She watched as the pieces all slid into place, a witness all over again to swift, rapid changes. Quiet, hushed, with no movement, no sound, her eyes rounded and shifted, narrowed and surveyed, as the orders were read and judgments declared. And all the while, the Songbird had remained just as she’d been all along: completely, utterly silent.

There was a span of a few moments where she, like so many of them before her, had reflected upon a chief sentiment: what am I doing here? What had her role been? What had she fulfilled? Any of them could have been spectators and observers, onlookers and bystanders, waiting at their designated post, a shadow in the haze of day, a blaze of light in the morning sun. Her presence had been requested, she’d thought, to assist in the earnest, eager fragments of leadership, to suggest and implore from the given responses – but neither Lady turned to her. Neither asked her opinion. Neither glanced at her. Maybe she’d been forgotten in all the excitement and uproar, they were distracted and befuddled by the given replies or the hostile environment, and her glowing, radiant smile hadn’t been seen from the wayward abyss. Perhaps they’d been overwhelmed or enchanted by another’s answer, and had decided right then and there. Maybe they’d waited for her to give her sentiments without prompting. Or –

Worthless, the wind whispered. Worthless, the vestiges of autumn crooned. Worthless, the haunting poignancy gathered.

She must have misunderstood. She must have perceived something different from all the speculation, all the wonder. She must have overstepped her boundaries, had become hopeful, jubilant, at the opportunity of assisting in some monumental task. The notions prickled against her spine and swam against her membrane, until they drowned out the grinding glimpses of eagerness, until they waylaid her fervent interludes, her chosen words. They all festered and withered like dust, and the edges of her smile frayed away, drifting, drifting, drifting into nothingness. Somewhere along the way, she’d become something inept again – and the spiral weighed her down, drooped her shoulders, cracked along her backbone. The nymph wasn’t worthy, the sylph wasn’t deserving, the fairy wasn’t warranted, and it’d been so inane, so foolish, to believe herself so high, so mighty –

But then the youth, Cathun, spoke, bitter, angry, tarnished from the proceedings. Her heart went out to him in fragments and slivers, to the rage fueling his tempest, but the insults were unnecessary, the slights misgiven. Surely, in all her well wishes, in all her hopes, the Queens had not chosen their Kings based on besotted fervors? Her eyes searched, her soul scrutinized, and she didn’t know. Instead, she twisted her cranium towards the retreating back of the lad, to the others not chosen, not anointed or consecrated with a title. If she wasn’t worthy of being heard before, maybe she was now. “Never, ever give up. Grow. Change. Develop from the experience.” The words sang from the dulcet quivers of her mouth, moving and morphing into powerful, potent strings, woven lace courting and lofting and lilting, begging to be heard. Lena’s gaze flickered from one unsuccessful candidate to the other, the ivory Elsa, the disappearing Cathun, the distant Rostislav, and all the others fettering and roaming in the weary, scrambling haze. “And when you think you’re ready, return, let them know, let them see, what you’ve become.”

Her eyes settled back upon those consecrated, Mauja, someone she once called a friend, one of her leaders, suddenly returned to his old kingdom. He seemed content, he seemed satisfied, and the misgivings, strangled, peculiar ones, tumbling about her spine, along her barrel, were nearly dissuaded. He was capable, and she craved for his success as old companions would (and yearned for him to remember the rotes of history, that not all things were doomed and damned to repeat themselves). The fairy fixated briefly upon Torleik as well, their General turned Edge sovereign, and proffered both stallions with a light, airy smile. “Congratulations to you both. I hope you serve the Edge well.”