Of Roses and Reunions

John had never seen anything quite like Brighton Manor.

As the heavy gates swung open, he drank in all that was laid out in front of him. The grounds of the manor were massive and sprawling, decorated with delicately planned and immaculately maintained landscaping. Rose bushes had been carefully groomed to frame a central roundabout, all encircling a beautiful fountain. Greens and reds popped against polished stone, interrupted only by the occasional statue of a knight in armor or conical tree.

John smiled to himself, wondering if the statues had been made in the image of actual knights.

A small number of gardeners scurried around amongst the maze of hedges, full of arches and shapes that John didn’t even know you could make out of bushes. They chopped and trimmed and some of them spritzed things with water. Their precision and diligence were almost mesmerizing.

As Ela’s car followed the pavement towards the manor itself, John realized that he hadn’t truly understood what wealthy meant.

Brighton Manor itself was even more impressive than the land around it. It looked as if someone had lifted a mix between a Victorian mansion and a fortress out of a fantasy book and plonked it in the middle of America. The entire structure was built of a striking red stone. As beautiful as it was imposing, the manor was decorated with delicate ornamentation and a truly perfect symmetrical roof and window layout.

’It’s gotta be four stories tall, at least…’ John thought, awestruck. ’You could drive an Abrams through that front door.’

He was shaken from his thoughts as the car came to a stop at the top of the driveway. The engine slowly grumbled into silence, and Ela finally broke her own.

“I am sorry about that,” she said, some of the usual cheer returning to her voice. “I know you may have concerns about the Order, but give them a chance. I owe them everything.”

John nodded and climbed out of the vehicle, pausing again to take in just how severely he was dwarfed by everything in front of him. He was certain you could fit three or four of his own home just in the width of Brighton Manor.

“Oh, and John?” Ela sang, the hints of a smile on her lips. “I would recommend that you do not use your [Observe] spell here. Not without asking.”

“Probably a good idea,” John muttered. He turned back and exhaled, shaking off his nerves and starting to walk.

Together the two approached the front door, which parted before either could have knocked on it. A stern-looking, middle-aged man opened the door, wearing a finely-tailored black suit. John caught sight of graying in his hair once he was close. His posture was flawless and firm, as if he himself was made of the same stone as the building.

The man bowed, and Ela nodded in kind - a gesture that John was awkwardly slow in trying to mimic.

“Hello, Reginald,” the blonde greeted. “I take it that the Warden has informed you of our arrival?”

“Indeed, Miss Grzmot,” he replied, his tone low, but smooth. “The Knight-Captain should be here momentarily.”

He turned to John. “The Lord-Protector awaits your arrival in the study.”

The Gamer could only nod, as he was allowed into the building. If the outside had been impressive, the interior short-circuited his brain momentarily. The ceiling was impossibly tall, the floor was a fine white marble, and golden accents adorned everything from the rails of stairs to the chandelier.

’There’s probably more money in this room than in my house and my grandparent’s put together.’

“John,” a beautiful voice called, sneaking into John’s ears.

The nervous nerd once more returned from the land of his mind, finding both Ela and Reginald looking at him.

“You seem to have a habit of doing that,” Ela giggled.

“Sorry… I guess I get distracted easily,” The Gamer responded nervously, placing a hand on the side of his neck. “I’m, uh, following… somewhere.”

Before Reginald could speak, a door opened on the far side of the foyer. Through which came another graying man, though the age on the new arrival was far more distinct. His hair had only the faintest trace of its original brown left, and deep creases of age had settled on his face. He had a bushy, Santa Clause-like beard.

John realized that the man was wearing the under-padding from a suit of armor - a dingy, copper-colored coat. The graying knight was still somewhat slick with sweat and oil, as if he’d just dropped his armor on the other side of the door and wandered in. He carried with him a nondescript, kite-shaped bag.

Through all that, John saw more energy in his smile the moment he saw The Gamer’s companion than he’d seen from anyone besides Ela all day. There was an infectiousness to it. The man jogged across the hall to join the group.

He exchanged a respectful nod with the butler before turning to the two.

The man’s accent was heavy - something Scottish, John thought. “Ahm sorry for bein’ lat- oof.”

Ela stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the man, resting her head on the padding of his coat. “It is good to see you again.”

He wrapped the arm that wasn’t carrying anything around the girl. His smile wavered only for a second. A weariness crept onto the man’s face, momentarily, before he regained his composure. He spoke with a warm, fatherly tone.

“Aye, lass. It’s been too long since you’ve stood in these halls.”

John smiled at the exchange. When the two broke apart, Ela turned to him.

“John, this is Knight-Captain Gallacher, the man who trained me and my sister,” she sang, voice full of admiration, “and the knight who saved our lives when we were little.”

“She’s oversellin’ me,” he said to John. “Any one of us would have done it.”

He reached past the blonde to extend a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

The Gamer clasped the knight’s hand as firmly as he could, surprised by the deceptive strength in the elder man’s grip.

“Nice to meet you as well. Name’s John Newman.”

The two exchanged smiles. “Duncan Gallacher, Knight-Captain.”

“Ahem.”

The three were interrupted by Reginald, who had made himself almost invisible as pleasantries had been exchanged.

“While I appreciate the moment, the Lord-Protector is waiting in the study,” the butler declared with authority. “His time is most valuable, and we shan’t waste it.”

The elder knight shrugged sheepishly. “Ah, of course. ‘Pologies. Do you mind if we move to one of the dens?”

“Of course,” Reginald nodded before turning to John. “Follow me.”

John met Ela’s gaze one final time.

“Go on,” she said. “I will meet you here when you are finished.”

The Gamer nodded, and moved to follow the butler deeper into the manor.

The Knight-Captain turned and gestured, and he and Ela departed through a different door.

---

It took only a few minutes of following Reginald through the manor for John to completely abandon any hope of knowing where he was.

’They could absolutely disappear me in here and nobody would ever know,’ John thought, making another turn just behind the stern older man he was following. ’How big is this freakin’ place?’

Every new hall that he was led through was as lush as the last; the carpet was a stunning wine-color and suits of armor stood at every juncture. They all blended together until, at last, John crossed one more set of grand doors into a hallway that was notably different. In place of tables with flowers and suits of armor, lavishly framed portraits adorned the wall.

The first, on John’s left as he entered, was somewhat faded with time, but still masterfully crafted nonetheless. It was an old-style painting of a female knight with stunning red hair. Her armor was gilded and decorative, and she held a beautiful shield in front of her. He noted that the shield was painted with almost more detail than the knight herself.

’Huh. Who are all of these knights… and why all women?’ John wondered, as Reginald led him down the hall to the most ornate set of doors that he’d seen yet. ’Wait… a shield, right?’

As the portraits grew more and more modern and discernable, The Gamer began to put two and two together. With each portrait - each generation, he realized - the women grew closer and closer in appearance to someone he knew, Moira. As the years went by, John watched a millennia of art styles change and grow along with the paintings.

The entire hall was a dedication through the ages to the Wardens that Ela had told him about on the drive.

’OK… but why only women?’ he pondered still. ’Aren’t I seeing some kind of lord now? Moira’s father?’

The final portrait on the left of the far doors was the spitting image of Moira Brighton, if John could imagine what she’d look like in a dozen years or so. Her hair was longer, her features more defined, and her lips were slightly upturned, breaking through the stony, almost regal exterior of her predecessors.

John wasn’t given much time to admire the art or expand on his questions, as he was ushered through the doors in front. The Gamer had finally arrived at the office he’d been led to.

The room itself was much more spartan than he’d expected. It was still lavish, by John’s own standards, but there was an underlying focus on practicality that he could feel from within. The walls were decorated with bookshelves, all filled with hefty leather tomes, interspersed with cabinets and other office decor. In the center of the room was a table, upon which was spread a full world map.

At the far end of the room was a massive desk, a beautiful piece of what John guessed was hand-carved mahogany, behind which sat a man that John knew immediately was the Lord-Protector he’d been sent to speak to. He was a tall, built man, wearing a white-buttoned shirt, stitched with gold, underneath a charcoal coat. He had a gruff exterior, gray hair creeping upon faded red, with just enough carefully groomed stubble to give him a seasoned appearance.

The wall behind the desk was full with impressive, floor-to-ceiling windows through which flooded the natural light of the sun, giving an almost iridescent quality to the scene.

If Moria herself had been a gravitational presence, then this man was a black hole of authority, so much so that John hadn’t even noticed Moira, standing at attention behind him on the left. Moira’s father radiated power in an all-too familiar way as Wentworth had, though it distinctly lacked her chilling malice.

The Gamer swallowed nervously, and looked at Reginald for direction, only to realize that the butler had departed quickly and silently. A moment of panic set in, which John did his best to suppress as the Lord-Protector began to speak.

“This is the Late Bloomer you spoke of?” he intoned, making only the smallest gesture towards Moira behind him.

“Yes, Father.” The redhead nodded, halfway to a bow. John found her deference uncomfortable. Moira was someone he’d always pictured in charge. “He is one of my classmates.”

“I can tell.” John almost thought he saw a trace of a smile on the older man’s lips as he looked over the bright red of their matching jackets.

“Come. Sit,” he commanded, his voice was booming, yet not harsh, as John had expected. “If your story is as we have been told, then we have no quarrel. You are safe here, under the Order’s protection.”

Those words did little to assuage John’s nerves, but he nodded in response. The same adrenaline as he’d felt in his dungeon began to creep in. He did his best to believe in Ela, even if he didn’t believe entirely in the man in front of him. Cautiously, as if every square inch of carpet was a landmine, he walked forward and took a seat on a nice chair in front of the desk.

Lord Brighton continued once John was seated, “I am Moira’s father, Lord-Protector William Brighton. My daughter has relayed to me the pieces of your story that she was told by Miss Grzmot.

“You are John Newman, yes? A Late Bloomer who awoke with powers yesterday?”

“Um…” John started, nervously. “That’s basically it, I think. Generally speaking.”

“And you have since been informed of the basics of the Abyss?”

“More or less,” The Gamer responded. “I got told about some general stuff, like you all and barriers, but I was kinda hoping to get some more answers. Maybe a book or something.”

“That could be arranged once we are done.” Lord Brighton nodded thoughtfully. “For now, though, I would be interested to hear about exactly what happened with your powers. As you may have been told, Late Bloomers are exceedingly unusual. Magic cannot simply awaken within a mundane human without some form of intervention, usually leylines or star alignment - sometimes even demonic or divine interference.

“It would be prudent to identify the source of your abilities, as well as their scope, to make sure that no adverse effects or other complications will arise.”

’Adverse effects?’ John worried internally. ’What does that mean?’

I have been told that you recently started talking to a voice in your head.

John closed his eyes at that, taking a deep breath. ’OK, you aren’t wrong, but I don’t think that’s what he means.’

Most people would think you’re crazy.

’I… ’

The first step is admitting you have a problem.

For a brief moment, John actually wondered if maybe he’d just imagine all this in his head. Had he just dreamed up everything on the night of his birthday? Had he dropped all his marbles all over the floor and lost them?

He shook it off, though, and chose to move on to the conversation at hand, hoping that his hesitation hadn’t made him actually seem crazy to the people in front of him. “Um… I guess it all started yesterday morning, when I woke up…”

---

Meanwhile, with Ela

Halfway across the manor, Ela and Knight-Captain Gallacher had made their way to a den. As the Knight-Captain discussed a request for tea with a maid by the door, Ela sat, in silence, somberly contemplating the contents of the case that the knight had been carrying.

Absent-mindedly, she began to scratch at her left arm, the memory of a years-old wound festering beneath the surface. Memories bubbled up - the thundercrash of shore guns and the sirens around them. She **** herself to think of calming melodies, regaining her focus as her old instructor returned from the door and sat across from her.

"We’ll have tea in a few minutes,” the older knight began, only to be met with silence in response. “So… The Warden tells me that you've reconsidered your leave. It would be good to have you back."

"I have not decided yet," the blonde said, quietly. "I still don't know if I should. I am not sure… if I deserve the chance."

"Why not?" he countered. “That’s nonsense.”

"What if I freeze?" she asked, her arm beginning to itch again. "What if I get more people killed?"

The Knight-Captain leaned over to put a hand on her shoulder. His voice was firmer than it had been before. "Listen to me. I've seen what happened to Scapa Flow. None of us could have stopped that thing. You and I both know that nothing you did that day got anyone killed."

Ela sighed and reflexively curled up. "Then why does survival feel like such a punishment?"

A chill ran down the Pole’s spine and she shuddered. She reached over and grasped her irritated arm.

“Because all you’ve ever wanted to do was help people. It’s why I always knew you’d be back,” the Knight-Captain smiled, gesturing to the table in front of him, “and why I kept this with me.”

“You did not need to bring it,” Ela said, somberly.

“‘Aye, I did,” the knight retorted. “I had to return it to its rightful owner.”

“It would be better to save the steel for someone who needs it,” the blonde trailed off, as her voice broke.

“I did,” he said, smiling. “You do.”

Reluctantly, Ela let go of her arm. With great care, she reached forward and opened the case. She slid the top off and paused for a moment to take in what she saw. Tearing up, she placed her hand upon the cool metal within.

“You had it repaired…”

Within the case was a simple steel kite shield. It was polished brilliantly, and glowed ever-so faintly with magic. Its face had, at one point, been painted a brilliant rose color, though it had faded and dulled with time. In the center was a messy blob of yellow-gold, brushed in every direction as if to resemble a flower, equally as worn.

The downtrodden blonde ran her fingers across the failed attempt at a rose, and a smile threatened her melancholic demeanor. “I still remember when Nadir and I painted this. We were so sure my sister would love it.”

“She never did fix it.”

Ela lifted the shield to her chest and hugged it tight. Clinging to the armament as if it were all the world to her, she shook with a silent sob, but smiled nonetheless.

“Whatever you choose, whether to come back or not,” the Knight-Captain said, sporting a weary grin, “you and your family have given everything The Lady could have asked of you. If nothing else, take Zofia’s shield with you, so a piece of us can keep you safe wherever you go.”

A nostalgic look overtook the old knight’s eyes. “You know, I often still think about our old training group. I miss the days when I’d have to go find wherever you’d squirreled yourself away before morning exercises, always trying to find time for just a few more pages. The other squires used to get so upset that they’d have to wait on you.

“The Order isn’t the same to me without its Bookworm Knight.”