The aqua haired woman, bowed with fatigue, scanned the leaves of parchment chaotically scattered across her desk. The newly devised plan to snare the assassin had proven nearly as untamable as the villian himself; for the plan, once seeming infallible, had somehow transformed into a myriad of convoluted details and complications which swam before her half-lidded eyes. The interwoven questions of how to make the decoy queen seem vulnerable enough for the assassin to strike, yet not so defenseless as to rouse the villian's suspicions, seemed as though to be lurking beneath the scattered parchment and daring her to challenge it.

To compound matters was the looming danger that the assassin would make another attempt before the mess of a trap was baited and set. And, to top it all off, her would-be partner had been avoiding her like the plague. Given the incident between him and her would-be suitor - who, incidently, was also avoiding her - she could not be certain if this was cause for anger or relief. Either way, it could not have happened at a worse time.

She bent close to her work, immersed in how best to hide the web she intended for the assassin to fly into, and did not hear the visitor until he was at her shoulder.

"Lucia."

His voice nearly made her jump, jolting her from her musings and back to reality. She turned to meet his grim visage. "Brother," she greeted, somewhat absently.

"Lucia, I need to talk to you."

His brow was furrowed with displeasure, and a hint of concern that she alone could discern. His voice had also taken on an edge of severity, which gave her a sickening presentiment about what he wished to discuss. She set down her quill and turned in her chair to face her brother, her fingers interwoven over one knee and her chin tilted up, much like a child who realized that a stern reprimand was forthcoming.

"What is it that you're trying to do?" he asked, face pulled into a deep frown.

"I'm trying to get this plan sorted out, Geoff—"

"Not that. What is it you're trying to accomplish by leading Kieran on like this?"

She sucked in a deep breath, and her eyes narrowed suddenly. How had he come to know about…?

"Lucia," his told was scolding. "Kieran is my second in command. Our queen and liege is under threat by an assassin, and in order to protect her, I need my men to be alert and focussed on their duties. The last thing I need if for him to be preoccupied by whatever scheme you've roped him into, and him complaining to me about it."

"It's not like—"

"And, as for Soren," her brother interjected, cutting her off. "If he is orchestrating the plan to stop this assassin, than we need him to be focused on accomplishing that goal. Mist visited him just now, and she tells me that he's a twitching bundle of nerves! It's one thing for Kieran to yell aloud whatever is one his mind to whoever's within earshot; I practically expect it from him. But, Soren...just what is it you're trying to do? And, for that matter, why are you doing this now of all times?!"

"I—"

"Lucia, I don't know what's going on between you, Soren and Kieran. But, right now, I can't afford for it to be going on. Whatever game it is you're playing to ensure...I don't know, whatever it is you're after, has to stop. We must protect our queen from this assassin, and we can't do that if we're all at each other's throats!"

"I know that!" she finally cut in. "I'm just trying to—"

"Lucia! Why do knights fight?"

"What? Ah...to protect our liege and the people, and to uphold the honor of the knights, our families and the realm." Maybe she was just overtired, or maybe the strain of these long nights had done something to her eyes. But, whatever the reason, she suddenly felt as if it was no longer her brother lecturing her, but her late father...

"Lucia, there is no honor in what you are doing now." Her brother finished, the frown still deeply etched in his face. "So stop."

She fell silent and turned her face away from him. She heard his sigh a few moments later. "You don't need to be causing this sort of trouble, Lucia. Not with everything else that's going on."

"…aren't you supposed to be on patrol, or something?"

He took the hint in her voice and turned to the door. "All right, I'll go. But you remember what I've said. And don't stay up too late working, all right?"

"…all right."

-

He awoke feeling more exhausted than he had upon falling asleep. He'd been dreaming about winter – chilling blasts of white wind that stung the eyes and burned the flesh; wet, cold and unyielding. The dream had been so vivid that when his eyes flew open he'd been blinded by the darkness, and the warm folds of the blanket around him were unfamiliar. He sat up, slowly disentangling himself from the sheets.

She'd been in the dream, as well. She had seemed ethereal and distant as people often do in dreams, but at the same time he'd gotten the sense that she had been the source of the ice that he had grown to loathe.

Sitting in the darkness did no good. His voice caused the night to warp, then vanish suddenly as flames burst to life in his palm. He located his candle and flicked a spark that caught and ignited. The original flame died as he lifted the candle and walked across the room to his desk. Willowy fingers gently shuffled papers around until he found the summary of the plan he'd been working on. He scanned the writing a few times to find where he had left off, before bathing his quill in the pool of ink and preparing to write.

His door flew open with a resonant bang that caused him to leap from his chair. His elbow smacked into his inkwell and a shower of black rained puddles on the floor. The blue clad knight appeared as startled as he.

"Soren, you're awake?"

"Yes," the mage responded, rather flatly. The Commander of the Royal Knights lowered his lance, looking perplexed.

"I… er."

The mage turned and studied the spreading pool of ink on the floor, and moved his foot out of range. "So, you're on patrol tonight, General Geoffrey?"

"I… saw the light from under your door. I thought something was amiss, I apologize."

The mage sighed and found a cloth to dab up the spill with. Oddly, the knight did not leave.

"What were you doing?"

The question caught him off guard. "…working on our little trap, at your sister's request," he replied after a pause.

"She's doing the same," the knight said quickly. "Says she can't sleep. She's working right now."

The mage looked up, thinking briefly. Perhaps things would go smoother if he took the Lady's brother with him to deliver the report. He placed the now sodden rag on his desk and picked up the paper.

"This needs to be delivered to her," he said, folding the parchment carefully and going out the door. The knight followed him, as he knew he would.

Sure enough, the flicker of candlelight was visible under her door. The mage knocked once, and, at her reply, entered. She looked surprised to be in his presence, and seemed on the verge of speaking, but saw her brother and stopped.

"Your report, Lady Lucia."

She took the paper from him and opened it, scanning the main points quickly. "Excellent, thank you." She looked up at the sound of retreating footsteps, and found her brother absent and the mage still there. She pursed her lips slightly and tried to appear focused on the paper, not knowing if she wanted him here or not. His help was needed, for sure, but his company…

"You're welcome," his delayed reply brought her focus back to the present. His eyes flicked over to her desk, and she nodded her assent. As he came over, she pointed out her report. He only got a couple of lines in before finding something wrong.

"Lucia," his expression was as hard as ice, "You will not be the bait for the assassin."

"Come now, Soren. If we do not have someone who knows the plan inside and out to be the double, then how—"

"Someone else. Not you."

"Sor—" he cut into her protest.

"Do you realize what this is? We are trying to lure in and capture a highly trained killer, who was hand-picked to assassinate the queen herself! There are risks—"

"I'm aware of that—"

"And if this goes wrong? If you are killed? Think of your family! What would Elincia do? And your brother?"

"I remind you that this was your pla—"

"I never intended for it to be you! If I lost you, then I—" he stopped the sentence abruptly, but she had heard. Her jaw dropped slightly as she waited for words to come, but before she could think, he was speaking again.

"Not, not that I—I'm saying that—" his thoughts, and his fears, all seemed to fountain out of him in a rush; his tongue unable to give them voice fast enough. He gave a slight pause to compose himself. "There are…" he halted, and moistened his lips with his tongue as he decided whether or not to voice this thought, "There are people who need you, Lucia. And this assassin…" he trailed off, and she saw a shadow cross his face, bearing with it an emotion she'd never seen him wear before: fear.

"Soren, I am perfectly capable—"

"I saw him, Lucia."

The words had been so soft that she wondered for a moment if she had imagined them. "…what?"

"I saw him." If the mage was shaken before, he now looked very nearly terrified as he repeated his words, unable to meet her gaze. She cleared her throat softly.

"Where?" she asked. "When?" Suddenly, she had a thousand questions for him to answer. "What happened?"

"I went outside the castle to train, and I was thinking about… I was thinking, and I sent a spell into the woods, and he just… fell out of a tree."

"You didn't see him before that? You weren't aiming at him?"

"It was an accident…"

"It was luck. Soren! You've seen him! We can—" her excitement leapt suddenly, and she grabbed for a piece of paper to jot notes upon. "What did he look like?" she asked, already scribbling away. "Beorc? Laguz? You said "he", didn't you?"

"I—"

"Come on, I'm ready!" she looked up at him, quill poised to write.

He knew he'd needed to tell someone, hadn't he? "Y-yes, he. About… about as tall as Ike, I'd say. And very dark, his hair was, I mean. Shoulder length. Um… eyes cold, like steel, or ice…"

She looked up as his halting sentences stopped. His eyes bore a distant, frightened look, and she had the sudden sense that standing before her was not her partner, but a scared child. "…Soren?"

"He was… he'd been watching the castle. He probably saw me coming out. Ashera, what if he had…" the mage shuddered involuntarily. "He looked… he didn't even look human. It was as if I had attacked a twisted creature of nature, or… or… a-and when he turned, my stomach lurched so violently… and I knew, he wasn't human, he was—he was a twisted creature, a manifest of sin, a demon…" the mage slowly raised his hand and pressed his palm to the Brand on the center of his head, "cursed one."

"…he bore the mark?" she asked, her eyes widening in this revelation. He was jarred back to reality, but the fear did not leave his eyes.

"Y-you…?" his voice was smaller than a whisper, and his pallor lightened a shade or two. She looked down.

"After the Coronation Ball. I just… I wanted to know."

He fled the room suddenly.