors, the eyes of the sailors of the Thousand City Sea and the bones of the herders of the Flower and Flood lands. If she cycled glamour she could push those to heights no mortal could touch.

Now the levels achievable when she'd fed herself glamour were just there. She'd heard the people who refined before the jump into Bronze felt something similar.

That though had got her back to thinking about the Son of Andross. His ability to outpace her, even if she'd have eventually run him down showed he'd done just that. Refining his body before ranking up. She had complicated feelings about her former betrothed. One thing though that felt wrong was that he was just lying out there in the woods somewhere, in a pool of blood. It was an image that haunted her dreams the first night.

She'd asked to go out and look for the body but had been shot down harshly by Madame Rensliegh. Any corpse would be long gone. She was also commanded to remain and wait so the discussion was out of her hands.

That is what led Maeve to this moment standing before her Grandmother's study. Getting steadily more frustrated with the situation. It surely wasn't such an imposition to let her out with some people to look for a lone body? They were deep in their territory after all. She paced, she could feel the numerous knives she had strapped to her humming, their glamour had an impatient edge she batted away thanks to her new intent.

The door opened with a flick of glamour, a voice booming out. “Enter.”

Maeve stepped in to find her grandmother in her relaxed outfit, a long tunic that befitted the head of the house, it was black with an iridescence that matched the ravens she so loved.

“Thank you for being patient Mads.”

“Gran, I thought I asked you not to call me Mads?”

“You'd tell me what do you, whippersnapper?”

“If not me then who else?”

“Ah, trying to usurp Peggy are we?” She grinned as the bird croaked. “Now tell me how did it go? Quite the dramatic breakthrough, I always knew you could do it!”

“It went well, I'm now a Knight, and my cultivation hasn't suffered. I'm looking forward to refining it moving forward.” Maeve felt the smile and bubble of pleasure as she said it.

“Will you indulge this old lady with your Intent?”

“A blade in the right place at the right time will strike success.” As she said it out loud she felt that drop of liquid glamour quiver and dance. Her knives shivered in their sheaves. Her gran sat back muling the words over.

“Well that's a genuine surprise, don't get many of them at my age. I'd say it doesn't fit you, given how impatient you've always been and how stubbornly you've stuck to your own path. Still, your current success shows it's a perfect fit.”

“I think it's something I've been learning slowly, and then understanding all at once.”

“I'll say that was a masterstroke against the Twins, I was scared for a moment that you were about to cover for them again.”

“It was the right time.” Maeve had locked in that thought. She could’ve and should’ve taken action before. But those were mistakes her past self had made. To live up to her Intent, she had to judge her actions at the time and place she was at now. Now look to the missed opportunities of the past.

“It's a good intent, blades, timing, positioning, striking, success. All are good elements to take forward.” The matriarch was about to say something else before she looked off in the distance and then cursed.

“Of course, this is when they turn up. Mads we’re about to have a guest. Only tell the truth to him or remain silent, I’m expecting this to touch upon your reasons for being here as well.” Maeve could see the change from ‘Gran’ to Grandmother Chox, the matriarch of one of the great Houses of Renown. She had just enough time to wonder who would be forcing themselves on a Mithril-level cultivator before the doors burst open.

Framed in the doorway was a man Maeve only knew by reputation. Pellinore Artoss, the Shadow Lion. It was that or some other Mithril cultivator decked out in Artoss black and silver, with hair like the void had kicked in the door. Unlikely, as Pellinore was now the sole bearer of this appearance, having killed his father recently to take control of the house.

The Artoss were allies in theory. Pellinore had taken his father's dithering with the ‘divine cultivators’ poorly and slain him when the elder Artoss had refused to commit to action. According to her grandmother, Pellinore was only a ‘theoretical ally’, their goals aligned but he couldn’t be trusted to work as part of the team. Such as when he’d been outright hostile to the Chox for ‘bedding the enemy’ ignoring suggestions to shut up and let the house get on with setting up their trap.

“Matriarch Chox.” The man reminded Maeve of a former betrothed, the kinship clear in the sharp lines of the face. Pellinore wore a younger man’s face, mid-twenties or so. That was out of step with the few other Mithril Cultivators who preferred at least another half a decade minimum. The face and body that accompanied it were all extremely handsome, but in a detached way, like someone had commissioned an artist to carve the most ‘handsome’ person they could. It lacked identity beyond its appeal.

The arrival came with a roll of glamour that she assumed was meant to make a statement. One that was cut off at the knees when her grandmother’s glamour brushed it away like a fart on the wind. With that, some of the man’s bluster faltered.

“Patriarch Artoss. You do not have an appointment. I assure you you did not have to rush to tend your apologies for your insults to our house?.” Her grandmother didn’t get up and pointed him to a seat next to her desk.

“I need no appointment, nor aim to tend any apologies. You have killed one of my kin. I would request answers.” The man didn’t sit but did tend his words more carefully.

“We did no such thing.”

“Regus Harkley was the son of Gwendolyn Artoss. I had been clear that I was looking to reclaim all of my family who’d been auctioned off like chattel from these bastards.” The man looked genuinely irate as he spoke, even safe from his glamour she could sense it, like distant thunder.

“I still fail to see where we killed him?” Her grandmother was watching him with an expression Maeve knew well. It was the same she wore when shepherding around the most junior members of the Chox lineage. Her grandmother was surprisingly good with toddlers.

“I assume this is Maeve, who was betrothed to him? I expect she’s here to say she did not kill him. That all is forgiven it was this thrice-damned curse?”

“This is my granddaughter Maeve. Maeve this is Pellinore Artoss, Patriarch of their house. Would you please confirm what the man said?” Her grandmother’s words were almost lazy. Maeve schooled herself to speak, trying to remember the protocol for meeting another family head as someone of her level, but was cut off before she could.

“I don’t need to hear some child speak. You killed my kin when you dragged him into this. I will not ignore your success, but I made myself very clear in my edict. There are more I have to rescue, and this will not help my actions. There must be some kind of recompense.”

“So here’s the fundamental problem with your request. The Son of Gwendolyn Artoss is alive.” Maeve felt her head snap to her grandmother, who had the broad smile of a cat who’d got into the cream. A face of genuine satisfaction. She had to choke down the questions lest she forget even more of the proper decorum.

“Seriously?” Pellinore’s voice switched no longer booming with distant thunder. Her grandmother just nodded.

“Ah, faeries dance on me this day.” Pellinore stomped over to the chair and sat down. “I take it, that from your grin that it’s something that is going to make me look like even more of a fool than I did up till now?”

“You do play the fool well. Maeve please take a seat as well. This is Pellinore, he is someone I actually enjoy the company of.”

“Only because you can get me chasing my own tail at a moment's notice you old monster. So how was my descendant? Frothing with that Harkley nonsense, I assume?” Pellinore materialised a full glass of whiskey before him.

“I well, patriarch Pellinore, I…” Maeve felt like she’d just been hit by a lance at full tilt. Unseated and confused she fumbled for the words. Her grandmother cackled, coming back to being ‘gran’.

“Relax, think of him like Eyeball.” She now also had a whiskey and offered one to Maeve who refused. She didn't need to be drunk around two Mithril-level cultivators.

“That is both a great offence and a significant compliment. If it helps you can call me Pell.” The patriarch offered, adding to the insanity of the situation.

“In that case Pell.” She only stuttered a bit over the name. “Can I answer you when Gran tells me what she means by he’s not dead? When I last saw him he was bleeding from the eyes.”

“Ah, I was looking to put off my embarrassment a moment longer. Do tell Morgan.” The man sipped his drink calmly, as Maeve blinked at the rare use of my grandmother's name, which only compounded her confusion as to his relaxed nature. She had to invite you to use that name.

“Well two things first, he had a way out of the curse. Unique to him, but something that gives us hope for a way around it.”

“He survived it? Damn, and here I thought he would be just another demonic toady. That means he’s alive, and yet not here?”

“I had Peggy checking in on my granddaughter, she followed him, it rare we get to witness the blood curse. When she saw his survival she was going to extract him but was forced away. See during the festivities, my granddaughter here fell in a lake. Artoss junior helped her and apparently caught something’s attention.”

“What do you mean Gran?” Maeve's brow knitted, there was no fae in the water that her grandmother, or even Peggy couldn’t handle. Pellinore let out a barking laugh.

“The Lady got him? Did she take an interest in the kid? Why?” Maeve’s eyes grew wide as the immensity of what was being said settled in on her. The Lady of the Lake was the face of fae power in Euross. The seasonal courts didn't impact life much, they had representatives sure, but their focus was on their work with the seasons. The Lady was the voice of the Fae who lived in Euross itself. What had she gotten involved with?

“I think it’s time Maeve informs you just what your long-lost member of your family has been up to.” Maeve cursed as their attention came back to her. She should've known her grandmother was going to push this onto her.

It took an hour of questions, and explanations to get through it all. His cryptic words and satisfaction with death cast their conversation in new light. She still wanted to pick up on the miraculous survival of the curse, but her grandmother had shut both her and Pellinore down on that front. The crystal was also a topic of debate, and Pellinore was just as intrigued by it as she was.

Pellinore left after agreeing to launch an investigation. The story was he'd been fobbed off with promises that the boy was alive. The investigation wasn't just politics, he’d been all but obsessed with hearing about his kin.

He’d laughed so hard that Maeve had to restrict his glamour again lest his raw emotions hurt Maeve when she revealed that he wasn’t even Regus’s son. They all agreed there was little to do right now though about someone claimed by the Lady. He might be dead, might be lost to time, reappearing in centuries, or somewhere halfway across the known world. In the silence that followed the Patriarch's absence, Maeve had been left with only questions and even her grandmother couldn’t answer them.

To distract herself she focused on trying to understand the other conundrum. Pellinore. “What was all that about? With the Patriarch.”

“He’s our idiot.” She grinned madly, swigging more whiskey.

“Pardon?”

“I gave him what he needed to kill his dad, I agreed to treaties to not attack him while he built up the power to stand equal to his rivals. Part of the deal is I have him running around, a brash unpredictable hothead who keeps muddying the waters and keeping everyone on their toes.”

“But who is entirely in your pocket.” Maeve nodded.

“It’s not a new strategy, but he’s so good at playing the role that bastards seem to believe it hook line and sinker. That's why he barged in, had to look good and pissed. When he realised I wasn't acting up my part he took the mask off. It requires finesse, but the whole family are like that, there’s been a string of ‘disobedient commanders’ who ‘ignore’ his orders and do something that helps us out. All of who make it look like genuine conflict.”

“And him coming here incredibly rudely just reaffirmed his image.”

“And mine of being incredibly patient with total morons. A useful attribute as I step up to assume the role of moderate and noble leader of the anti-divine faction. I want them saying 'If Morgan Chox can put up with Pellinore I can put my grudges on hold too.'” Her grandmother grinned. Maeve knew there were probably a hundred reasons beyond what she shared, but even lacking that context it was still an impressive bit of statecraft.

“So he is an ally then?”

“Yes, but one that we can’t treat like one. It's safest if we act independently. That’s why I need you to go quietly look for your wayward paramour in our territories.” Maeve choked, regretting accepting a glass of whiskey from her grandmother.

“But the Lady.”

“The Lady is not unknowable, not if you’ve had centuries to watch her as I have. He’ll be about somewhere. She is not a fan of the ‘Divine Cultivators’, and likes ‘poetic justice’ so will use him as a weapon against them. There’s also nothing she seems to enjoy more than turning a single drop into a tidal wave. Elevating an unknown cultivator to something that can help bring them down is totally her style.”

“This is stepping into destiny though? Is it not, didn’t you tell me to avoid getting involved in the fae.”

“Until you were Steel yes. But like it or not you’re already part of this story. Better to take action than find yourself swept along in destiny’s wake. Now let’s talk strategy.”