Good Enough (Artemisios/Adara)

[Adara Snow]

Adara had stared at the note she'd received for some minutes in utter disbelief, or perhaps in hopeful refusal to acknowledge reality; her father could not be so close. The letter, written in his confident, masculine hand, said otherwise, however, and her father had never been one to joke or tease. He was here, and he wanted to see her.

She had headed for the Quills & Parchments shop before the shock had even worn off. Her father was not a man to be kept waiting, and the faster she complied, the more predisposed he would be toward gentility.

Adara walked into the shop a mere half hour after having received the summons, most of that time having been spent winding her way out of the castle and to the shop. She stopped just inside the door, hands clasped lightly in front of her, and waited for his attention.

[Artemisios Snow]

Artemisios did not personally run the shop, and so he was not the first to see Adara. However, his associate was quick on his feet as he showed the girl to his master's office. The young man rapped on the door, then opened it and stepped aside. When the girl had entered, he pulled the door shut again and resumed his post.

The office was large enough, comfortable enough, and set with deep woods and elegant touches. Light filtered through the windows, but still, the room was cast in shadows that the candles did little to dispel. Artemisios himself sat behind the desk, hands folded on the blotter, but at his daughter's entrance, he stood, observing her as he rounded the desk.

She had always been beautiful, a faithful reproduction of her mother in miniature, but over time, the idea of the miniature had faded along with his more solid memories of her predecessor. She was young, but nearly the age at which he had married her mother, a rose in that exotic state of half-bloom. "Adara, you look well," he said, stopping before his daughter. He lifted her hand and bowed lightly over it.

[Adara Snow]

"Father," Adara said in greeting, inclining her head. She felt the tension in the room as she never had before, though in truth she could find nothing which had changed. Her father was as cool and distant as always, as elegantly proper, but all the same, it was difficult not to look at him differently.

She forced herself to put aside those strange and uncomfortable thoughts; they were no use to her. She needed her wits about her, needed to watch herself at every moment, to be the perfection he expected. She made no mention of the note, no question as to its meaning. He would declare his hand in his own good time.

[Artemisios Snow]

She had blossomed since the last time he had seen her, it was apparent in her eyes. She had always been too intelligent for a female, a fact that secretly pleased him, but there was something else in those near-black depths now, and Artemisios silently cursed his absent wife her persuasive powers. He had not intended to let Adara experience the world. She was too perfect to be sullied by the imperfections of society.

Artemisios did not release Adara's hand, but turned her toward one of the deep leather chairs facing his desk. "Sit, prinzessin." When she had done as he bid, he released her and rounded the desk once more, his gaze hardly leaving her. He seated himself in silence, knowing that she awaited his will, and pleased to find her the same in that regard.

He let the quiet stretch, then folded his hands on top of his blotter, a posture of expectation. "Tell me what you have learned," he said. The words were level, mild, but all the same, they were a demand, one which he knew would be met.

[Adara Snow]

Adara's lungs seized at the question, one which he had asked her so many times that she should have expected it. Had she not been so surprised by his note, perhaps she would have thought, perhaps she would have been prepared, but as it was, she was not, and all she could think of was Emilian. The bulk of her learning had been done in private settings which she instinctively knew she could not discuss with her father. After all, those things she had learned were things she had never been taught, had been shielded from, and the only reason for that must be his disapproval. She could not speak of such things.

Only a moment passed before she began, but she prayed that his observant eyes would miss that brief tell. She had never lied to her father, would not know how to, and she could not begin now. Omission, however, she would have to forgive herself for.

"I have learned much, Father," she said softly, her hands resting together in her lap, ankles crossed delicately. "I have made friends," she said, putting together a mental list. "I still do not understand much of the ways they interact with one another, but I have found all to be supportive of me." Truth, to be certain.

At her father's continued expectant look, she went on, knowing what he wanted; everything. "My first friend was Ryan Magby, whom I met on the Quidditch Pitch. I have not seen a Quidditch game, but only the pitch, which was impressively large." She was careful to reassure him that she had viewed no violent games, which was, again, truth. "I have not spoken to Ryan in some time. He is quite active, and we rarely cross paths."

Adara's descriptions of her other friends were likewise edited carefully for content; she did not mention Dru's writing, nor the book which Anna had lent her. She did not tell her father of the way in which she and Silver had parted. And she saved Emilian for last, since his was the most difficult story to tell.

"My dearest friend is Emilian Sota," she said, keeping her gaze demurely lowered. "He indulges my whims, and I enjoy listening to his wisdom. In that, I find him much like you, Father." She felt the risk inherent in that statement, but though she could avoid telling him the depths of her attachment to Emilian, she could not diminish the importance of the relationship. It was as hesitant an introduction as it was bold; she had just declared her interest and respect for a man other than her father.

[Artemisios Snow]

Artemisios gave no outward sign that he felt anything for what Adara had told him, beyond a slight tensing of his jaw and a darkness in his eyes that she would not see, due to her demurely lowered gaze. Inwardly, however, he was blazing. To think that his daughter, who he had raised into this near-perfect example of femininity, would be so ungrateful as to compare a teenage boy, one whom she could not have known above half a year, to her own Father was an insult.

Artemisios reigned himself in for now. He would say what he had come to say, and if her obedience was not immediate as it should be, then he would decide on the consequences. "Your stepmother has gone on...indefinite holiday," he began. "Hence my decision to come to Hogsmeade rather than satisfy myself with your letters." Which had not contained nearly the information she had just given. He let that unsaid statement hang heavily in the air between them before going on.

"After her departure, I came to an arrangement with Ingwaz Warin, whose property borders Schneewittchen to the northeast. His wife is three years in her grave, and he is now seeking to marry again, a woman fair of face and form, and youthful enough to bear him sons. It is a good match, Adara. You will be near Schneewittchen and your father, and when you bear his sons, they will control an estate larger even than my own."

[Adara Snow]

Adara's gaze rose, horror in her eyes that she was powerless to hide. She could not marry another! She could not be happy with an old man, a distant arrangement in which she would submit to something she knew the potential beauty of. She was familiar with Warin, from his visits to Schneewittchen, and she could summon no tender feelings, not even a measure of respect for the man.

She realized then that her feelings, if not her thoughts, were clear in her eyes, that she had looked up at her father, that she had just given much away. She dropped her gaze again and fought not to chew her lip against the waves of emotion, though her cheeks were vivid rose with the effort.

"Father, please tell me," she asked, her voice low, but strangely even. "How far have the arrangements gone?" She closed her eyes lightly and prayed that it was not already too late. Her mind whirled too quickly to think of any arguments that might work against him, that wouldn't alienate or infuriate him.

[Artemisios Snow]

Artemisios missed nothing of the moments before his daughter's return to decorum. He had seen the insolence in her gaze, and it infuriated him. There was a time, such a short time ago, when his declaration would have been met with nothing more than a nod and a soft, if you please, Father. He silently cursed his wench of a wife for having convinced him that worldly experience would add to his daughter's charms. It had added nothing more than an unattractive streak of spiritedness.

"I am under no obligation to answer your insolent question," Artemisios declared, his voice low and hard-edged. He let those words settle, and when his daughter gave no further argument, he went on. "However, I am a generous man, and I will indulge your untoward curiosity. The arrangements are, as yet, verbal in nature. No contract has yet been signed, although, I will remind you, as you are yet a minor and I your father, you have no legal rights should I choose to move forward with things immediately."

[Adara Snow]

Adara felt a rush of relief at knowing that he hadn't yet written the contracts, that she wasn't now promised to her father's associate, an old man she hardly knew. There was still a chance, and she would do all she could to make sure that her chance became reality. She needed to do something, and quickly, but what could she do? Her father's words were clear; if she angered him, he could choose to move forward immediately, and then she would be powerless.

She tried to keep her face smooth and emotionless as she thought, worked to give nothing away, to give him no further reason to be angry with her. But her thoughts returned time and again to Emilian, to their unspoken promises of the future, and it was all Adara could do not to simply tell her father. She did not have the courage to do such a thing.

"Father," she said at last, keeping her gaze demurely lowered, "may I make one request, without explaining my reasons?" She felt certain that there would be no need to explain, though she knew that, should he oblige her, he might question her all the same, and she would have no choice but to answer him or be refused.

[Artemisios Snow]

Artemisios was silent as he considered his daughter's question, and her potential request. He knew the likelihood that he would be displeased, but all the same, he was a man who was accustomed to knowing things, and he felt that his daughter's request would be revealing enough to make up, in part, for the effort of obliging.

"You may make your request," he said. He would not necessarily comply; his permission extended only to her asking whatever question was in her mind without first explaining her intent. Afterward, she was entirely at his mercy.

[Adara Snow]

Adara took as deep a breath as she dared before speaking, the words so tense with meaning that she felt certain he could see into her mind through them. "Will you meet with Emilian Sota, in my presence?" Her request was carefully phrased. It was a reminder of her preference for Emilian, yes, but the key was the last few words; in my presence.

She wanted to know her father's reactions to Emilian, wanted absurdly to protect Emilian, knowing he did not need her protection. She wanted to be able to convince her father that Emilian stood in the right path for her, and she could not assure herself if she could not see. Either man might withhold any discussion from her for her own protection or peace of mind. Please, she prayed.

[Artemisios Snow]

Artemisios was indeed displeased, and he let silence fill the room as he considered all aspects of her request. From her question alone, persistent as it was, he had decided that he would need to meet with this Emilian Sota. It was the caveat to Adara's request that gave him pause. In my presence. There was no reason for him to indulge her so far, no reason other than the fact that he had indulged her thus far. And maybe, perhaps, to judge for himself the depths of her diversion from the path he had chosen for her.

"I will grant your request," Artemisios said at last. "Bring the boy to me here, tomorrow immediately at the end of your classes. I will decide then whether to allow you to remain with us during our interview." And in the meantime, between now and tomorrow, he would look into things on his own.

[Adara Snow]

Adara glanced up again, relieved joy written on her face. "Thank you, Father!" she said breathlessly, the effort of holding back, of remaining seated, of not smiling or laughing from nerves tearing at her. Her hands smoothed lightly at her skirt, and she forced her gaze back down, straightened her spine even further, and took slow breaths, calming herself. "It will be as you wish," she said.

Already, her body was tense; she wanted to leave, needed to go to Emilian and tell him, warn him, somehow try to prepare him for something she could not predict. She would not guess her father's thoughts, nor his actions, but she knew that she was exceedingly lucky to have gotten so much from him today.

[Artemisios Snow]

It will be as you wish. It was precisely what he had wanted to hear, and yet the words did not have the depth of meaning they had used to. His Adara had changed somehow, and Artemisios did not like the alterations. He sensed something beyond the meekness, and without being at all sure, he trusted a gut feeling that it had to do with the boy, Emilian.

"You may leave," Artemisios said to Adara. He stood and rounded the desk, neglecting to take her hand this time. Rather, he opened the door and gestured her out. As subtle a punishment as such a snub was, he knew that it would not go unnoticed. He did not repeat his instructions as to when she should arrive. Once was enough.

[Adara Snow]

Adara did not thank her father again, did not draw any further attention to anything which they had discussed. She rose silently at his direction and left the room, and from there, the shop, waiting until she was on the street out of sight of the shop before hurrying to Hogsmeade.