Chapter 3

The silence was unnerving, but she chose to push the fear away from her heart. She ached everywhere and the clashing of heat and cold within her body only made things worse. She was still in a daze, unsure of her whereabouts or her current condition. The only clear thought she had was that she was in pain – and she figured that she was either burning or hell, or possibly still alive…

Alive

She felt the sharp pain in her chest, where his sword had pierced her. The blow was meant to kill her and yet…why?

Tentatively, she opened her eyes, half expecting herself to be in a morgue, or six feet under. Yet she quickly saw the filtered light within a… room? She blinked several times, with her eyes still burning with the fever, as she tried to focus on her surroundings once more.

She saw the familiar looking fixtures in the sparsely furnished room she was in. She closed her eyes briefly as she probed her mind for more clues as to why the place looked familiar in the first place. Idly, she touched the covers… the flat starched covers of the small bed she was in as she did so. She moved her head slightly and nuzzled the pillow, the firm pillow that filled her senses with his familiar scent…

She remembered lying down on that bed. She remembered how it shifted as he lay on it as well. She remembered how the sheets felt like on her skin after each movement, how the rough sheets felt no smoother than his caresses.

She remembered how she woke up the morning after, sated, yet wasted, alone in that rigid bed.

He did not even wake her to say goodbye. The consideration he gave her was no more than what a paid harlot deserved. Yet she did not lash out at him, nor did she tell him about her feelings. It was not her place to feel anything after all. She knew that before she even went to his room, before she even lay on his bed. She was the one who laid down the rules of their liaison after all. She woke up that day without any regrets – but any hope in her heart faded away as well.

And now she found herself in the same position once again. Only this time, she realized she was much weaker, much more hopeless and helpless as she had been.

She strained to move, and the slightest movement caused her intense pain. Yet she still held on to her firm resolve. Her pride would not forgive such helplessness any longer. Valiantly she reached out and tried to crawl out of bed, still despised with herself for her weakness. She may no longer carry on like this… she cannot allow him to see her like this… no… no…

Why had she been there in the first place? Surely it was not due to the reasons that brought her in that same bed earlier.

All she could remember was the pain from his sword… and his sorrowful eyes… eyes that seemed so tender, eyes that seemed to truly look at her only for the first time. She saw those eyes as she slipped away… slipped away…

"Drace!"

She felt strong arms around her, breaking her fall. The coldness of his metal armor contrasted with the warmth in her skin that she instinctively shied away from his touch, almost repulsively. Yet his hold was true, and soon, she found herself atop the rigid bed once more.

"Gabranth?" she asked weakly, as she watched him with slight fascination as he pulled the blankets around her.

He remained silent as he placed his hand firmly on top of her forehead, gazing into her eyes almost like how he did before. It was odd to see so much concern from those deep gray eyes that she suddenly felt like weeping. He continued to hold her gaze, with his hand moving to cup her cheek. It was then that she suddenly wondered if perhaps her fantasies could come true after all.

"Gabranth?" she asked once more, a bit frightened of not hearing him speak back, for it would inevitably let her know that he was just a figment of her imagination.

"Drace, I am sorry, I should not have left you," he murmured as he stroked her hair with his other hand, "but I am here now. Rest and I promise to be here once you awaken."

That was exactly what he said in her puerile dreams, as she drowned in her own self-pity, the day after they used each other. He couldn't have had a change of heart just now. He couldn't have meant the words he just said… perhaps she had imagined him after all?

She reached out to make sure once again that he was real. She then felt his skin… his smooth hair… his jagged scar…

"What happened to your…"

He took hold of her hand and placed it by her side. "Now is not the time… you still have a fever, you need to rest."

But why…? How…?

"What happened? Why am I here?" she gasped, "Why are you caring for me?"

His gaze shifted slightly as he seemed to search for the right words to tell her.

"Gabranth?"

"You will know soon enough," he finally replied, as he closed his eyes briefly. He opened them once more and added, "right now, your health is more important. You need to rest."

She finally yielded to his stubbornness, as she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Still, her current situation and his sudden gentleness continued to bother her.

Things were not supposed to be like this, she thought. She could not be this pathetically weak, and he could not be this graciously benevolent. Their relationship was clearly hard to figure out, and even she was unsure of it herself. Yet surely, it could not be as simple and as peaceful as this.

They may have shared something. But it was not enough to enable him to act this way. Her Gabranth had his heart frozen inside. In the outside he was just as cold as steel. And that was exactly what drew her to him. His coldness matched hers, and she was able to freely give herself… without melting away. They were made for each other, in her belief, and she was sure the feelings were mutual to some extent. Ice with ice, snow with snow, they could touch each other without a shiver, their numbness brought about a sense of comfort.

Though admittedly, she wanted to feel something more, she was resigned to the idea that he could not and would not be able to give her more than what he had already given. His rage consumed him; his quest for vengeance always came between them. She was just the same. Her pride always got in the way; Archadia was her life. With this, clearly, it would be unjust to ask for more.

To her, that imperfect relationship they had was special, and she was sure that she would not feel the same way with any other man.

Yet this Gabranth acted so differently. His concern for her was almost admirable. Oddly, it made her heart throb painfully. How could he act this way when he already pierced her heart not too long ago? How could he be so … kind when he killed her, when she let him kill her, over and over again?

How could he continue to stroke her with those hands… those warm, gentle hands that lightly touched her… so unlike those hands that left a mark on her pale skin, those hands that grabbed on to her fiercely that fateful night?

"Why are you doing this, Gabranth?" she mumbled as she struggled to open her eyes to look at him once more just when his gentle ministrations started to lull her to sleep.

He looked at her again with those sorrowful eyes, yet this time, she saw something else. Was it… pity?

"I care for you, Drace," he finally replied, as he eased his frown and forced a smile. "I would not be at ease until you get well."

No… it can't be…

She fell into a dreamless slumber upon hearing his words, knowing fully well that Gabranth would not be able to keep his promise to be with her after all. She was sure of the truth before she closed her eyes.

The Gabranth she last saw would surely be gone when she wakes up, for clearly he was nothing but an illusion.


She watched him quietly as he sat in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors in his hands. She did not know if he truly knew she was there for he did not seem to acknowledge her presence. The Dalmascan armor he wore was haphazardly discarded at the side of the room, leaving him bare, letting her see him clearly for the first time.

This Gabranth was not as unfeeling as others claimed him to be. In truth, his reflection showed a multitude of emotions with a simple grimace – pain, anger, remorse, among other things. His confidence waned, as seen from his slumped shoulders and bent head, so unlike his usually proud posture. Without the armor, Judge Magister Gabranth was completely human after all.

He opened his eyes slowly as he looked at his own reflection. Perhaps he saw the vulnerability there as well, and this just made him scowl fiercely. Furiously, he grabbed his hair by his nape by one of his hands as the other went up to cut it off with the scissors he held. The long metallic blades hacked his hair in one swift motion and soon he was left with a short jagged cut. He threw the scissors and ran his shaking hands through his head, grabbed the loose locks of his hair and tossed it aside.

"It all went well, if that is what you wanted to ask," he muttered under his breath when he finally saw her reflection behind him as he glanced at the mirror. "Expect the edict come morning."

"The plan might have worked," she replied with a soft voice as she went closer to him tentatively, "Yet it does not seem like things truly went well as you have said." She bent down and picked up the discarded scissors and held it firmly in her hands. "Did the scales tip not in your favor, Gabranth?"

He closed his eyes once more as he sighed heavily. "In this war, the scales are held not by justice but by those in power. It was a fact I've already come to terms with long ago."

She unconsciously held the scissors tighter as she stopped herself from retorting. She knew how unkind the war had been to him, and her opinions about the empire or justice would not matter at that point. This time, her only task was to remind him, and to help him cope with what he had just done.

She was one of the few who disagreed with Vayne's plans of conquering Dalmasca, for the Rozarian invasion clearly overshadowed his dreams of conquest. She believed that they had to protect what they already had now instead of grabbing more power, using underhanded means at that.

Gabranth played a major part in this plan, but she knew his motivation had been completely different. She did not want to say his intentions were pure for it was far from it, yet he had not been an unwilling victim either. Somehow she understood his pain, and that was enough reason for her to try to be on his side.

"But you had the power; you had the upper hand."

"Aye, the scale tipped in my favor all right," he muttered dryly, "and I've received table scraps of retribution… a fitting reward for a loyal dog."

"Stop it!" she grumbled, finally unable to hold her tongue, "We judges are not mere pawns. Going with Vayne's plan had been your choice. Admit it; you had your own reasons for going with his plan."

"My choice?" He faced her, suddenly with a stoic expression. His eyes were suddenly cold, and it was almost as if he donned the judges' armor in an instant. "That dammed traitor made that choice after he decided to side with Dalmasca and abandon our homeland."

His voice had an edginess that she did not miss; it was almost as if the shell he made, no matter how formidable, still had cracks in between. Then again, she figured this flaw was not that of weakness. He was proud, yes, scornful, perhaps. Yet most of all… his flaw… his flaw might not have been a flaw at all. The fissure in his seemingly frozen heart showed warmth within.

Perhaps he still had what many Judge Magisters already lost long ago?

"Let it rest, Gabranth," she whispered as she reached out to stroke his hair. Slowly, his eyes softened while he continued to maintain his impassive expression. "Judgment has been rendered. He is no more."

"He is no more…" he repeated the words under his breath, as he allowed her to push him down the stool with his back facing the mirror this time around. Slowly, she threaded her fingers through his hair and cut off the rough edges, and uneven strands. Carefully, she shaped him, molded him back to the state he was in before this had all happened.

Soon, he was back to what she knew to be his old self – neat, polished, imperturbable Gabranth. He faced the mirror and looked at himself, seemingly content with what she had done.

Still. There was still something different, something she could no longer seem to erase… that very thing she still wanted to see in her own reflection.

"No more…"

He winced slightly as he reached up to briefly cover his face with his hands. He whispered the words again and again like it were a prayer.

Yes, he still had it.

"No more…"

Pain, anger, remorse.

The cold Gabranth still had his innocence after all.


She did not know how long she had been awake or when she had started seeing him, but then she realized she was not just delirious anymore. Logic started to grace her mind as she remembered bits and pieces of her immediate past… She knew of the Emperor's death and Vayne's treachery. She remembered her colleagues' betrayal and the pain from their swords. She deduced that some time must have passed, for she just realized how long her hair had grown. Yet time was only one of the factors of the confusing equation, for she lay wounded in the most unexpected place as well. But she surmised that she could cope with those facts somehow… if only… if only it was truly Gabranth she saw and not someone else.

That fact made her doubt that she regained her logic at all.

She was in a familiar place, in the company of a stranger, one that eerily looked familiar at that. He had the same hair, the same face, the same build. With his eyes closed and his expression fairly neutral, she guessed that one might not even be able to tell the difference. Yet his scar was something out of place, though she only saw a glimpse of it as his unmarred side faced her. Still, his looks did not fool her, for she knew that Gabranth never really looked that peaceful, even in his sleep.

She had an idea as to who he was, though why he was there was still an idea she had not fully figured out. She had several hypotheses in her mind, and all of them filled her with unsettling thoughts. She feared for Larsa's safety, as well as Archadia's. Assuming the war with Dalmasca had not ended would mean that this imposter was before her through treacherous designs. He may be planning something up his sleeve and perhaps he wanted to use her as well. Yet assuming the war had ended… now that it was he who was by her side, now that he was actually by her side, made her think that it had not ended favorably for Archadia… for her Gabranth.

That seemed to be the most logical conclusion. He was either dead, or locked in a dungeon somewhere for poetic justice. She seemed more inclined to think the former, though frankly, she did not know how to feel either way.

Gabranth was gone.

Her stoic mind went against her sore heart. She felt the pain in her chest intensify, and besides the physical pain, she realized she could not feel anymore. She could not weep, she could not speak, she did not even know if she could continue breathing. Gabranth was gone and everything just seemed to stop there.

"Drace?"

She barely heard his hoarse voice as she looked at him defiantly. There was so much concern in his eyes that she wanted to believe that she was just mistaken and it was truly he who spoke to her and yet…

"Drace, can you hear me?" he asked her again, sounding visibly panicked, "where does it hurt?"

His eyes looked at her, his voice spoke to her … and yet he was gone… gone…

"Drace!" He touched her firmly as his gaze intensified, "Drace, stay with me."

Could it be those same hands that finished him? Could he have seen his own reflection as he died?

"Drace-"

"-How… did you feel?" she finally managed to gasp out, "How did you feel when you pierced Gabranth with your sword?"

He suddenly let go, as if he were scorched by her question. His eyes were wide and his lips were tightly pursed still not believing he heard the right words.

"How did you feel, you bastard," she bit out, as she shivered slightly, "did he also die in your arms?"

"Drace, I…"

"Do not touch me!" she hissed when she slapped his hands away, "Tell me. How did it feel like?"

He stood up and moved slightly away from the bed. He closed his eyes and remained silent.

"I do not know what your game is, but there is no point in keeping me alive," she muttered, "I already know how it feels like… to be pierced, to die." And yet I do not know how to feel like now that I am alive.

She continued to shiver on the bed, not knowing what fate had left in store for her. Had she not suffered enough? Hell seemed more pleasant than this. What part must she play in this game… what part must she play with him.

"I would like to think I know the feeling as well," he spoke several minutes later. "I too know how it feels like to be pierced… to die."

He then knelt by the bed to be at eye level with her as he said the words,

"It was not he who died after all, but I."


Author's Notes:

Er… I should be studying right now but…

Here is the third installment. I figured I should at least get this done before I catch the flu. Haha.

Thanks to all those who read and those who reviewed!