Private To Fire Us and Inspire Us

[Reima Vitalis]

It was happenstance that Reima arrived to Aegis when she did. In truth, she didn't even know that it was her mother's official birthday until she was quizzed by the customs officials at the spaceport. "Not landing at Riverfall House?" he asked pleasantly as he examined her travel documents. "Looking to surprise her? Erm, Her Majesty, that is." Reima stared blankly back at him, eyebrow quirking up. "Trooping the Color, ma'am?"

Reima pasted a smile on. "Oh -- of course, yes. A surprise. Sorry, it's been a long day of traveling."

"Welcome home, ma'am," the customs officer said, stamping her passport.

Home. This was Reima's first time setting foot on the planet of Aegis, and she had no intentions of staying longer than she had to. She had spent years observing the cult of personality around her mother and she wanted no part of it; she knew better. She wouldn't have bothered, except that the Queen of Aegis or whatever the hell she was calling herself these days was the last person to see George alive.

It wasn't a conversation to have by communicator, no matter what one felt about Natasi Fortan.

She thought about hailing a cab, but decided to follow the sound of cheering instead. New Sterandel was not a large city by any stretch, but she had seen from the air that it was growing.

Flight Officer Vitalis was dressed in civilian clothes, fashionable and expensive, high quality and dark. It was a warm day, and she surmised from the conversations she overheard on the way that the ridiculous display in celebrating of her mother's birthday -- some weeks before her real birthday -- was because of the weather. On Aegis it turned chilly in the coming weeks, and the weather now was more comfortable for outdoor celebrations.

The whole thing was too ludicrous for words, as far as Reima was concerned. And yet the people on the streets were in high spirits, craning their necks for a better view, humming along to the patriotic marches that were wafting from further up the street. The balconies on either side of the broad boulevard that appeared to make up the central thoroughfare of the city were packed with people. Beautiful golden flower petals cascaded down from the balconies like tickertape, swirling in the late-summer breeze. They smelled sweet; Reima could tell from the lingering scent of charred ruins that the pleasant floral scent always triggered that they were namana blossoms.

Her eyes closed tightly for a moment until she was jostled by a fellow pedestrian. Reima offered a soft apology and then took the next opportunity to clamber onto the stoop of a stone building, nearly a meter from the sidewalk. Leaning out from the columns supporting the porch's cover, Reima could see over the heads of the crowd to where the marching band in dark blue livery were parading, behind which came a band of mounted cavalry, then -- there she was.

Natasi Fortan sat side-saddle on a large horse, in an absurdly crimson dress uniform of some extraction. Her glossy chestnut hair was tucked beneath a biretta, white ostrich plume jutting out, pinned in place with a small brooch. Between the medals and the gold brocade and the epaulettes -- by the Balance the epaulettes -- Reima rolled her eyes so hard she could almost feel them detach. She had seen enough, more than enough really, but the people around her only cheered louder as Natasi rode past. The Supreme Leader made no gesture, made no sound. Reima couldn't even be sure she was breathing, so tightly controlled was she. She had a placid, vaguely pleasant look on her face, occasionally nodding indulgently to the crowd, but she never quite smiled.

Reima turned, clambered down. She walked until she saw a taxi, hailed it. "Riverfall House, please," she told him as she slinked into the back seat.

Natasi Fortan​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

The blue-and-gold smoke from the flyover of Renascent Defense Legion starfighters was still dissipating over the still-cheering crowds outside Riverfall House when Natasi Fortan made her final wave and smile. Her cheeks ached from the forced smile, no less than her head ached from the pantomime of it all. She allowed her face to rearrange itself into its usual neutral features. Dyrn stood at her side, closing the door behind her, until at last they were alone. Natasi laid a slender hand on his uniformed forearm and squeezed lightly.

"Hungry?" she asked quietly as she reached up to take off her hat, but before she could say more, the Lord Chamberlain knocked, entered, and bowed. Natasi set her hat on the arm of the sofa, its navy damask matching the dark coverings of the oval room that she had entered from the balcony.

"Your Majesty," the Lord Chamberlain said, straightening. "Apologies for the interruption. Sir." He favored Dyrn Grav with a deferential look. "Ma'am, there's a visitor to see you. Not -- " he hastened to add as he could see Natasi groping in her memory for what was left on the diary. " -- on the diary. It's... beg pardon, ma'am, it's Her Royal Highness."

Natasi's eyes narrowed. "What?" she asked, too tired to even soften her surprise. "Who?"

"I had to check the protocol archives myself," the Lord Chamberlain said apologetically. "Your Orders-in-Council are still in effect, insofar as the First Imperial Crown, and -- "

"Yes, yes," Natasi said, squeezing her eyes shut against the headache. "Just -- who is it?"

"It's Lady Reima, Your Majesty."

The Supreme Leader's eyes snapped open, and she took a shaky breath in. "Reima is here?" The Lord Chamberlain nodded concisely. Natasi glanced sidelong at Dyrn; she could sense the concern behind his eyes. She tried to muster a reassuring look. "Give it ten minutes, then see her into my private sitting room. I just need a moment to splash some water on my face. Would you see that the kitchens make something for Captain Grav to eat?" She turned to her beloved guardsman, gave him an encouraging nod. "I'll be fine. Really."

Reima Vitalis​

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima regretted handing over her coat and hat the moment they left her fingers. It meant she would have to wait to get them back at the end of the visit rather than leaving at her leisure. Still, what was done was done and, push came to shove, she could simply leave without them and buy a new coat. It wasn't like she was hurting for money.

The young woman waited, gazing up at a large portrait. Her grandfather, she knew from Herevan, and her grandmother. He, dignified and tall, standing behind the chair where his wife sat demurely. Frejrik and Reima, the woman from whom Reima herself had taken her name. She was pretty, with dark hair frosted attractively with silver, dark eyes. Her face was -- not plump, but rounded more than Natasi's had been. Frejrik's face was all hard angles and planes. They were in the drawing room at Herevan Hold, she recognized from the background's spring green wallpaper and gilded picture frames.

Reima turned when the door opened again and a mustachioed man entered and bowed at the neck. "Your Roy -- "

"Reima is fine," the young woman interjected.

"Royal Highness," the man continued as if he was a verbal battering ram. "Her Majesty will see you; if you'll just come this way, please."

Reima was led out of the entrance hall and through some corridors. Though the building was well-appointed, it was smaller than she would have thought. Not a bit like the Imperial Palace in Avalonia, or Foxfield Park, or even Herevan Hold. She imagined her mother felt rather cramped in a city house, even if it was a mansion. She followed the man up three flights of stairs, along a gallery, and through a security room before he knocked on the door and, without waiting, pushed the door open and entered.

"Your Majesty," he said with a stiff bow at the neck. "Her Royal Highness the Lady Reima Vitalis."

Reima entered on his cue. Her mother stood near a fireplace. Was it her imagination or was Natasi thinner than she remembered? She looked drawn, tired. The door swished shut and clicked as the man saw himself out. Natasi looked up from the fireplace; Reima had to admire her integrity in that moment. She didn't even try to smile at the sight of her only daughter -- her only surviving channel, as far as anyone knew.

"Hello, mother," Reima said coolly. "Or should I say -- Your Majesty." She refused to curtsy, even in mockery.

Natasi Fortan​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi turned to regard her daughter.

She had last seen her daughter aged fifteen, over a decade ago. Too grown-up by half even then, but now Reima looked the part. Gone was the baby fat that had populated her childhood. She was all cheek bones and chin. Beautiful. Terrible.

Natasi had changed into something less ceremonial: a pair of slacks and a sweater. But she was by no means relaxed.

Reima, with whom she hadn't spoken in a decade, who hadn't bothered to leave so much as a forwarding address after selling Natasi's childhood home and Reima's brother's own birthright to a stranger. And now she stood there, dripping in disdain and sarcasm. No apologies. No contrition. Not even the good grace to look abashed.

Still, Natasi was a Galidraani. She would be one until she died, and even after. She forced her lips to turn up that the edges. Not a smile, exactly. "Reima. How well you look. Please, sit." Gesturing to a comfortable armchair. "Something to drink? Tea, coffee -- or something stronger?" She turned to the sideboard where a variety of beverages were sitting out.

Reima demurred on the drinks but took the offered seat. Natasi poured herself a cup of decaffeinated tea and added a cube of sugar, taking her time stirring -- six to twelve, of course -- before carrying the cup and saucer to her chair opposite Reima's, where she perched carefully, cradling the saucer in her upturned palm.

"Now. What do you want, Reima?" She kept her voice conversational, but her eyes were cold, like mud frozen over.

Reima Vitalis​

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima had wondered what kind of reception she would get from her mother.

She had a sudden realization that Natasi Fortan was a stranger to her. She could count on one hand the number of hours she had been alone with her mother, and there wasn't much more that she had spent with just her brother and mother together. Reima had been barely a toddler when Natasi first died, sacrificing herself to free Dosuun from the interdiction of the Ssi-Ruuk invaders. And in the years between her death and resurrection, Natasi had been a figure cast in marble, spoken of in hushed and reverent tones as a martyr and a hero. Not a mother to Reima and George but Mother of the Nation, not a person but a symbol.

And then a miracle. Her resurrection had put her back in her physical body, but not back in Reima's life in any meaningful sense. She had barely seen her mother, so busy was Natasi rebuilding the First Order. In many ways, Natasi had more of a daughter in her cousin Ariel than she did in Reima Vitalis. Yet another roaring success.

"I want..." Reima began, and she hesitated, crossing her ankles primly. "I'm here about George. You went in after him, and here you are. Where is he?"

Natasi Fortan​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat.

George, her heir. Her lost boy. She cleared her throat and lifted her teacup to her lips to take a silent sip.

She closed her eyes a moment. She was back in the Netherworld, arms outstretched for her son, fingers brushing his sleeve but not able to get purchase. Dyrn was on the other side, his hand around her wrist, pulling, grasping as she struggled. She called out to George, who finally turned to her, his face an unreadable mask of rage -- of hatred. "LEAVE ME!" he screamed, his mouth a gaping maw of fury. "GET AWAY FROM ME! I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!"

"George! Please!" Natasi's voice was ragged, hoarse and sore from the smoke as not-Herevan burned around them. "Please, my son, you must come!"

His eyebrows knit together, an emotion that looked foreign in his angry words. Her fingers seized on his sleeve, pulled hard. Dyrn was shouting -- the portal was closing, they had to go, now -- but Natasi wouldn't go, not without her son. She pleaded with him nonsensically, but his face hardened as tears spilled down his cheeks. Something sinister, something dark and horrible was weaving around him. It brushed her flesh as she clasped at his sleeve, chilled her to her bones.

"You aren't my mother," he seethed through tears. "You're nothing to me! GO!" George yanked his sleeve from her grasp, darted to shove her with supernatural strength. The pain of his rejection hurt far more than the shove, which knocked the wind out of her. She tumbled back into Dyrn, himself half-stumbling on the rapidly disintegrating planks of not-Herevan's attic. His powerful arms circled her arms but she flailed at George, screaming, sobbing, pleading.

Natasi thought she saw a glimmer of regret, the crumpling of George's face into tears as Dyrn dragged her through the collapsing portal. The last thing she saw was George's hand reaching out toward it, taking a staggering half-step toward her, and then --

A moment had passed, just a moment, when she opened her eyes to see her daughter staring at her expectantly. "Reima," she said on a pained sigh. "I wasn't able to bring him back. Not for lack of trying, if that's what you're implying by your tone." Natasi's eyes narrowed a little. She set her cup down on the side table. "But I am working on trying to find another way to get there. I know it's possible. It's just a matter of finding a way." Natasi paused a moment, lacing her fingers together in her lap.

"Do you suppose when your brother returns -- and he will return, even if I have to die in the attempt -- do you believe he will be pleased to discover that you sold his home out from under him? What is an Earl of Herevan without Herevan Hold?" Her voice began to tremble, and she had a dangerous look in her dark eyes. "Reima, what were you thinking?"

Reima Vitalis​

 

[Reima Vitalis]

Reima inhaled sharply, closing her eyes briefly to cover the fact that she was rolling them. "Don't be so dramatic, mother, you'll give yourself a nosebleed and we can't have that." She glared across the space between them, her own eyes matching Natasi's quiet fury. She considered simply leaving then and there; she got what she came for, and if Natasi Fortan could find an entryway into the Netherworld then so could Reima Vitalis. But she brought up Herevan.

"Ah, yes," Reima said quietly. "Dear old Herevan. It's a shame that you weren't there. You disappeared for over a decade, and the First Order was not the only thing to crumble in your absence, though it is the only thing -- other than my brother -- you seem to care about. Galidraan is not what it once was. Even before this upstart Empire of the Lost took residence there, it was in a sorry state of affairs. The New Imperials... well you know how they felt about us. About you."

Her dark eyes narrowed a little. "And if it wasn't the Lost Imperials or the New Imperials it would have been Auntie Whatshername or even the First Imperials. They came looking for you, you know. They tore the place apart. For your safety, I'm told they said. Luckily I wasn't there, but they gave poor old Hendersmith a bad time."

She paused a moment, fingers flexing around her knee. "They were hunting Fortans, and you weren't there. You were chasing after George, because of course you were. They were hunting Fortans and you left me alone. Of course I sold Herevan. I thought it was better to sell it to someone who might care for it than to let one of the string of powerful enemies -- enemies you made -- get their hands on it. And frankly, my brother disappeared from that house. My -- mother -- disappeared from that house. Was I supposed to wait until I vanished, too? I was frightened. I was a child. I had no one."

Reima glared across the widening chasm between them. "Don't worry. George has Foxfield. Apparently Father's role in Galidraan's place in the Sith Empire was not common knowledge. Nothing to do with his wife being a narcissist, I'm sure," she said dryly. "The name Vitalis means nothing to most people, thank the Balance. Foxfield stands. So when I bring back George he'll have somewhere to go. Somewhere that's his. Not yours." She sniffed disdainfully on a shrug. "Listen, you've clearly landed on your feet here, among your little cult of personality. I don't know where you find these people that are so... immune to reason. To history. You weren't even supposed to have Herevan, remember? Father had to smooth it over with the Parliament. Father, who no one remembers in the shadow of the great Lady Fortan. So really, you're no worse off."

Reima stood. "I'm going to bring George back," she said, her voice matter-of-fact. "If you have any ideas as to make that happen, now is the time. I doubt we'll speak again."

Natasi Fortan​