Feanor tosses another wrinkled piece of parchment to the trash with a sigh.
“Something bothering you?” Cog asks through a mouth full of oats, lounging on his back in a ray of afternoon sunshine.
Feanor snorts, sitting back and rubbing her eyes with a hoof. “Just an entire faction threatening to tear itself apart under my hooves, nothing of consequence…”
“But that’s not what’s bothering you… is it?”
Feanor shoots him a sharp glance. Then purses her lips. “No, I suppose you’re right.”
“I don’t get you. They took the bait didn’t they? Ate it up like candy by the sounds of it. You even got that murdering psychopath all sappy! So why the stress?”
“That ‘psychopath’ is our ally now, and soon to be your student - you may as well get used to it. She also saved my life. Twice, more or less…” she trails off, tapping a hoof on her chair. “How did that happen, Cog? I keep turning it over, and it just doesn’t fit. A daemon and an outcast. What was in it for them?”
Cog reaches into the sack of oats, finds it empty, and tosses it to the floor with a burp.
“Maybe they needed friends. Maybe Fluffy had a punishment hanging over her head and she knew it. Maybe she needed somewhere to go. Somewhere her enemies couldn’t reach her…”
He kicks himself into a sitting position, making a half-hearted attempt to pull his pointed hat straight.
“Or maybe she got lovey dubby all the sudden and decided killing isn’t a nice thing to do. Who cares? We’re at home. You’re supposed to be relaxing.”
“That is precisely what I am trying to do!” She reaches for a half-empty bottle of wine and pours another glass.
Cog’s usually-cheerful face grows troubled. “Haven’t you had enough of that stuff today?”
Feanor gives him a defensive, almost hurt look. “I told you, they recommended it for the pain...”
“A glass before bed. Not four.”
Feanor doesn’t meet his eyes. “You don’t understand, Cog…”
“I do understand!” Cog snaps. “Fluffy pulled you from under a rock. But that family is still cold and dead and that farm is still ashes! Or have you forgotten?”
“You weren’t there.”
“I would have been! You know I would! You made me stay--”
“She could have left me.” Feanor continues, as though his outburst hadn’t happened. “Should have left me. And no one could have blamed her. Not even Fle--”
THUMP. THUMP.
They both turn to the door, startled. Cog raises his eyebrows. “Expecting visitors?”
Feanor gives a small shake of the head.
“Or assassins?”
She glares. “Ahem! A moment, please.” she calls primly.
She reaches under the desk and motions for Cog to move behind a pillar by the door. She pulls out a hidden drawer containing a knife and a mirror. Feanor slides the knife under a piece of parchment within easy reach and moves around the desk to face the door. She eyes herself in the mirror, poking at her mane daintily before moving to answer it.
As she opens the latch, she tenses, letting the cold flow through her - ready for Hunters, assassins, anything....
Anything except this. Standing on her doorstep is a nervous looking Sheep, brushed and groomed and obviously attempting to hide a large bouquet of flowers behind his back.
Her jaw starts to drop, and she barely remembers to close it. From his hiding spot, Cog looks alarmed at her expression. Feanor shakes herself, giving him a small gesture to stand down.
“I… Can I help you?” she asks.
“Heyy… Feanor! How are you? Doing?” The sheep gives a great big lopsided grin.
“I’m…” Feanor hesitates, taken aback by his friendly manner. He is familiar, but she can’t place why. Then she notices the dark smudge mostly hidden on his forehead, the one that almost looks like…
“Fleece!” She gasps in recognition, knocking her mirror to the floor. “I didn’t recognize you! You look…” She clears her throat, picking up the mirror and setting it on the table. “Come in!”
Feanor hurriedly pushes the parchment with the knife beneath it to the side as Fleece steps through the door, still hiding the bouquet.
“To what might I owe the pleasure?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at the flowers showing behind his back.
“Uh, well, I never really got the chance to say thank you for saving my… fleece… back at that prison, sooo…” Fleece pulls out the bouquet, wrapped neatly in purple paper and tied with a ribbon. “Seeing as you got hurt trying to help me, after all. I mean, I know a lot of ungulates got hurt but…”
He trails off, clearly seeing he has talked himself into a corner. Rather than attempt to smooth it over, he steps forward, offering the flowers.
“Oh my…” Feanor takes them uncertainly. “They are… lovely. I’m certain I’ve never seen any quite like them!”
“Yeah, they’re, uh…” Fleece furrows his brow. “...I don’t know what kind they are. But they’re only found in The Meadow. So you might want to put them somewhere warm…” He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough.
“How thoughtful! These will be just the thing to brighten this place up.” Feanor eyes the Sheep cautiously, as she speaks. She claps a hoof, “Cog! Get a vase and put these…” She glances around the room several times, eyes hovering on the oven before she points at the only patch of sunshine in the house. “There.”
She turns back to Fleece. “Thank you, Minister. Honestly, you needn’t have. But thank you.” Feanor shifts awkwardly. “I, uhh… I had meant to find you after the battle… Has there been any...“ She winces, peeking behind him to make sure there are no puppies waiting outside. “Any news?”
Fleece cocks his head to one side. “News? ...Oh! Yeah, you’ll never guess what arrived on my doorstep the other day!”
Feanor’s eyes widen, somewhere between hope and alarm. “Oh?”
Fleece raises his forelegs in celebration. “My puppies! Safe and sound…” he lowers his forelegs again “...other than the fact that they were marked. But it’s okay!” He raises his forelegs again, almost smacking himself in the face. “I took them to the Dark Side and they fixed them up good as new!”
Feanor’s eyes darken at the mention of the Dark Side, but she smiles nonetheless. “Fleece that’s… that’s fantastic news! I mean, about the fixing…” her expression grows darker. “The rest is abominable. May Ziege rot in whatever hole he’s crawled into…”
“Oversized southern…” Cog breaks the ensuing silence, grumbling to himself as he walks up with a vase clearly meant for a much smaller breed of flower.
Feanor silences him with a look.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” she says to Fleece, “We aren’t used to having guests! Come inside, sit down.” she gestures toward a simple but comfy living room, with soft rugs and cushions for sitting. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Well sure, thank you. That sounds nice.” Fleece finds a place among the cushions and sits down. “Nice to meet you by the way, Cog.”
“Yeah. Same to you, uhh, Minister. Diggin’ the style.” He points at the Mark on Fleece’s forehead casually.
“COG!” Feanor gasps, “That’s enough!”
Cog looks genuinely offended. “What? I was being serious....”
Fleece smiles. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. I’m learning to live with it. The puppies all kept their marks too, and they don’t seem to care, so why should I?”
“See?” Cog strains as he sets down the vase, which is nearly as large as he is. “It’s a cool look. Maybe I’ll get one of my own…” he plops himself into the corner, reaching for the bag of oats, only to remember that it is empty and kick it into the wall.
Feanor raises a brow. “Perhaps that can be arranged.” She walks over to Fleece, holding an empty glass. “Do you take red or white?”
“Uh… I-I’m not much of a drinker but… I guess… white?”
Feanor passes it off with a smile, ignoring Cog's frown.
“Pefect. I have a Domaine Leflaive that is to die for!” She pours a glass, setting it down neatly in front of him before taking her own seat.
“Now, where were we?” Feanor claps her hooves, “Ahh, yes! Your puppies! How are they taking the, ahhh, treatment?”
“Like champions! That guy, Zeel? A miracle worker.” Fleece takes a sip from his glass. His face reflexively scrunches up and he holds the expression for a solid few seconds before swallowing hard. “Ahh… yes… a good way to fight off the cold, that…”
Feanor nods, “They say we Reindeer were the first to take to the art for just that reason. And did you say Zeel? How fascinating, I was just to see him only the other day. A charming host...”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you and I were there at the same time. I was actually hoping to say hi then, but you kinda… disappeared into a portal.” Fleece runs his hoof around the edge of his glass. “...With a buck.”
“Buck? Oh! You mean Sten.” She gives Fleece an innocent look, “Impressive fellow, isn’t he?”
“I… I wouldn’t really know.” Fleece chokes down another sip of wine. “So is he your, uh, boyfriend or something?”
Feanor chokes on the sip of wine she was taking, putting a hoof to her mouth to keep it from spraying on the rug. She turns away, still coughing from the wine.
Cog busts out laughing in his corner.
“I’m sorry,” Feanor manages hoarsely, somewhere between embarrassment and amusement.
“Ignore Cog. He’s not laughing at you, only the idea of Sten…” she trails off with a chuckle. “
“Boyfriend? No. He is my Chosen Hoof. Or bodyguard, as I believe you Sheeple put it.”
“Oh. Good. I mean, cool.” Fleece confidently pounds down the rest of his wine, reels for a brief moment, then places the empty glass to one side. “I probably shouldn’t have any more of that do… domin… wine. I have a long walk home.”
“Yes…” Feanor gives a rueful look at the bottle before putting it aside. “Yes, you’re probably right.”
She downs the last of her cup, savoring the last swallow, then sits back. “And I’m sorry our exit was a bit… hasty. I’m afraid I never gave Zeel the chance to tell us you were waiting. That place simply gives me shudders.” She idly rubs her injured shoulder at the memory.
“It’s okay. Demons still kinda freak me out, but I’m getting over it.” Fleece eyes Feanor’s shoulder sadly. “I really am sorry you got hurt. If I had a fraction of your… cunning I would’ve figured out my own escape.”
Feanor’s expression grows serious. “Don’t, Fleece. Don’t do that. After what you endured… You were braver than anyone had a right to expect.”
Fleece waves the remark off with a hoof. “Ah, I’m fine. Most of my injuries are from way back during the giraffe war. I got a head-start on the healing, even if I wasn’t exactly in… ideal conditions.” Fleece stands up and stretches, as if to prove how well he had recovered.
“Why do you play yourself down?” Feanor presses, “I would probably still be buried in that… that place if it weren’t for you. You did something to be proud of, so be proud of it! Prophet knows the world does enough to tear us down without us doing the job for her.” There is a hint of bitterness in her voice as she says this last.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so negative,” the Prime Minister replies. “You and Fluffy just made the rescue look so easy. Well, not easy but… straightforward. Velvetia is lucky to have you in charge.”
Feanor smiles wryly as she stands. “That, I won’t argue with...”
“Not helping here pal.” Cog groans at Fleece.
“-- but perhaps you should remind them of that fact.” Feanor finishes, ignoring him.
“What do you mean?” Fleece follows her glance to the pile of unopened letters on the desk.
Feanor hesitates, eyeing Fleece thoughtfully. “Well… since you did mention Fluffy before, I thought…” She stops, looking like she wants to ask him something, but finally bites it back. “Ahhh, it doesn’t matter. I won’t bore you with Faction politics, I’m sure you have enough of those on your plate as it is.”
Fleece nods. “Things are pretty complicated in the Pom Patrol right now. I’ll have it sorted out soon enough though. There’s even talks about hosting a gala…”
Feanor gives him a sympathetic wince. “The joys of command, yes?”
“Speaking of which...” Cog interrupts, “Aren’t you missing a meeting?”
Feanor whirls toward the clock and gives a pained hiss. “Prophet curse it…” She turns to give Fleece a sheepish smile, “You’ll have to excuse me, Minister, I’m afraid duty calls.”
“Don’t worry about it. I should be getting back to the Meadow anyway,” he says with a glance at the setting sun through the window.
They walk together to the door, but Fleece stops at the entrance, shuffling his feet.
“What is it?”
“This, uhh, gala… the one I told you about… They’re talking about hosting it at the Meadow.” He looks up at her a little too casually. “Will you be coming?”
“I imagine it would be quite a diplomatic blunder not to! Besides,” She glances at the flowers, “It won’t be all bad. You will have to show me more of this Meadow.”
Fleece’s face lights up. “S-sure! Happily! Stop by anytime and I’ll show you around…” They reach the door and Fleece steps out into the brisk Rein air. “I guess I’ll see you then…”