No one waited for me outside the powder room, and Jerry must have noticed me floundering without an escort, because he offered his arm when he came up behind me on his way out. I accepted it with a grateful nod.

“Where can I convey you, miss?” he asked, his tone mocking in its jovial formality.

“The balcony, I think,” I answered.

He nodded with decisive approval, and off we went. 

The night was beautiful with a warm breeze and a perfectly clear, cloudless, star-filled sky.

“Would you like me to stay with you?” he offered, “Or I could send someone to fetch you in a bit, if you’d rather.”

“Please,” I answered, resting my hands on the railing and watching the tops of trees just barely swaying. “I’d like a few minutes to catch my breath. It’s…” I gestured toward the ballroom casting its light on the balcony through the open door, “a lot to take in all at once.”

He smiled, appreciating my self-deprecating tone, or maybe even sympathizing, nodded once, then turned and disappeared back into the light and the crowd.

I turned to face the night air again, breathing in a long, comfortable pull of it through my nose. The scent of pine and fresh rain swept into me, giving me a new sense of sharpness and clarity. I spent a few moments in silence, except for the breeze and the calls of birds and chirps of frogs. I thought I heard the sound of air rushing past huge wings, but it was hushed and only for a moment, and then it was gone. There were no crickets, I noticed, and I didn’t have but that long to catch my breath before a crow flew out of the night and joined me on the balcony. It perched quizzically on the railing and hopped toward me.

“Hello, friend,” I cooed, holding my arm out. It hopped on, twitching its tail feathers for balance. “What are you doing here?” I asked, reaching my other hand out to pet its head. “Are you alone?”

A figure in all black swung up over the railing and landed almost soundlessly next to me as if to answer. I recognized the stringy hair and cartoonish makeup.

“Eric?” I asked, my voice still small and soft, my eyes wide.

He shot a sad, wavering smile to the floor as he turned to face me. “You’re not her,” he said, a melancholy sort of accusation that was also an amused realization.

“No,” I agreed with an apologetic smile.

He looked to his companion, perched contentedly on my arm. “He likes you.”

“That’s not surprising,” I admitted with a warm fondness, petting the bird gingerly with two gloved fingers.

A breath or two of silence.

“You’re dead,” I thought aloud. “Are you…” I hesitated, not sure how to phrase the question or that I truly wanted the answer, “finished?”

He nodded once, slowly, in reply. That with the somber glint in his eyes sent a chill through me.

“If you’re here, and I’m here, does that mean… I’m dead?” I asked haltingly, eyes wide with concern this time.

He grinned, an easy laugh in his voice. “No,” he answered, “Only the living have that many questions in them.” He pointed with a roll to his wrist, looking me over as though he could see all of my unasked questions swirling around underneath my skin. I didn’t doubt that he could.

His smile fell slowly, and he eyed the door for a moment. “I have to go,” he apologized, “Before he catches me.” He nodded vaguely toward the open door. “This isn’t my stop, and I can’t get held up any longer.”

“Hm,” I agreed with a nod and a smile. “Rest easy, my friend.”

He hopped up onto the railing, and with a solitary wave, fell backward into the night. His guide seemed a bit more reluctant.

“Take care of him,” I said just above a whisper, “He deserves some peace.” For lack of any better ideas, I reached up and plucked one of the gold and pearl pins from my hair and presented it to the crow, who inspected it and took it carefully in its beak. “Thank you,” I said, meaning a lot of different things.

That seemed to satisfy, because the bird took off from my arm and flew after its charge. I watched its flight with a tranquil smile until I couldn’t see its outline against the sky anymore.

“You’re out here alone?” a voice asked, the matching figure emerging from the ballroom, silhouetted by the light behind him.

“Some friends were here,” I answered, still watching the sky. “They had to leave.”

“That’s too bad. I should have liked to have met them.” The silhouette joined me on the balcony, coming out of the light, and I saw that it was Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden. He had a warm, slightly goofy smile for me, and I fought hard against the urge to bow deeply. Something in his eyes told me that would be an exceedingly unwelcome formality. That and everything I knew about him. Instead, I stared in silent shock.

He took my hand casually in his and said, “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“The party?” I guessed lamely.

“It’s really more of a ball, don’t you think?” he asked not quite critically. “And we didn’t even have to organize it ourselves.” He shook his head with a lop-sided, sardonic smile. “I should have thought of this sooner.”

“This was your idea?” I asked, incredulous.

“Well, no,” he admitted, “Not exactly. Does it matter whose ball it is if it isn’t ours?” He sighed with an eye roll and leaned on the balcony railing next to me. “All those endless questions and decisions,” he said, “‘Your Majesty, should we serve nugs or pheasant at dinner? Your Majesty, silk or lace? Your Majesty, we really should invite the Lady Morrigan. Your Majesty, should we seat the Orlesian delegation next to the dwarves or the Antivans?’” He laughed, and it was infectious. 

“Aren’t most of those fielded by the queen consort?” I asked, my voice bubbling with laughter.

He sighed dreamily, patting my hand affectionately, then taking it in his own again. I let him, too stunned to do anything else. “Of course, my dear. You always were the capable one. I’d be lost without you.”

“There you are,” someone exclaimed, another outline appearing in the doorway and quickly resolving into Julian as he joined us at a brisk pace. 

“Hello, who’s this?” Alistair asked, turning to accommodate Julian into our conversation with a tight, forced smile. “You’re certainly popular tonight, aren’t you, darling?”

I faltered for a second, reeling, but recovered and said, “Alistair, this is Dr. Julian Devorak, Julian, please meet His Majesty Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden.”

“Your Majesty,” Julian bowed brusquely, then addressed me half out of breath and with a worried expression, “Sora, come quickly.”

“Why? What’s happened?” I asked, my brow knitting with concern.

“Ugh,” he rolled his eyes and put his hand to his forehead, “It’s Lucio. He’s…”

“Being Luccio,” I finished for him, indicating my understanding and sympathy with some nodding and a turn of my hand at the wrist.

“Exactly,” he agreed, frazzled. “Asra and I tried to reason with him, but he just… ugh. Would you come talk some sense into him before he hurts someone? He might listen to you.”

I cast an apologetic look at Alistair. “Would you excuse me, Your Majesty?”

He cast an uncomprehending look back at me. “Of course,” he said, clearly unsure exactly what was happening and confused by my comparative lack of befuddlement.

I deepened my non-verbal apology as Julian whisked me away, back into the ballroom. We stopped, and he peered up at the second floor. I followed his gaze, but I didn’t see anyone, let alone a crisis unfolding. I took a moment to admire the wrought iron railing on the upper floors and the Romanesque marble pillars featured in the design of the ballroom before I looked at Julian, waiting for an explanation.

“Oh, no,” he groaned, “He’s run off again.” He pulled out of my arm and said animatedly, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Before I could protest, he was off at a hurried pace, and I was alone among strangers. Strangers I knew intimately well, certainly, but that didn’t leave me any less alone.

A few moments later, a small, orangish figure sidled up to stand beside me with the appearance of casually observing the festivities, drink in hand. He offered me the second he carried.

“Thank you, Quark,” I said mildly and accepted the oddly colored liquid in its martini style glass. “It’s good to see you.”

His serrated smile wavered. “Do I know you?” he asked through narrowed eyes. “I don’t owe you money, do I?” He followed up with a concerned suspicion. 

I laughed. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh,” he said, seemingly satisfied for a moment. “Wait, do you owe me money?” He asked, pointing between us, brow furrowed, I thought.

I laughed some more. “No, I don’t think so,” I repeated.

“Great. Then what am I doing here?” He peered around. “This isn’t Bejor,” he remarked on the elaborate architectural style of the ballroom, circa 20th century Earth, probably. “Am I in a holosuite?” he muttered, more to himself than to me, and wandered off again.

I had another few moments to stand there, peering around with as little self-consciousness as I could manage, but I was interrupted again just as I was beginning to contemplate taking a sip from my glass to cover the appearance of floundering.

“Hello again, gorgeous,” Lucio’s voice met my ears a second before his hand met my hip and his lips met the side of my head, the sideways hug and kiss both carrying the tone of casual and habitual affection.

“Luccio,” I cried again, surprised again, twisting out of the hug subtly as I turned to face him, depositing my drink on the nearest flat surface as I did, “You’re supposed to be off somewhere pulling some stunt or other that’s likely to endanger yourself and other people.”

“What?” he asked, confused. “Oh, that,” he remembered and let out a chuckle. “I said I thought I could probably swing from one of the chandeliers,” he explained, pointing up. “Asra didn’t believe me,” he all but pouted. “So, I said I’d prove it. Of course, Jules tried to stop me.” He laughed some more. “You should have seen it, his face was priceless. Anyway, I was about to jump off the railing upstairs when Asra turned around and walked off! Said he was gonna go look for Jules, who was looking for you.” He held his arms open in an incredulous sort of shrug. “It doesn’t matter if I prove I can do it if he doesn’t even bother to watch,” he nearly whined. “So I decided to come look for you instead,” he finished with an actual shrug and went back to smiling, “And here you are.”

“Here I am,” I agreed, not quite stifling a laugh of my own. The band changed tacks abruptly, and I broke into a grin. 

“What?” he asked after a moment in which he caught onto my playful vibe, a slow smile starting on his expression.

“Come on,” I said, taking one of his hands in one of mine and waving him over to the dancing with the other, some of the men already tossing their ladies around in skirt-flipping lifts and turns.

“You want to dance?” he asked, incredulous, “To this?” 

“It swings,” I exclaimed by way of answering. 

“How?” he asked, still perplexed, “How would you even do that?”

“Come on,” I repeated, “I’ll teach you the jitterbug.”

When we found a spot on the floor, I picked up a handful of my skirts, lifting them out of the way of my feet as best I could, both so I wouldn’t trip on my dress and so he could see the steps. The floor-length gown still nearly covered my feet, but I figured that would have to do and began my instruction. He seemed a little reluctant, but he let me, watching and listening attentively, and my enthusiasm must have been catching, because he was grinning by the time I finished my explanation. 

“Okay, it goes apart, apart,” I said slowly, exaggerating stepping onto one foot, then the other, also slowly, so he could be sure to see it and follow along, “together, together,” I finished, stepping in on one foot, then bringing the other up to meet it. “Slow, slow,” I said, stepping back and repeating the motions slowly, “Quick, quick.” I did another repetition like that, before bringing it up to full speed on the next one, “Slow, slow, quick-quick,” and rolled into a, “Got it?”

He nodded, still watching my feet as best he could.

“Okay, now you try it,” I encouraged, holding our arms higher up, and I counted out our steps as we went through them slowly at first, then increasing speed as he got the hang of it, dropping my skirts and taking his other hand.

“Like this?” he asked, looking up from watching his own feet with a delighted smile for a second.

“Yeah! You got it,” I congratulated, letting my elbows swing the way they wanted to naturally, sort of half leading with gentle tugs and subtle pushes of my hands in his.

The song ended shortly after that, but the next was equally swingin,’ so we kept right on with only a few narrow misses of one another’s feet and other missteps that only added to the vibrant, exploratory fun, both of us giggling jovially at the mistakes and at nothing and generally having a time of it.

“Let’s try a turn, you ready?” I asked.

“You’re going to turn me?” he blurted, confused and incredulous.

I laughed, but rather than answer, I spun, raising our arms over my head and letting them twist around me, leaning on his arm for a second, then turned back around the way I came, helped along by the little push he gave me when he figured out what I was doing and intuited his role in it. I led us through a few more simple embellishments like that, and eventually the song ended, the upbeat tempo exchanging itself for something more subdued.

Without having a discussion about it, we switched up our form, coming in closer, and he took the lead.

“If it isn’t too much of an imposition,” someone said behind and beside me, “Might I have the next dance?”

I broke frame with Lucio and turned to face the newcomer, unable to control my pleased, knowing expression. “Certainly, young Master Fowl.”

“No thanks, kid,” Lucio said, “I’m flattered, of course, but I’d rather keep dancing with Sora.”

Artemis blinked up at him for a beat, tilting his head quizzically.

Meanwhile I fought to control my laugh and won for the most part, but didn’t fare as well against the bemused grin. I heard a sharp intake of breath from Arty, and (certain that he was about to offer up some terribly clever and cutting remark,) pointed out to Lucio as gently as I could, “I think he was asking me.”

“Oh,” he realized, disappointed, and critical rather than embarrassed. A beat later, he shrugged. “I guess I can’t blame him. Alright,” he said, bowing out in a semblance of politeness, “I’ll try to have fun without you for a few minutes.”

“Thanks,” I said, “I’m sure you’ll manage.” When he released my hand and began to move off, I smiled, turned to face my new dance partner, and took the offered hand before me.

Artemis Fowl bowed ceremoniously over my hand held aloft, and I returned it with a curtsy, lowering my gaze with equal formality. He caught me in a rigid but practiced form, and we began an uncomplicated waltz. 

“Extraordinary,” he marveled under his breath a few bars later, and the wonderment was clear in his voice.

“Isn’t it?” I agreed.

“I must admit, I was skeptical when I received the invitation, but it was intriguing all the same.”

“I’m glad you decided to attend,” I said politely and sincerely.

I cast my gaze over the room as we spun, and eventually I spotted Butler standing surreptitiously within eyesight and not too far from earshot.

“Might I trouble you for an introduction?”

I smiled. “With whom?”

“Our host, of course.”

“Naturally.”

“And perhaps one of the other guests, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I said. “Did you have anyone in particular in mind?”

“The white-haired fellow,” he answered quickly, “with all the tattoos.”

“Fenris?” I clarified, blinking.

“Is that his name?”

“Big green eyes, sour expression?” I checked.

Artemis nodded.

“That’s Fenris,” I confirmed. “He’s not the most friendly of the elves in attendance,” I went on apologetically. “Solas might be more tolerant of questions.” A thought occurred to me. “Is Captain Short with you?”

He blinked at me once, and his shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly, then he recovered in an instant. I wouldn’t have noticed the moment of surprise if I hadn’t known him and been looking for it.

“No?” I fished. 

He didn’t answer and I watched as the gears began turning as he considered me more warily.

“You aren’t in any danger, at least certainly not from me,” I confided in hushed tones. 

He scoffed, a haughty, dubious noise.

“If you start asking questions of our elven friends, though, they might be offended, or else have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His cheeks flushed and he averted his gaze. “They’re taller than any of the fairies that I’ve ever seen, and the dark-skinned fellow is unlike any I’ve seen at all.”

“They aren’t fairies,” I corrected with a coy smile.

He raised an eyebrow. “They certainly aren’t human, are they?”

“No,” I agreed. “They’re elves.”

He frowned, and I searched for a better explanation. 

“This gathering is… multidimensional,” I fumbled, “somehow.”

His eyes went a little wide, more in interest and excitement than fear. The gears turned a few more times before he asked, “Might I ask what it is you’re being honored for, Miss Sullivan?”

I shook my head with a crooked smile. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

The song ended, and we stood still for a breath or two.

I spotted Jerry at about the same time as Artemis, and we broke frame smoothly, my arm circling around his, so we could make our way over to him.

He was chatting forcefully with a uniformed male figure without a face. I’d seen dozens of them in their matching formal wear — both men and women — though, some of the women wore different styles of dresses, and some of the men wore different colors. I assumed some of them were guests of the party, and some of them were staff, and I’d gotten used to their presence as part of the dream, so I was only vaguely unsettled by the sight of the conversation.

The faceless man nodded once and hurried off, one gloved hand tucked in at his side.

Jerry spotted us approaching and broke into a pleased, ingratiating smile, taking a few steps in our direction. “Sora,” he greeted me, “what can I do for you? Have you thought of something you need after all?”

I couldn’t help grinning back at him. “I’d like you to meet someone,” I answered.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, turning his head slightly to take in the sight of my escort, then startled cheerfully as though just noticing him. “Artemis Junior, wasn’t it?” he asked agreeably.

“A pleasure, Mr. Farnsworth,” Artemis assured him by way of answering, extending his hand as we came to a stop and I disengaged from his arm.

Jerry hummed his assent with a nod and added, “It’s always good to put a face to the name.” His expression shifted back into some quizzical interest and he inhaled sharply to roll right into, “You’re enjoying yourself this evening, I hope.”

“Certainly,” Artemis agreed.

“Miss Sullivan,” someone said, approaching from behind me on my left, and I turned to face them, attention caught abruptly by the sound of my name. “Could I have a word?” Butters asked, something between seriously and sheepishly.

“Of course,” I answered airly with a smile, inviting him to join the conversation with a gesture.

“Harry,” he said meaningfully, darting a concerned glance in Jerry’s direction, “asked me to come find you.”

“Oh,” I said, eyebrows lifting with my surprise and understanding. “Right,” I continued, also glancing at Jerry, more out of guilt than concern. I kept turning to shoot Artemis the same expression with a little more smile. “Would you excuse us for a moment?” I asked the two of them apologetically, already taking Butters by the arm.

“By all means,” Jerry answered for the both of them before Artemis had a chance to put up any possible protest with an encouraging, shooing wave of his arm.