Flicker of Judgment

Chapter 7

Evasions

In old romantic tales lady and lords stood side by side in all matters. Stepping beyond the Score bound oaths of "for sickness and in health" when a Lord went to war his Lady went with him. In peace, they ruled jointly, over estate and lands, nurturing and protecting their people and property a one. In times of battle, in those long ago days, that once upon a time times the Lord would wear a peace knot binding his blade to its scabbard. Only his lady was allowed to untie it, unless it was a matter of life or death. And when fighting came, as it must, for Kimlascan Nobles and Royality fought alongside their own, a Lord's lady love would unbind the ties and bind them about her own wrist.

Thus together, they fought together, if it was so scored, they'd die.

All in all it went so far beyond "in sickness and in health" that Daath objected. It was too much for the hierarchy of Daath, the death of a Lord meant the death of his Lady, and if one passed on an unScored hour... Sacrilege, yes, but a logical concern. So, long ago, before the leery caution that marked the relationship between city and state, Daath had made a proposition and with the thrones of all nations behind it, had prevailed.

Slowly, surely, through propaganda and proper encouragements, wielding censorship like a blade, an idea was purged from the common consensus. Scorn piled upon the traditionalists that hung to such romantic notions deterred any would be youth from reviving what was lost, long yet forcibly forgotten...

Still, she had found a ghost of that past lore. She'd been digging through Mother's library one day, after the abduction. Bored and restless, mind unwilling to bend to study, duty shaken off by dogged anxiety, she'd shifted through the books owned by a woman she honestly never knew. Yet, her own mother was a ghost she'd never escaped. So much like her, so Father would say, setting a doting hand on her head. An idly pat of affection while he perused orders and dictates proposals by the pseudo royal nobility, trying to drive the line between empty nonsense, praise, and make enough of a wedge through it all to catch a glimpse of the true need barely alluded. For the reports of what was needed were always hidden. You had to dig to find the real things, he'd taught her, not with words but by hours watching him labor seeking, searching, and sometimes failing. Still, with failure in his eyes, and frustration bowing his shoulders he had looked up and smiled. You're so much like her, my little Natalia

"Father," Never Daddy, that wasn't allowed, not for her nor any child of the elite, they were nobility after all, such familiarity was not permitted. It was by far, too common. "I was wondering, I was reading some of Lady-Mother's books and…"

Eyes trained to pick words up in a heartbeat he'd skimmed the contents of the open page before she could even finish her thought. A sad frown took the King's face, and with a regal motion he'd beckoned her as if she had become one of his attendants. She approached, curious as to this subtle change in him, heart quickening with unspeakable feelings. With a firm hand he took the book from her, still frowning, he snapped it closed.

"There are something's that are best left unknown, my little one."

"But..."

Her eyes smarted, though she was in truth fine the finality of his closing that book… She had just wanted to know and… And everything rushed to the fore, all her worry and doubts. It set her eyes to burning her sight to blurring.

Turning his back on her, he sighed.

"Why don't you visit your lady-aunt, Suzanne?" King Ingobert suggested gently, setting the book aside, pen up, looking busy. "You always make her smile so, and she's in much need of smiles this day."

Face burning, she'd nodded, conceded he was right with a quick bow and quieter exit.

There was such a thing as knowing too much, she knew that now, and she'd never forget.

For she'd seen, and for seeing that forbidden text she recalled. In truth she was made to recall with every step. Lovers, nobles, went to battle, a lady bound to her Lord's side, gripping the sheath in hands that must surely tremble. And hurt, as were hers. Telling herself that the touch of Luke's hair was not silky for the seventh time she tried to keep up an edge of frustration… indignation… anything to blot out the surrealistic slant of this situation. She must keep a barrier between the circumstances and herself. After all, dignity must be preserved; she was a royal, not some little girl lost in the dark.

Checking a soft scree of terror when something chittered, something close, she stiffened and tightened her grip. Wishing in truth she dared to release, take a step back, and orient herself. But here, where edges were lost and dark was complete, letting go now would be beyond foolish. So she endured, as did he.

"Stop pulling so hard. The straps are dug in so much I'm losing circulation here!" Asch the Bloody groused, sounding far too much like Luke Fon Fabre for her sanity.

"You could slow down." Natalia countered.

"You could speed up!" Asch snapped right back.

"A gentleman-"

"I-" The bloody hissed, growling each and every syllable. "-am not a gentleman."

A pause, a silence. Contrary to his claim he did slow, just a bit, and holding in a relieved sigh she loosened her grip a teny tiny bit.

"You could give a little more on your end." Asch grumbled after he tried, and failed, at shrugging.

She kicked him for that, stating it was an accident when he demanded to know why she'd done that she countered that she'd done nothing at all. Movement, she'd stammered, a rat perhaps. And, despite being a man who claimed to "know too much" he didn't seem to know enough. Accepting the assumption that royalty were dignified and contained in all things, he let it drop. A royal wouldn't stoop to lashing out over something stupid. Buying that falsehood Asch didn't press, and despite how stupid and petty (and how horribly unfair it would be to Luke who'd bare the bruises after all) Natalia smiled into the crook of her betrothed's shoulder and tried with might and mien not to laugh, nor did she dare a smile.

XXX

"Get away!"

Stabbing wildly, slashing crazily, she drove him back with ferocity alone. Ignoring the dull throb of bruises and that ineffable taste of miracle gel against her tongue, she attacked. She only wanted him away, back, gone, she'd never meant to hurt him.

Still, accidents happened, mistakes were all but guaranteed when novices ran amok. Perhaps it was because her arms shook –Luke's sword was heavy, very heavy- or perhaps it came from the shocks of the day –kidnappings, and god generals, and monsters, oh my!- or maybe it was simply Scored. His guard was down, her aim was off, and it came together with an awful symmetry. They were nearly slammed together by her stumble and attack than they whipped apart, she in shock –she'd just touched a Scored cursed mad man, literally, that could not be a good thing- he in pain. Checking a roar of outrage, face twisting under the pressure of holding it in, he glared at her, hand nursing a suddenly smarting cheek.

Thus, they stood, and during their second's long stalemate her gaze drifted down to the blood tipped sword in her hands. If this was… as all the tales went, than the first blood was hers. She should have felt triumphant, she supposed. Confident that she'd struck a blow against evil, confident that victory was hers. But all she felt was need. The Need to hurl the filthy sword away. The Want to take her friends -all of them, old and new for those she traveled with were her friends now whether they returned such feelings or not- away. Far far away from here. Away from places where the earth was the sky, and the sand it's blood, where the air stifled and burned in turn. She wanted to take them back to Batical, because Batical was safe like how a child declared a place base in tag. Batical was that involute span, a shield to the world's maddening, mad, cycles.

But this wasn't a game, there were no base's no guarantees to safety, no… nothing.

Innocence shattered at that horrid realization her sword shook all the more. Shook so hard she knew she would surely be sick. She met the eyes that did not belong to her beloved yet did. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Terror and sickness congealed into a horrid realization without epiphany, and to such sick secrets in this "real world" she lost the last of her grace and stoicism. Face all but spaszoming, she held a sword she'd surely drop if pressed.

She wasn't even aware that she'd screamed. Never even noticed that she swung. Only that the blade swept down after somehow being lifted all the way up. Eyes widened, green and familiar, than they narrowed and with a clang his blade me hers. Steel scrapped across steel with a sound that set her teeth on edge and her gorge to rising. With a shove he made her stagger to the side, and utterly professional (surprise aside) the Bloody met her step for step. In that last awkward span before balance was claimed he acted. Heat from friction fast fading, Natalia stiffened at the chilling touch against her throat.

"Drop it." Asch ordered.

She let the blade tumble from her fingers, it hit the ground with a sound too cheerful that it was surreal. Gesturing with his sword, relieving her of it's awful kiss on her throat, he indicated she was to kick it aside. Over the edge, his green eyes suggested, though he hadn't said a word his gaze spoke plenty. Shaken, shaking, she only managed to nudge it a few feet. Nowhere near the edge, dredging up a blood streaked smile, the Bloody shrugged at her efforts. Than with another of his expressive gestures he ordered her to the side.

"Move."

Reading the murderous intent Natalia shook her head. Hands fisted, nails nipping her palms, she defied him. Taking a deep breathe, Asch smothered a roared repetition. Barely, just barely least he draw fatal attention to this little side drama.

"That man…" Blade flicked indicated the fallen nobleman with its tip. "isn't worth your protection Natal. He never was."

Silence that wasn't silent. Behind a battle raged. From the slew of roars and curses the Tempest and Lion were losing ground. Any moment now he'd be recalled, or she would. The flow of the fight would eventually slow and one side would recall if not both. Than they'd both be seen and this pseudo tranquility born of mutual negligence would be gone.

And this moment would die, and others complicated varied others, would impose.

One step, oozing menace, a silent snarl set blood to flowing freer, the bloody approached. Refusing to quiet her fists, she stood her ground. Score forecast of "striving for tranquility" be damned.

"No." A second's hesitance. "Never, who gave you right to say who's worth anything, in this world no mortal judge has that right. No kingdom, no fiefdom, can stake that claim."

Thus she defied Score, Lorelei, and Lorcrian… whatever his rank was… all at once.

XXX

The took each stair one by one. Familiar yet not. Recalled imperfectly by frantic (well in his case hurried) descent. In care the risks seemed complied, crazy when approached again. Still, they ascended, only stopping just once more. She felt Luke's tension, a set to his spine that was too resolute to really be Luke, than the moment was gone. And a soft cure told her he'd failed, that the whatever that made him stop ended in failure.

For a moment she hesitated, but royalty weren't meant to do so. It was unseemly to hesitate, for that meant you might be wrong and dictates from royals were like dictates from god. Never wrong, always right, Score guided declaration for the betterment of all Auldrant. So, she spoke where others would have said nothing. Upbringing should have told her not only to act, but what to say. A member of house Lanvaldear was to be practical and prudent.

Still the reasonable "what are you doing" was wasted, after all he was done… and the expected "can I help" would just be met with biting refusal since not only was it over but it had ended in failure.

So, she tired a kinder route.

"Are you alright?"

It hung between them, unanswered for the longest time. Steps were tentatively passed enough that she was sure he'd never answer.

Than, all unexpected, a response. "Luke's fine."

"That's not what I-"

A tug ushered her to greater speed, and though she wanted to press he never explained this most particular of evasions.