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Sophie says she prefers his hair dark, but he's never claimed he isn't vain: just because he's engaged to be married doesn't mean he has to stop playing around with lotions and potions.

(Personally, he preferred the pure white; it was a stylistic choice if ever there was one.)

Tonight, he's blonde.

Doing actual work for the King is wearying. So wearying, in fact, he's beginning to wonder if it will ever be finished. There's been precious little time to spend with his Sophie: it's been nothing but work, and that makes for a dull wizard, or so he believes. Besides, even the most dedicated, focused of people deserves a glass of cider from time to time.

"I liked it better," he says to no one in particular, "when my time was my own."

Back in the good old days before stirrings of war, that bold move from the Strangians to the north. Why did they have to decide to move on Ingary at such a precarious time? He's got better things to do than make supply kits for the whole of the King's army. He's getting married, for heaven's sake. The middle of a war is no time for that.

If this is what being a steadily employed adult is all about, he'll say no, thank you. He doesn't want to turn into a carbon-copy of his sister: miserable, irritated, always foul-tempered. A glass of cider is just what he needs to wash that unsavory thought away. Taking it into his hands, he studies its golden hue (much like his hair, he's glad to notice) before he takes a sip:

Perfect.

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"I think our time is closest to being our own when we're children," Elda posits from nearby. "Of course, we never seem to realize it, then. Being grown up seems like it would be full of freedom, didn't it?"

She laughs. "Good evening, Howl."

"Out of the mouths of babes." His voice is as mournful as he can muster, but he smiles anyway. "Dear, dear Elda: how are you?"

At the moment he won't talk about freedom; he has no desire to make a misstep of any sort. In so many ways, he's still trying to figure out just what it is women (Sophie in particular, of course) want. And all that time, he thought he knew.

Having a heart again has certainly put just a tiny bit of that into perspective.

"I have not been a 'babe' for years now," she sniffs. "But I am quite well tonight. I've been worried, though. Sophie said your country is soon to be at war."

Howl would find it difficult to insult Elda. She considers him even more charming with his heart. Perhaps even because he is getting married.

There are babes, and then there are babes, technically speaking, although he never uses the term in the latter sense. It's crass, and he might be a lot of things but overtly stupid isn't one of them. And it's no secret that he's fond as can be of ladies in general, whether they be human in form or not... and that reminds him.

"Elda! You've changed."

Again. Last time he saw her, she'd been working on a spell for Sophie and...

"Please don't take this the wrong way, dear girl, but I think this form suits you perfectly. Not that there was anything wrong with your human shape." It was just a little disconcerting, that's all. "Maybe I'm just guilty of being a creature of habit after all. How sad I've become."

The sparkle in his eyes negates any self-pity entirely.

Elda laughs. "Oh no, I think I agree. Humans are very interesting, but I wouldn't choose to be stuck that way forever. It could certainly be useful in the future, though. I've adjusted the spell. It takes much less energy when I'm doing it on purpose and have it all prepared."

He laughs -- quietly -- and nods. "Spells are like that. They require a certain amount of expertise, and that only comes wtih practice."

He knows this well: his apprentice, Michael, has been with him for a number of years and he's still making beginner's mistakes from time to time. And not everyone's got the gift for spell-casting; it takes a certain disregard for the rules of nature and a willingness to suspend disbelief... and the ability to memorize the words that want saying, and the self-confidence to dig deep inside to provide the proper intention to go along with the words because spells by themselves are really, essentially, only words.

Some few people have a gift for this and others need to be carefully taught. While Mrs. Pentstemmon took him on because, as she told him numerous times, his innate sense of using magic was too dangerous to leave unleashed, he doesn't go about relaying that fact to just anybody. He has some small sense of propriety about things.

Something other than humility.

He would find a sympathetic ear in Elda. She loves her magic, but it is worringly strong sometimes. The whole reason she went to the University was that she pushed a mountain all out of shape when she was upset.

"Tell me Howl, isn't there something I can do to help you and Sophie? She said no of course. She seems to think I need protecting."

Sophie does have rather a soft touch; hearing about her protectiveness brings the smallest of smiles to his face.

Still, if Michael can help, there ought to be something Elda can do.

"How are you at duplicating spells?"

That's something that might come in handy. Lifting the cider to his lips, he takes a long sip: it's very good cider.

"It depends on the spell. If it's simple and clear, I can do it lots of times. I have plenty of strong magic, I hardly know what to do with it all, sometimes."

She can usually feel it humming deep in her center and in her bones, constant as her blood and heartbeat.

Leaning forward, he considers her very carefully for a moment. "Were I to teach you such a spell, would you be willing to put it to use?" He's thinking of all the bandages Sophie's been making; she's very good at it but she's very tired. If Elda could help her cut her work in half...

...And then there are all those satchels of medical kits. He's fine making the salve and the rest of the items that go in them, but if Elda were to help with the bags themselves...

He gives her his best smile. "What do you say?"

An extra hand (or talon) is always appreciated at times like this.

"Of course!" she says, leaning forward as well, obviously eager. "You know I always want to learn spells, and if I can help people, all the better." Especially if those people are her friends.

Besides, poor Sophie has talked herself almost hoarse.

Well.

He can certainly teach spells; he's been doing that with Michael for years now. "Then listen carefully." Taking a look round -- there don't appear to be any magical spies, and that's something -- he leans forward and whispers the words into her ear. If her feathers tickle his nose, he doesn't let on; sitting back, he smiles politely.

"Have you got that? Or do you need it again?"

It's a simple enough spell; making exact copies of things is a very basic wizarding skill. "You know, of course, that saying the words alone won't do it. You have to both believe in what you're doing and be able to visualize the end result. Words of magic are simply words without that crucial piece added on."

Since different people learn differently, he demonstrates with the coaster beneath his cider. Resting his index finger squarely in its middle, he closes his eyes and mutters the spell. There's a small puff of smoke, and when it clears, a second coaster sits by the first one.

How long it lasts depends on what he was thinking when he cast the spell, of course: it could be a matter of moments to something permanent. This one is designed to last for a half hour or so.

He's not showing off: he's teaching Elda. If he were perhaps a little less vain or a little less prone to complaining, he might actually make a very good instructor himself.

She watches very closely and carefully before nodding once. "I have it." She won't forget, or at least not until she can write it down carefully.

"I would be different with something that already has a spell, of course. But I won't have to know everything about that spell to do this, right?"

Elda is already making calculations in her head.

He can be very patient when he needs to.

"All you need are the words, the visualization, and the intention. And the practice: don't be disheartened if it doesn't work the first time round. Or the second or the third: keep at it, and you'll be able to make a duplicate of most simple items."

The cider's too good to pass up; he takes a long sip of that. "Of course, we need to use it only in the proper circumstances. We don't use it to take unfair advantage. For example, I won't cheat this place by duplicating a glass of its very fine cider. That would be morally reprehensible."

Of course, he's a fine one to talk about things like that. Still, a teacher has to put on a good upstanding hat. "But once you perfect the basic spell, you can, of course -- like all good wizards -- put your own particular spin on things."

Different wizards are good at different things. Sophie, for instance, talks her magic into objects. She doesn't know the first thing about this type of spellwork, but what she does, she does beautifully. He can't do that any more than she can do this. And he, on the other hand, is best at doing things with such a casual, indifferent spin that it almost seems as if he's not really even doing the magic at all.

Elda's school-trained, though, and this sort of thing is supposed to come more readily to her. It's all part of what he assumes is basic training, not that he's got the least bit of experience with her sort of university. All his training is either learned at the able tutelage of Mrs. Pentstemmon or self-taught. It's the whole self-taught arena where things get a little tricky, but he's not going to worry about that just now.

"You'll be brilliant at it. Just remember not to overrun a room with items. Remember your maths: if we only need one or two of any item, we don't make one or two hundred."

Self taught does tend to make things tricky, occasionally.

"I hadn't even thought about that. Perhaps I'd best practice on something I bring from home- or even at home. What will you be wanting me to copy? Once I know the spell, I could try it on something of a similar shape and size, at least."

She is determined! She will be good at this!

Tapping a finger to his lips, he watches her carefully: there are wheels and wheels turning in there, he can tell. They'd best start small.

"Bandages: gauze bandages. We need them in the thousands; they go in the medical kits we're preparing for the soldiers."

They'll do, and it will take a lot of the load off Sophie's shoulders.

"That shouldn't be difficult to mock up for a few trial runs. Shall I leave you a note with the bar when I can do it without error?"

Elda's tail lashes, and she watches him closely through one large, orange eye.

"That works. Either Sophie or I seem to be here regularly enough."

The cider in the glass swirls about (it has to be done); he takes another sip. "But Elda..."

Reaching out, he rests a hand on one of her talons. "Only do this if it's something you want to do." He'd hate it -- at least for a minute or two -- if he felt this was something she thought she had to do for one reason or another.

Elda nudges Howl's shoulder affectionately with her beak. "I would only be too pleased. You have just taught me a new spell, and given me the perfect way to practice it. When I get sick of my schoolwork, I can do this and now I'm helping people who need it."

She laughs, a little. "And when I get tired, I'll go back to my work and help myself."

Her move almost catches him off guard but he's nothing if not quick to recover; he pats her beak lightly, with affection equal to her own. "You're a dear. I hope people tell you that on a regular basis."

Honestly, he's got the feeling that she's going to become a hugely powerful wizard some day. All it takes is time, ability, and practice, and a little bit of ingenuity.

"Now. A cup of tea for you? Token of... advance gratitude, or something else, perhaps?" He hasn't forgotten his manners entirely.

"I would love one, thank you. I'll need a straw, if you don't mind. Shall I peel you an orange?"

Elda scoots back a bit so Howl can pull up a chair to the end of the table, if he wants.

"Why don't you tell me how you managed to get caught up in all this? I thought you weren't working for the king! Or trying not to, at any rate."

"Alas. And I'd be grateful for an orange; it's been some time since I had one."

Supplies in Ingary are being rationed now, because of the impending war. Dispatching a rat with the tea-with-a-straw order, he takes a seat at the end of the table where there's room.

"Sometimes it's a trial being a good wizard. I thought once we found Prince Justin and I'd dispatched the Witch of the Waste" -- that's such a strange way of putting it, but saying killed isn't nearly so poetic, although destroyed or demolished would have sufficed -- "and her fire demon, I'd be free of it all. But it turns out the King's other royal wizard has suffered from his imprisonment by the Witch and needs a bit of time to recuperate. And since the King hasn't yet relieved me of my title, I'm still in service to him."

He lets out a little sigh: he's no fan of war or battle; he prefers to see things resolved differently. Philosophy teaches that there are rarely clear winners in battles of this nature. "And all this just at the time when Sophie and I are... have so many other, more pleasant plans to make."

One can never choose when things happen, though, especially on a larger societal scale. It serves him best to look on this war as a mere inconvenience, something to be got past.

They will get past it, one way or another. And if it proves unsafe, he'll simply spirit Sophie away to a place that's more conducive to living the way they see fit.

"The king will owe you an astounding wedding, then," Elda reasons. "If you are still in his employ. After all, he wants to treat you well. Or if not that, then a very nice gift. Perhaps a small duchy." She giggles at the idea.

She carefully peels one of the oranges, her talons don't puncture the fruit even once. When you deal with old books and magic spells, you have to have a delicate touch.

"How long will the first royal wizard be recuperating? I think Sophie mentioned something about one of the generals being half a dog. What happened to him?"

His smile is gentle. "I'm a wizard, not a fortune-teller; I've no idea how long Wizard Suliman will need to recuperate. Hopefully he'll be fine; it was rather a shock to his system." He takes the orange from her, segmenting it neatly.

It's a very good orange.

"The Witch of the Waste had it in her brain that if she took pieces of different people and put them together, she could create what she deemed the perfect human. So she had bits and pieces of several people, and what was left... she turned into... other things. A dog, a scarecrow." He doesn't mention the skull he kept on his shelf or the fact it was his own head the Witch wanted for her construct.

That's something he prefers not to think about for very long. "So, if it were up to me, I'd tell him to take as much time as he needs."

A shock to his system indeed.

"We'll see if the King agrees."

It should be a good orange. Wizard Derk grows them, and he has a green thumb with plants, and a good hand with animals.

"Sophie said the Witch wanted that to be king. The king should probably agree, since Wizard Suliman helped stop her."

She accepts her tea cup from the nervous wait rat.

"Then again, so did you. Kings aren't always very gracious, are they?"

"What I've found, Elda, is that people in general aren't always very gracious." That's the way things are; he knows it for a fact. "The King is simply a more powerful graceless person, so his word is law."

When it comes to defending one's land, generosity and grace often have to be set aside for the greater cause. "I'm sure that Wizard Suliman will be back as soon as he's able. I shouldn't think he likes seeing another wearing his Royal Wizard hat, and I'll be only too glad to give up that title myself."

He's always done better as an independent contractor.

"What do you think you'll do after? You and Sophie, I mean."

Elda often wonders what married people do. Besides her parents and two of her sisters, she does not know many happy couples very well!

There isn't even a moment's hesitation.

"Grow old together selling wildly attractive flowers to unwary passers-by." Cheerfully, he eats a delicate orange segment.

"Children, perhaps. We'll see where the winds take us."

"You would have adorable and powerful children," Elda says. She gets starry-eyed just thinking about it.

"Adorable so long as they take after Sophie rather than me."

The smile on his face reaches all the way to his eyes. He's got the feeling this whole line of conversation would throw Sophie into an absolute panic.

"If you come to the wedding, you'll meet my niece, Mari. She's the single most adorable child I know." The fondness he has for his niece knows no bounds at all.

"You have a niece! I'm an aunt, isn't it lovely? Another of my sisters is married now, I'm hoping for more. My family is already big, but more is better, when it comes to people who love you. I've thought about having my own, too."

One thing he knows about Elda is this: when she's excited about something, it really shows. One might think it would be difficult to see passion on a griffin's face, but he has no trouble whatsoever.

She's definitely in love with the concept of family.

"Exactly how many of you are there in your family?" He's not sure she ever mentioned.

"Counting everyone? Mum and Dad. Blade and Kit. Shona and Geoffrey, and my three nieces and two nephews. Calette, Don, Lydda and her Harreck. Angelo and Flo. Maybe more soon! That makes eighteen, with me!"

She beams happily.

He raises one eyebrow in a not-quite-skeptical manner. "That is a large family." Try as he might to imagine it, he can't see Sophie in a family of eighteen; they're both from relatively small families themselves.

"It sounds entirely lovely." A few more orange segments disappear; he wipes his hand on a conjured napkin. "I doubt we'd have a family quite that size, but as I said, we'll see where the wind takes us. First, we have a war to get past. And we're not even married yet, so this is all simply speculative."

Really, it's something he and Sophie should discuss, but no matter what her answer to it might be, he'll marry her regardless.

She holds his heart, after all.

"I'm sure it will work out the way it should. If life seems to not be allowing you your happy ever after, you will just have to make it, won't you?"

She has confidence in both of them to do that.

"That," he says with a nod and a smile, "is something I can do."

With life as with his castle, he's always got a personal bolt-hole; he doesn't like to leave things quite that much to chance. The sudden enormity of what he's about to embark on -- a lifetime with one other person -- hits him like the proverbial ton of bricks. He's going to actually be responsible for another human being: he's never had to do that before.

But that's not entirely true. He did just take care of the Witch of the Waste, as much for Sophie as for anybody else. He's not worried about the future: it's just going to be... different.

Well then. He'll just have to do the thing in spectacular fashion, won't he?

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