High Kings And Soup Fountains

Fillory, Again #battlethebeast

Eliot Waugh found being High King of his very own magical kingdom a tad underwhelming.

Sure, the title was phenomenal.  And he had some fantastic ideas regarding the royal wardrobe. Big changes were on their way to Fillory.  Mandatory naked Wednesdays would be fun.  Eliot thought he might even do away with Wednesdays altogether.  Make that mandatory naked Waughdays.

But before he could edit the calendar, Eliot and his friends would have to deal with the Beast.  He didn’t even have a crown and already he was being called in to micro-manage national disasters.  Didn’t the High King of Fillory have some magical animal task force he could deploy to deal with this?  Perhaps elite hit-squads of talking badgers or sharp-shooting wombats?

Eliot had asked Quentin that exact question, but apparently no, Fillorian creatures weren't equipped to deal with homicidal, megalomaniacal ex-kings.  Quentin was the expert on Fillory, so Eliot assumed he knew what he was talking about.

He considered asking again, just to be sure, but Quentin was on a quest to gain power and wisdom from Ember, the Ram God of Fillory.  Even if he wasn't questing, Quentin had been more sullen than usual lately.  Quentin had watched his girlfriend and best friend killed by the Beast three days ago.  That was enough to spoil even the sunniest of dispositions.  At the best of times Quentin was hardly sunny.  Cute, yes… sunny, no.  Losing Alice and Julia hurt Eliot, too.  A stark example of how terrifying the Beast was.

Eliot knew they had to kill the Beast but it would be charitable to call their current ideas a “plan”.  They had characteristics of a plan.  It was plan-like.  There was Quentin trying to get Ember’s assistance and there was the vague hope that Penny would arrive with help.  That was it.

But there was plenty to do before they returned.  He was getting married, for fuck’s sake!  What little boy didn’t grow up dreaming of the day he would marry a complete stranger in exchange for a shiny knife that killed dark magicians? Joy.

“Margot!” Eliot shouted, picking up a wine glass from the table in his soon-to-be father in law’s kitchen.

Margot poked her head in and smiled wickedly. “Yes, my liege?”

“Ooh… I like that,” Eliot said.  “That’s even better than ‘Your Highness.’  Definitely an improvement on ‘Sire.’”

“I thought you’d approve.  What do you want?” she asked.

“As best man, maid of honor, wedding planner, and royal court slut, Maybe you should arrange a feast before the wedding.”

Margot looked thoughtful.  “Just to be clear… I like the titles but you aren't actually my king just because some jumped-up blacksmith says so.”

Eliot nodded.  “Duly noted.”

“Then, I think a feast sounds wonderful.  Actually, I’d like to kick it up a notch.  I’d like your royal permission to stage a bachelor party.  Tasteful, of course.  Fit for the highest king ever.”

Eliot feigned serious consideration.  “Royal permission granted.  But keep it classy.”

“Bitch, I’m nothing but class.  I am class personified.  I am…” Margot spotted a middle-aged man walking by the door.  “Hey!  Townie! Do you know where to find several strippers in the next hour?  Classy ones!” Content with her mission, she tromped after the confused townsman.

Eliot was considering another bottle of wine when Penny arrived out of thin air in the middle of the dining room.  He appeared to have Travelled in the midst of an argument with a new guest.

“…All going to die!” the newcomer finished in a thick accent.

Professor Mayakovsky shook his arm free from Penny and looked around, disgusted.