Forever
A/N: Three-fourths Lucia/Renning? Even I'm not sure what I meant by that...in a sense...
--
Love was a simple thing to some, but for those select few chosen by the goddess to lead such perilous lives, love was anything but simple. The count of Fayre was one of those people. Not only was he a count, and a very respected--in a sense--one at that, he was a warrior. Anima magic had been his passion for years. Casting intricate spells and healing others in need were his grandest pleasures--if you took Lucia out of the picture.
The azure-haired swordswoman was the daughter of the man's close friend, the count of Delbray. He held their family in high regards--if there was anyone that served Crimea to their fullest, it was the Delbrays. After all, they had raised the then-princess Elincia to become the courageous queen she now was.
Even though they were only friends, he couldn't help but feel more for Lucia. In all honesty, he believed that she was the most beautiful woman to have ever walked on Tellius--or any of the now non-existent continents, for that matter. But she felt nothing more than camaraderie for him, he knew that. And yet, he couldn't help but wish for more.
She was gorgeous; she was brilliant. But he was a mere nuisance to her; he was sure of it. Why did he have to be such a fool, always pushing her away with his love? He knew that he was the one making everything so much more difficult. Who knows, if it wasn't for his Shakespearean speech, she might even return his feelings.
But instead she held Renning in her heart, not Bastian. She loved the royal and everyone could see that, except perhaps Renning himself. The count knew that she was bound to be hurt by this man that didn't return her love, but he didn't have the heart to destroy her fantasies. She was entitled to them, after all.
Such a fool am I! To actually consider that she could ever be mine. Bastian, you worthless man! She is too good for you; you've known that all along. Maybe it's time to move on...
But how was he supposed to move on when she was right there, within his reach, but never could he capture her. She was unobtainable to him, but it only made him want her as his bride all the more. She was flawless, so perfect--
No, fool. Not a single person that walks this land is flawless. Not even the goddess--wasn't that proved to you during the war? For someone that was supposed to be perfect, someone that was supposed to be a model of order and forgiveness, to actually turn people to stone for not being her 'ideal' beings? It was preposterous!
So no one is perfect, not even Lucia, as much as he would like to say she is. It is true that she has her bad moments, but rarely ever did that happen--at least in his eyes. The good far outshines the other, so she must be nearly perfect.
But the fact remains that no matter how perfect she is, he couldn't have her. No matter the faults she has, those faults won't be his to laugh over with her as his wife. She wouldn't have it, and though her father would likely give Bastian permission to ask for her hand if he talked with the man, he couldn't bring himself to do that to her.
It was typical of the royal assembly to pick their daughters' husbands, and he knew that if he showed any interest in Lucia around the count of Delbray, he would surely insist on their marriage. It wasn't that her father didn't love her--he only wanted the best for her. Bastian had to admit, he was the ideal choice for her, but she didn't see that.
The count knew that if her father was to give her off to Bastian, the woman would comply. She was respectful and knew that both her father's and Bastian's intentions were justified. Asking her father was the easy way out, but he couldn't bear to take away her freedom like that.
If she didn't love him now, if she never loved him, he would just have to deal with it. She was old enough, wise enough, to make her own decisions. She knew what she wanted and had an idea of what was best for her--he couldn't destroy her happiness by claiming her like other nobles would do.
In fact, quite a few of the other men in the royal assembly had asked her father for the girl's hand, but he had denied, leaving that decision up to Lucia. With Bastian it would be different...he knew that the sage would treat his daughter right. He wouldn't force her to marry the blonde man, but the count was sure that there would be a lot of convincing on his part.
Yes, if he wanted things to be simple, he could just ask the count of Delbray, but he knew it would pain Lucia. He would never truly make her happy if he took that route, and she needed to be happy. If she never again smiled, it would break his heart. He loved her enough to let her go.
If the path she chose was with Duke Renning, if she was able to get him to ask for her hand and return her not-so-well-hidden affections, Bastian would be happy for her. But that was exactly the problem. The man didn't even realize Lucia's fondness of him--or if he did, he honestly didn't care. If he kept up like this, Lucia would surely be crushed.
How the man couldn't realize that he had won over the girl Bastian had so tried to please was a mystery. The way she stared at him, followed his every command, blushed when he spoke to her directly...it was obvious. Quite often had it been the talk amongst the nobles when the royal family wasn't around. He was sure that even the girl's father had heard talk of it!
But Renning, he was too wrapped up in his training to even notice her--unless he allowed her to train with him that is. Only then was she the only thing he thought about--but his thoughts were filled with violence. He knew that the duke could snap at any time--he could very well injure the woman. The feral drug, along with the strength and determination the man already had, had done this to him.
That's preposterous! You know that he would never harm her--your jealousy only makes you this foolish!
No, he wouldn't hurt her physically, but emotionally...he was bound to do that. It was unavoidable with how things were currently working out. But for some reason Lucia was oblivious to this...she couldn't see that it was Bastian that would always be there for her. He would always protect her--he would always shield her from the cruelties of the world.
If he was honest in his feelings for her, he had to do something about her relationship with Renning. He couldn't just let her do this to herself any longer, now could he? Glancing out the window and noting that it was still light out--making it very unlikely that the woman would be in bed yet--he decided that he would go to talk with her.
Naturally, he wouldn't cause her any distress, but he had to see just how serious her feelings for Crimea's former crown-prince really are. Surely it could be just a passing phase, but he found it all the more likely that it was something more. Either way, it was possible that he could help her through this--maybe she wouldn't even need to have her feelings stomped on if he could solve her problem now. Whatever the case, he would always be her shoulder to cry on.
Forever would he love her, even if that feeling was never returned.
--
The woman sat with her arm propped against the seal of her window and her head dropped into her upturned palm, gazing out upon the Crimean countryside. She watched as the rain pelted the castle's outer walls and fell to the earth below. Its intensity forced everyone inside, though it didn't matter much to her, as she was too ill to go outside anyway.
Had she been well enough to be downstairs with everyone else, she would have only been running errands for the queen of something of the like. In all honesty, she didn't mind helping the queen out--she was there to serve the woman. But today...today she just felt like doing nothing, aside from a bit of thinking.
It seemed that lately her head was filled with thoughts that just wouldn't go away. These thoughts became increasingly distracting, even to the affect where she couldn't properly fulfill her duties as the queen's bodyguard. Today she just wanted to rest, but the thoughts wouldn't leave her alone.
No matter how she tried to avoid the topic, her mind always drifted to Renning. It was true that she felt more for him than simple loyalty; she felt more for him than she should. She shouldn't love him, she knew that. Not only was he her lord, but he was also more than twenty years older. In the eyes of the nobles, a relationship between the two would be a greater crime than relationships between beorc and laguz.
Her brother and Elincia seemed to be supportive of her, but she had to admit that it still didn't feel right. Quite often had her father commented on not minding her attraction to Renning, but that he only worried for her safety. He didn't have a clue about how much he should worry about her, to tell the truth.
The duke hadn't been himself lately, not one bit. He was violent, aggressive... It pained her to think of it. He had always been so sweet and harmless towards her when she was growing up. But that was before the Mad King's War, before Ashnard gave him the feral drug. Now he was a...monster.
Despite her father's concern, she had still agreed to be Renning's sparring partner. It had been a foolhardy move of hers. Alone with the man that could cause the greatest harm towards her. Through their sword fighting, he became assertive, brutal.
A tear fell from the woman's blue orbs as she fingered the scar on her left arm. The zigzag pattern had been made during one of their training sessions, one she remembered quite well...
--
Their blades were locked, neither willing to back down. The woman knew that her lord was much stronger, but she wasn't about to give up without a good fight. She put more force into her attack, clenching her teeth together as she stared at him.
He did the same, however, overcoming her. Her back made contact with the ground, his sword a mere inch from her throat. She could tell that he had snapped. That demonic look in his eyes, the fiendish grin on his lips. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, expecting it to be the last.
She could sense slight movement on his part as he knelt down beside, ripping the blade from her hands. She opened her eyes after the burning sensation in her arm started. She gasped as she felt the blood trickle down from her shoulder.
He fingered her sword for a moment, examining his handiwork in the process. Their eyes met for a second, but she couldn't look at him. She knew that what he was doing wasn't his fault, but she couldn't believe that he would actually do this...
He dropped the weapon to the ground and stood up, turning away from her. She slowly got to her feet, a thin layer of blood now covering the front side of her arm. They walked back to the castle, not speaking a word, not looking at one another. She had a feeling that he didn't even know of the wound he had just given her, the loss of trust she had for him.
As soon as they arrived back at the castle, she had gone up to her chambers to care for her arm before anyone else could see the marks it held. The vulnerary she had on hand hadn't helped the blood-encrusted wound much, so she took to wearing long sleeves to cover it up--an act that had raised quite a few eyebrows, though no one dared to question her.
--
Examining the wound now, she could tell that it was infected. It was impossible for her to touch the skin and not feel an ache within her whole body. Renning had used her own sword against her in his torture technique...
But she didn't think any less of him. She knew it was crazy for her to love someone that would harm her in such a way, but she believed in his innocence. She knew that he would never harm her intentionally. This was all King Ashnard's fault. Had he not attacked Crimea without warning, had he not taken Renning away from her, had he not given him the feral drug...none of this would have happened.
But no matter how he hurt her, she would continue to serve him with her dying breath. She couldn't let any harm befall him, she owed it to the kingdom. She owed it to...her heart.
--
As the woman sat there, deep in thought, she was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. She quickly got up, leaving her window, and grabbed a sweater, shoving her arms into it and buttoning up the front. Walking over to her mirror, she fixed her hair up a bit, forcing the loose strands to flatten down.
There, that should make me presentable enough.
After all, she was sick. What did she care if she was 'presentable' enough anyway? It would probably just be a maid bringing her another glass of water or something.
She made her way over to the door, unlocking it and turning the handle. She could barely contain a gasp when it was pushed open and she found Duke Renning standing there.
"M-Milord! It's, uh, nice to see you," she fumbled with the words, giving a frantic bow in the process and avoiding his gaze at all costs.
"Lucia, there's no need for such formality. I came up here to see how you are feeling, after all."
She managed a weak smile, "I'm fine. Thank you, Milord."
He placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to look into his eyes.
"As I've said, there's no need for the formality. Just call me by my first name."
"Y-Yes, of course, Mi--R-Renning."
He placed his hand on her cheek, stroking it softly. He had to admit that he enjoyed the blush that formed on her face as he did this. Yes, he knew how she felt about him, and no, he didn't not care. To be honest, half of him liked her as well, but that was his evil side. The worst in him wanted her for his own, but his sensible, more caring side fought back. That part of him knew that she shouldn't be his--couldn't be his.
Standing there, staring into her deep blue orbs, brought a sense of calmness to him. Everything seemed to be in place; everything seemed to be how it was before the war, before his whole life slipped away from him.
As he took a lock of her hair between his fingers, he saw moving fabric from the corner of his eye. A green cape, none other than the one that belonged to Bastian, he was sure of it. He released the woman and turned to face the man.
"Duke Renning," he bowed, attempting to hide his disapproving scowl.
He nodded in response, not mentioning anything about the formality, as he had for Lucia. It wasn't that he felt that it was needed between him and his closest confidant, he just...didn't feel it to be necessary for this to be stated...
"A word with the lady might I have? Or too busy are the two of you for this to come into consideration?"
"N-No, Bastian. We were just finishing up...she's all yours," he stammered, turning back to the swordswoman, "I'm glad you're feeling better, Lucia."
She smiled, "Thanks for coming to see me."
He nodded before walking past the count. As soon as he was gone, Bastian took one of Lucia's hands in his own and placed the other on her forehead. She quickly pushed it back, sighing.
"Count Bastian, I'm fine, believe me."
"You appear so to be, Milady. And yet, your faithful count can't help but worry for your safety."
"I appreciate your concern, really I do, but..."
The blonde sage removed his hands, looking into her eyes. "I understand completely." Remembering the reason he was there, he continued, "Now I must ask for a counsel with you...away from other ears."
She stared at him a moment before nodding and opening her bedroom door, leading him in. He watched as she lingered by her open window for a moment, but soon turned his gaze to the burning fire that was blazing in the fireplace in the corner of the room. The sight made him tug at his collar uncomfortably; it was awfully warm in here, after all.
"Well, Milord, what seems to be the problem?"
He turned his head back to face the window, taking in those gorgeous blue eyes of hers staring back at him. Each time she looked at him that way, he could feel a piece of his heart break. It killed him to see her beauty, her kindness and compassion, but to have no chance with her.
'Tis how it shall remain, good fellow. Be yours she can't...won't.
She raised her eyebrow at him a bit, curious to his lack of reply. He quickly regained his composure and walked towards her, sweat forming on his brow.
"Well...I, uhh..." he stuttered, the words on the tip of his tongue but refusing to be released.
She continued staring at him, this time a bit impatiently. He was making her rather uncomfortable with his manner of speech--it was very untypical of the silver-tongued nobleman, after all.
Bastian was amazed at how tongue-tied he always became when talking to her one-on-one. There was just something about her that made him feel so...lost. Whatever he meant to say always seemed to come out wrong; he just couldn't get a complete thought out.
"Count, I don't mean to interrupt or to be rude, but is this really something that's important? I'm starting to become a bit...faint..." she mumbled, closing her eyes in an attempt to rid herself of the dizziness she was feeling.
The sage placed his hands on her shoulders and lead her over to her bed. She sat down, leaning against the headboard, her hands in Bastian's. He removed one of his hands, placing it once again on her forehead. He pulled it back upon the contact.
"Milady, burning up you are," concern filled his voice. "Here, you probably shouldn't be wearing this..."
She nodded, not even thinking about it, and allowed him to remove her sweater. His gasp instantly snapped her back into reality, sending chills down her spine. She winced and held her breath as he ran his fingers over her infected scars.
How was she going to explain this to him? Surely he'd wonder how this happened...and she couldn't just tell him that Duke Renning had given them to her. She couldn't put him in that position. She'd protect her lord no matter what, even if he caused her harm. Forever.
She kept her eyes closed as he examined her wound, not daring to see the expression on his face. Surely it wouldn't be pleasant. Surely he was filled with rage... But after he'd removed his hand and nothing had happened after a few moments, she was forced to reopen her eyes. Her eyes began watering as she saw his tear-streaked face.
His features were overcome with grief, pain, sadness. He hadn't been able to protect her as he'd promised. She had been threatened and he wasn't there to save her from harm. But there was only one thing left to be asked and answered...
His voice was shaky as he spoke up, too afraid to look her in the eyes, "Lucia, who did this to you?"
She didn't reply, aside from shedding a few tears. He wrapped his arms around her, being careful not to touch the infected area, and she sobbed into his robe, soaking it a bit.
He hadn't protected her this time, but he wouldn't let her down again. She would never put him in harm's way. She'd never put the blame on him. Even if their love was never returned by those whom it was directed to, they would continue to feel this passionate. It was only human nature; it couldn't be changed.
--
A/N: Hm, I actually kind of like this. Surprise, surprise! But then again, I haven't had much sleep, so...
Okay, so if this wasn't depressing enough, I have even more depressing fics coming up! My next project is going to be a little Lucia/Renning fic I'm writing for myself for my birthday (ha!). That one shouldn't be anything like this one, but it's probably the only 'happy' fic I'm working on (there's a complete list on my profile). Yeah, enough rambling!