Headed by a Snake

"Ah, my partn-- I mean, Emilien," Said Clemont as he laughed nervously. "You're asking about Emilien."

"...Yes," Tycondrius nodded. "Yes, I am... Monsieur Clemont, I'd be rather disappointed if I were forced to repeat myself."

"Emilien, he..." Clemont rubbed his hands together, "He suffered a severe hernia two suns prior."

Tycon twisted his lips to the side. Leserre's absence would be felt, but with the numbers involved in the coming operation, a working replacement would be easy to find.

Still...

"That's unfortunate-- both for the war effort and on his behalf," Tycon said with a light frown. "He was looking forward to this campaign."

"Y-yes, he was," Clemont bowed. "He was... perhaps too excited. He forgot to mind our age."

"Accidents happen," Tycon waved. "I trust the relevant paperwork is in order. Get that man some recovery potions-- and has he seen a professional healer?"

"Aye," The Wizard said, though he shook his head. "I had to use a ⌈Hold⌋ Spell to detain him. You know how he is..."

"Indeed..."

Tycon tapped his finger on the war table... "Clemont."

"Yes?"

"You still haven't told me why you're here."

"Commander..."

Clemont gulped... but straightened his back. He kept his hands to the side, but... they shook terribly.

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Mage-Captain..."

"I'm... here for a request."

A request?

What could that be?

Was Clemont going to... request for Leserre to be healed? There was paperwork for that. Surely, Tycon could expedite the process, but... as that was a reasonable request, it did not explain Clemont's reluctance.

A slow grimace crossed Tycon's face. Perhaps Clemont was going to request for a leave of absence.

Unacceptable.

Tycon was absolutely going to participate in the various anti-lizard operations-- and he knew more than most that the mission was impossible and there was only a minuscule off-chance that the end of the Realm could be averted.

If he had to be there, then so would everyone under his command.

...If Clemont outright refused to participate in the operation, Tycon would have him arrested.

There would be torture.

However... those were dark thoughts-- and unlikely to be true, considering Clemont's high social intelligence.

Was he... perhaps going to ask for a transfer? It had become common knowledge that the leader of the Sapphire Tower was a member of Sol Invictus.

It seemed to be a popular notion amongst young male mages, to train with the mostly-female Sapphire Tower.

But thinking on that... Clemont had never expressed even a passing interest in the opposite gender. There was great value, however, in the arcane knowledge he would accrue from the courses Bella Sapphira designed, herself.

"Baron Tycon, I'd like to request your permission... to marry Emilien."

Tycon tilted his head... "Ah?"

"Emilien," Clemont repeated... though he naturally began to slouch and shrink, "I'd like... ... ..."

"Is... marrying a Knight illegal?" Tycon frowned. "No... I refuse to believe the Kingdom is so classist."

"It's... it's not our class, Sir," Clemont coughed.

Tycon pursed his lips, looking his Mage-Captain over. Despite Clemont's decent wages, he still had an air of poverty around him.

"Is there a problem with your... socio-economic backgrounds?" He asked.

"N-no, Sir it's... it's our... our union... it's frowned upon."

What?

Tycon leaned forward, trying to make sense of the man's babbling.

"You're concerned with... our fraternization laws?" Tycons suggested, "It's fine. You and Leserre were acquainted well before we militarized Staghorn's internal rules; there's no issue."

"One... issue remains, my lord," Clemont said, his head bowed.

Tycon leaned back in his chair, partly curious, but mostly annoyed, "Then please, Clemont, elucidate me."

The wizard gulped once more... "It's the fact that we're both men, Sir Baron."

Tycon squeezed his eyes together; his curiosity had vanished, and his annoyance had amplified three-fold.

"Of that," He growled. "I was aware."

Suddenly, a sense of panic washed over Tycon.

Clemont was a good man... and from the way he cared for his subordinates and peers... it was reasonable for him to worry about his superior.

Was the problem... not as simple as it seemed?

Was Clemont kindly hinting... that something was wrong with Tycon's recruitment processes?

What was it? A mixed-gender law? A cultural taboo?

--was he going to suffer a fine?

If King Adal was going to fine him, Tycon would openly refuse!

The end of the Realm was coming in the next few weeks.

...It was folly to be upset over something so soon to be immaterial.

With that in mind, Tycon again found his calm.

"Regardless," Tycon waved. "You have my permission. Be mindful that marriage affects how your household is taxed under Kingdom law. Thus, (should we survive) and you submit updated paperwork to our finance department, your pay stub should--"

"But, Monsieur Baron?"

"WhAt iS iT, cLeMoNt???" Tycon sang.

The frustration in his voice was more apparent than he would have liked.

"Do you not find our relationship... strange?"

"Hmph. Actually, yes. I do," Tycon scowled. "Why is it that you've *never* approached me with questions concerning magic?"

"Sir!" Clemont barked, "I mean... my relationship with Emilien!"

...Tycon took in a slow, deep, calming breath.

"Clemont," he sighed...

"I have, in my head, decades of experience as a military leader.

"In that time, I've been in direct charge of several *thousand* sentients: men and women with differing creeds and ethnic backgrounds, a variety of species, literal beasts, and a sizeable portion of troops I can only reasonably classify as 'other.'

"This is *not* the first time I've had this conversation, Clemont...

"--but it is the first time I've met a *human* so concerned about their romantic involvement with *another* human."

"I... see," Clemont pouted.

The Wizard stared at his feet for several moments.

That was good. It meant he was coming to terms with just how asinine his concerns were.

Tycon shut his eyes. Was the conversation over? It sounded over. He wondered if he'd left any loaves of sourdough in his spatial ring. The frustrating conversation made him feel like--

"Monsieur Baron?"

"WhaaAat?" Tycon groaned.

"Would you... attend the wedding? --if I invited you officially?"

"By the F... Yes. As your direct superior, I accept the obligation of attending your lifetime milestone ceremony."

Clemont chewed on his upper lip as he went on, "I've heard... you hate those kinds of ceremonies, Sir."

That much was true. However, there was a relative certainty of ash and fire in the near future.

"I'll at least send a proxy if I am... indisposed," Tycon replied. "And by 'indisposed', I mean having suffered an exceedingly violent and/or gruesome demise."

"You..." Clemont frowned, "keep making these grim jokes, Sir."

"Get out of my Command Tent, Clemont," Tycon waved.

The tall Wizard let out a sigh before saluting with his fist to his chest, "Aye aye, Commander."

"--and congratulations on your engagement."

...

⟬ Two suns later... Early morning, outside the City of Making. ⟭

Tycondrius glanced over to his side. Underneath an absurdly oversized hat and behind a pair of respectably circular spectacles was a Witch named Bella Sapphira.

To his knowledge, she was also the most powerful Caster in the Realm-- at least on the continent.

Bella was lying astride her floating broom, one of her legs draped down, the tip of her boot brushing the dirt. She kept in perfect balance-- and made doing so appear effortless.

Tycon assumed the feat had to do with her magical control. He could do similar, but not at the level Bella could exhibit-- not that he would care to do so.

He was kneeling in the dirt. The mana he expended while doing so was negligible.

"Like... you *really* don't trust the lizards, Boss," Bella mused.

Tycon raised an eyebrow, mulling over the statement.

It was true.

However, he had the bothersome feeling that the woman was asking for more than a simple answer.

"My distrust... is in my bloodline," Tycon replied.

Witches were a distrustful lot. Interminable persecution over centuries burned grave scars into their bloodline memories.

"Hmmm."

Bella emitted a musical hum, slowly rocking her head from side to side.

Her gaze did not leave him.

Tycon did not believe she trusted him, nor did he expect her trust.

As a Witch, she immediately discerned that his soul was not the one she was familiar with. It was a fact he felt should be met with uttermost suspicion.

Bella's general demeanor suggested she was undaunted by it, but certain questions and certain gazes implied otherwise.

Tycon turned his attention back to the field. The two were on a hill, overlooking the City of Making.

Various company formations were beginning to take their positions; many were dangerously within range of the city's wall-mounted defenses.

Bella unreservedly loosed an indolent yawn, "Mmmm. Think they spotted us yet?"

Tycon shook his head, "If they have, we would have heard or seen something by now."

Despite their forces moving in broad daylight, the enemy had yet to respond.

Of course, magic was at play. With so many moving parts, however, it was inevitable that the enemy would notice an unusual magical shimmer or a gap in a concealment Spell.

"...Y'know, the old you couldn't see that well," Bella remarked.