He takes in the changes at a glance, and then his gaze stops on the goose. Even though he knows that she was, in a sense, him, there was something powerfully comforting about having a companion to whom he never really had to explain anything.
"Do you know, I rather miss her," he says, gesturing to the goose with a small smile.
"Hjerte is my deal," Ulla tells him, low and fervent. "Or rather, the
Hjerte who was here in a flood a long time ago. He was shaped differently
in the breach. So strange to think of him as a bear rather than an octopus."
Because in her mind, he's always an octopus.
"I stayed when Warren left in part for Taylor, in part because Warren knew
I'd outlive him and wanted to make sure I remembered how to not crumble in
his absence. And in part for Hjerte. A duet partner I can trust completely,
who I won't outlive by centuries. There's a cost to spending the rest of my
life among humans. Your lives are so much shorter. I wanted someone I
wouldn't have to lose."
"He was a very fine bear," Fitzjames says. "Which is not something I ever thought I'd say about a bear, after ... everything. But an octopus suits you better."
He sits down, looking for something he can tinker with (although, as always, not really aware that's what he's doing).
"I did enjoy being an aeronaut," he says. "In my day the French were famous for their hot-air balloons, but I never had the chance to go up in one myself."
Ulla leads the way up the ramp before they sit, and she'll settle in an
armchair with her tail draped over one arm. There's a soft blanket on his
chair if he needs something to fidget with. The space is generally more
welcoming for humans than her cabin was before. (Which was part of the goal
in adding the balcony; the other part being to protect her harp.)
"You were a good brother," Ulla tells him, soft and warm. "I don't have any
fond memories of my brother by blood, but I'm glad to have some of you."
Unconsciously he instantly picks up the corner of the blanket and begins twisting at it, rolling it between his fingers.
"This is the second breach where I've had a sibling," he says. "Last time—the circus—it was Lester Sheehan. Only then I was the one who stayed home whilst he went off and had adventures."
"It's only my fourth, and I've been here... more than three years now, four
if you count Flotilla. Usually I've been an only child in breaches, or it
was some version of Aleksander as my brother."
Which does beg the question, "I'm not sure what you want to do with the
aftermath. Jasper is still my brother. None of the others are. Does it
change anything between us?"
"Alright," Ulla agrees. She doesn't think it would be difficult at all to
call him her brother. She already adores him. But she'll also defer to
him in this.
And she doesn't sound worried when she tells him, "I doubt you've done
anything that would require you to beg for my forgiveness. Tell me and get
it off your chest."
"You know, I expect, that I've become friends with Jonathan Strange," he says. "Well—for the last few months, he has been teaching me magic. His world's sort of magic. Truthfully I didn't think it was possible, but ..." He laces his fingers together tightly. "I ought to have told you. But Strange doesn't trust his warden, and at the time I wasn't sure how I ought to speak of it to you, and then—well. It seemed simpler to continue to say nothing. But after the incident with his curse, Strange told Persson about it, and I reckoned you had better hear it from me first."
Ulla tilts her head. "Did you think I would stop you?"
She opens her hands in her lap, voice and body language soft. "My warden's
first promise to me was that he would never take my magic, no matter what I
did. Which is different, of course, in part because it's as deeply a part
of me as blood or bone. And in part because at least my file gave him some
conception of how it worked. What he could expect. He could assess the
danger, to me and himself and everyone else. After that darkness, I worry
about one or both of us not knowing where the hazards are."
Still, "I have no objections. Just a request to understand more, if you
don't mind."
"I wasn't sure what you'd think," he says. "But I can assure you that nothing we've done so far is dangerous."
And he goes on to explain it in more detail—the words and gestures that Strange's world uses, the simple spells he's learned. How to detect magic being used, how to change the temperature of the air in little ways.
Ulla listens, calm and patient and appreciative, with occasional soft
questions or sounds of acknowledgement.
"Thank you," she tells him warmly. "I remember before Warren, and even for
awhile after him, I felt like I was walking on eggshells, just waiting for
my magic to be snatched away from me once I'd managed to get it back. I'm
glad you've trusted me with this."
And she does trust him, but she'll ask, "Do you mind if I talk to him, or
to his warden? I believe everything you've told me, but I also know magic
usually goes deeper than the first things you learn. If you'd prefer I
don't discuss it with either of them, I'll ask for a promise you'll keep me
informed as you learn."
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no subject
He takes in the changes at a glance, and then his gaze stops on the goose. Even though he knows that she was, in a sense, him, there was something powerfully comforting about having a companion to whom he never really had to explain anything.
"Do you know, I rather miss her," he says, gesturing to the goose with a small smile.
no subject
"Hjerte is my deal," Ulla tells him, low and fervent. "Or rather, the Hjerte who was here in a flood a long time ago. He was shaped differently in the breach. So strange to think of him as a bear rather than an octopus."
Because in her mind, he's always an octopus.
"I stayed when Warren left in part for Taylor, in part because Warren knew I'd outlive him and wanted to make sure I remembered how to not crumble in his absence. And in part for Hjerte. A duet partner I can trust completely, who I won't outlive by centuries. There's a cost to spending the rest of my life among humans. Your lives are so much shorter. I wanted someone I wouldn't have to lose."
no subject
"He was a very fine bear," Fitzjames says. "Which is not something I ever thought I'd say about a bear, after ... everything. But an octopus suits you better."
He sits down, looking for something he can tinker with (although, as always, not really aware that's what he's doing).
"I did enjoy being an aeronaut," he says. "In my day the French were famous for their hot-air balloons, but I never had the chance to go up in one myself."
no subject
Ulla leads the way up the ramp before they sit, and she'll settle in an armchair with her tail draped over one arm. There's a soft blanket on his chair if he needs something to fidget with. The space is generally more welcoming for humans than her cabin was before. (Which was part of the goal in adding the balcony; the other part being to protect her harp.)
"You were a good brother," Ulla tells him, soft and warm. "I don't have any fond memories of my brother by blood, but I'm glad to have some of you."
no subject
Unconsciously he instantly picks up the corner of the blanket and begins twisting at it, rolling it between his fingers.
"This is the second breach where I've had a sibling," he says. "Last time—the circus—it was Lester Sheehan. Only then I was the one who stayed home whilst he went off and had adventures."
no subject
"It's only my fourth, and I've been here... more than three years now, four if you count Flotilla. Usually I've been an only child in breaches, or it was some version of Aleksander as my brother."
Which does beg the question, "I'm not sure what you want to do with the aftermath. Jasper is still my brother. None of the others are. Does it change anything between us?"
no subject
"I don't think so," he says after a moment's thought. "It changes nothing of the liking or respect that I have for you."
He'd like to call her sister freely, but ... he can't. Not yet. And he's not sure why.
"Though there is another matter that I must raise with you, and I shall have to beg your forgiveness for not mentioning it sooner."
no subject
"Alright," Ulla agrees. She doesn't think it would be difficult at all to call him her brother. She already adores him. But she'll also defer to him in this.
And she doesn't sound worried when she tells him, "I doubt you've done anything that would require you to beg for my forgiveness. Tell me and get it off your chest."
no subject
"You know, I expect, that I've become friends with Jonathan Strange," he says. "Well—for the last few months, he has been teaching me magic. His world's sort of magic. Truthfully I didn't think it was possible, but ..." He laces his fingers together tightly. "I ought to have told you. But Strange doesn't trust his warden, and at the time I wasn't sure how I ought to speak of it to you, and then—well. It seemed simpler to continue to say nothing. But after the incident with his curse, Strange told Persson about it, and I reckoned you had better hear it from me first."
no subject
Ulla tilts her head. "Did you think I would stop you?"
She opens her hands in her lap, voice and body language soft. "My warden's first promise to me was that he would never take my magic, no matter what I did. Which is different, of course, in part because it's as deeply a part of me as blood or bone. And in part because at least my file gave him some conception of how it worked. What he could expect. He could assess the danger, to me and himself and everyone else. After that darkness, I worry about one or both of us not knowing where the hazards are."
Still, "I have no objections. Just a request to understand more, if you don't mind."
no subject
Fitzjames exhales, relieved.
"I wasn't sure what you'd think," he says. "But I can assure you that nothing we've done so far is dangerous."
And he goes on to explain it in more detail—the words and gestures that Strange's world uses, the simple spells he's learned. How to detect magic being used, how to change the temperature of the air in little ways.
no subject
Ulla listens, calm and patient and appreciative, with occasional soft questions or sounds of acknowledgement.
"Thank you," she tells him warmly. "I remember before Warren, and even for awhile after him, I felt like I was walking on eggshells, just waiting for my magic to be snatched away from me once I'd managed to get it back. I'm glad you've trusted me with this."
And she does trust him, but she'll ask, "Do you mind if I talk to him, or to his warden? I believe everything you've told me, but I also know magic usually goes deeper than the first things you learn. If you'd prefer I don't discuss it with either of them, I'll ask for a promise you'll keep me informed as you learn."
no subject
"I promise to be more open about it," he says, "but you're welcome to talk to either of them, of course. And ... thank you. For understanding."