Page 45 of Her Orc Protector

I opened my palm and looked down at the token, its surface gleaming dully in the Archive's light. A recognition of value. Of being seen not as someone to be protected or controlled but as someone who knew things and could be useful.

My hand trembled slightly as I tucked the token into my skirt pocket. A strange feeling bloomed in my chest—not quite pride, not quite validation, but something adjacent to both. I had helped. I had known what to do, what to find. And someone had noticed.

I returned to the east alcove, where Ellie was still sleeping peacefully. The rain continued its steady percussion against the windows, and the ledger I'd been transcribing waited patiently for my return. I sat back down on the floor, resuming my cross-legged position among the scattered papers.

For a moment, I didn't continue my work. I just sat there, listening to the rain, to Ellie's gentle breathing, to the occasional distant rumble of thunder. The Archives felt different somehow—not because anything had changed, but because I was seeing myself differently within them. Not just a woman hiding, a mother protecting, but a person with knowledge and skills. A person who could stand on her own authority, if only for the span of time it took to retrieve the right document.

I picked up my quill and dipped it carefully in the ink. Merchant Halloran's anxious ledger entries awaited my attention.

The afternoon passed in the rhythm of raindrops and quill scratches. Ellie woke once for feeding, her mood much improved from the fussy days of teething. I nursed her while continuing to read through the ledger, speaking some of the entries aloud to her, as if the everyday concerns of a long-ago merchant might become a strange kind of lullaby.

"Six crates of pottery, three damaged in transit," I read softly as she nursed. "Compensation requested from carrier. Note: Expect resistance on this front."

Ellie watched my face as I spoke. I wondered what she made of these words, of my voice forming them. Would she grow up loving books and records the way I did? Would she find comfort in the orderly progression of knowledge, stored and preserved against time and forgetting?

The main door creaked open again as I was burping Ellie, her small body warm against my shoulder. This time, the familiar tap of Edwin's cane accompanied the sound.

"Miss Fairbairn?" he called, his voice echoing slightly in the main chamber.

"In here," I called back, gently patting Ellie's back.

Edwin appeared in the archway, looking slightly dampened by the rain but otherwise composed. His gray hair was disheveled as always, his spectacles perched precariously on his nose. He carried a leather satchel under one arm, likely containing council minutes for archiving.

"Productive afternoon?" he asked, steps slowing as he took in the scene—me with Ellie, the transcription work spread across the floor.

"Yes," I replied, adjusting Ellie's position. "I've completed half of the Halloran ledger. And—" I paused, suddenly uncertain how to describe the visit. "We had a visitor. From the Council, I believe."

Edwin raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"A man inquiring about the post-war charter regarding militia settlements. I..." I met his gaze directly. "I showed him to the reference room and helped him locate the specific document. And Councilor Merrick's annotations regarding the disputed provisions."

Edwin was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he moved into the alcove and settled carefully into the chair by the small desk, setting his satchel aside.

"You found the charter?" he asked. "And the amendment?"

"Yes."

Another pause, longer this time. Edwin removed his spectacles and polished them methodically with a handkerchief. When he replaced them, his gaze was clearer, more focused.

"Good," he said.

"He left a token," I added, reaching into my pocket. "A Council recognition token, he called it."

I held it out, and Edwin leaned forward to examine it without taking it from my hand. His eyebrows rose slightly.

"Well now," he said, sitting back. "That's not something they distribute lightly." He gave me a considering look. "Who was this visitor, exactly?"

I felt a flush of embarrassment. "He didn't give his name."

Edwin's mouth twitched with what might have been amusement. "Tall? Neatly trimmed dark beard with a bit of gray? Speaks as if he’s been to one too many diplomatic breakfasts?”

I blinked, then let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “That’s… accurate.”

Edwin nodded, not looking particularly surprised. “That would be Councilor Turren Thenholt. Senior arbiter on the Boundary Committee.” He folded his hands over his cane. “A difficult man to impress.”

I looked down at the token still resting in my palm. Brass and wax, a simple thing—but sudden weight settled behind it.

“I didn’t know who he was,” I admitted quietly.

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