A/N: Since we really didn't get to know Gregory in the books, I've decided to shape his personality myself. Enjoy, read, and review! =]
Last time: "Oh, and, Dani?" Rei turned away from the door and addressed me, his hand on the doorknob. "Betsy and the other healers ran tests. It wasn't poison that caused you to pass out. Believe me, we checked." And like that, he was out of my room an in the hallway, closing the door quietly after him.
I was sitting on my bed with my hands folded on my lap when there was a knock at the door. "Shardae?" a voice inquired from the hallway. "May I come in? It's Cecelia, one of the maids from the third floor. I was called up here to help you dress?"
"Enter." I stood up, steadying myself on my bedpost. A small sparrow opened the door, standing timidly. I nodded at her warmly. "I am still a little bit ill, Cecilia, so if you could help me with my ties? It would be most appreciated."
"Of course, Shardae." She sank into a curtsy before she walked in any farther. She door shut behind her softly. "What is it that you would like to wear?"
I hadn't gotten that far. "Um. Well, let's look." I walked carefully over to my wardrobe and scanned my clothing, looking for anything that had the least amount of hooks. I pulled out a soft burgundy shade and shook out any wrinkles. "This one will do," I told Cecilia, smiling slightly at her.
She dropped into another curtsy and then rose, taking the fabric from my hands. Draping it over her forearm, she helped me undo the back of my shift. I carefully pulled it over my head, keeping my soft slacks on until Cecila had helped me step into the maroon dress. Her hands lightly grazed the back of my neck as she tied the thick straps together. Instantly, I was reminded of Rei. I didn't mean to offend him by wrenching my hands away. It was just instinct. Once I had realized that his hands existed, and that they had been touching my hands, I couldn't help but move. It wasn't something that I was normally exposed to.
"Shardae?" Cecilia snapped me back to attention. "Shardae, I'm finished."
I stepped forward and turned around to see Cecilia deftly scooping up the fabric I had left on the floor. "I'll take care of these. If there is anything I can help you with, milady?" She looked at me, her face the blank expression of a servant, intent on pleasing me just due to my title.
I didn't know this maid, and yet, looking into her face, I wanted to tell her everything. I needed somebody to listen, somebody to stop judging me, and this frail little sparrow with the heart shaped lips was the same as the next frail little sparrow with heart shaped lips. I needed advice: was I doing the right thing with Gregory? What about Rei? How could I apologize to him for something I wasn't even sure why I should be sorry for? My mother was angry with me, there was a party of "liberators" showing up at my door to kill me, and I was all alone, desperately alone, in my decisions. I needed a confidante; I needed someone to spill my secrets to. I needed a friend.
"No, that will be all, Cecelia," I said distantly. "Thank you for your assistance."
She nodded and curtsied one more time, and then left quietly. I watched her go, sighing.
Well, I had gotten dressed to go check on Gregory, and that was my plan. Following Cecilia's suit, I left my room, and Rei stepped forward to meet me at once. I knew he was guarding my door- he would never trust anybody else with the job, not with a serpent in the Keep.
"I'd like to see Gregory," I told him, trying to stop my heart from pounding. I knew that I wasn't there to just "see" Gregory. I had to confront him. I couldn't have any doubt in my mind about his intentions, and my breathing hitched with dread.
Rei nodded. "I can take you to him, Shardae. He's in the southern wing."
"Thank you." I couldn't think of what else to say. Shifting shape, we took off, and I gratefully embraced the silence that our hawk forms forced. I didn't know what to say to him. It was in avian nature to just ignore, to that it had ever happened and pretend that it didn't matter. But it did. Rei was my dearest friend, and I couldn't bear the thought of him being alienated from me too, not in this trying time.
I followed his lead as we flew, landing on a spiral stairwell surrounded by no less than half a dozen guards. Did they really think Gregory was so dangerous?
We shifted back into human forms and I looked to the doorway that all of the guards had circled. "I'm presuming this is where he is, then?" They all nodded their consent.
"Shardae, if I may," Rei started, his tone reserved. "You shouldn't go in there without an escort." Rei paused for the slightest moment before pressing on. "He has been feeling better, the healers say. I feel you'll be putting yourself in unneeded danger by entering alone."
I looked down, and then gazed into faces of my guards, all nodding their agreement. "I think I shall be okay," I said. "If there is any trouble, don't fear that I will hesitate to call you."
Rei did not look convinced, but he shifted to let me pass through and enter, which I did.
The room was dark, except for a fraction of light that was peeking through the curtains. It wasn't as luxurious as my room, but, as I was half expecting him to be chained up somewhere, it was quite passable.
Gregory was awake. He looked up at me, and his fae broke out into a grin. "Hi! I was wondering where you went. They moved me from your rooms. Pretty angrily, too," he added thoughtfully. "You were sick. They blamed me. Can't say I blamethem for blaming me."
I didn't walk any closer to him. "I was simply tired," I stated distantly, and he sat up. If I could see him well enough in the dark, I would have sworn he looked worried.
"What—what do you mean? Are you—what's wrong?" He sounded genuinely confused, and concerned. I could have laughed. All of my guards were out there, thinking Gregory was going to kill me, and here he was, sounding as worried as if I were a lifelong friend who was dying from a chronic illness.
"I'm fine," I started to assure him, without meaning to. I stopped myself. The entire reason I came here was to confront him. I couldn't be talking to him kindly! "Rather," I stated more remotely, gathering the fringes of my composure, "It was nothing worth worrying over."
"Well, that's good!"
"How can I trust you, Gregory?" I blurted out, staring at my hands as I folded them in and out of the creases of my skirt. "How can I know that you aren't going to kill me the moment I step closer to your bedside?"
I heard him shifting on the bed. I looked up to see him stretching, arms askew, a happy-go-lucky look on his face. "You can't!" he said happily. "I feel a lot better though, honest. So if I wanted to kill you, I could have done it already."
I pursed my lips. "That doesn't make me feel better."
Loud laughter turned into hacking, and he fell backwards onto the pillows, wet coughs splurting from his mouth. I rushed over to the bedside and watched in horror while he heaved violently, blood trickling down his chin. I looked around desperately – a mug of water? Should I call for a healer? He was only coughing, but was that a sign that he was getting worse, not better? I hesitated.
It was Gregory who made up my mind for me. After a moment or two, his coughing subsided, and he opened his eyes. "Guess I wasn't as better as I thought I was," he said, smiling feebly.
"Hush," I told him, touching his forehead gently. He was drenched in sweat. "So that was all bravado, then?" I asked him while I used the edge of my sleeve to gently wipe his face.
Gregory closed his eyes and laughed quietly. "Not bravado. Just me. My dad always said I was too high-strung." He paused, smiling at some silent memory. "He was being funny, you see," he added unnecessarily. "It's a joke because I'm always relaxed. Get it?"
I chuckled softly at the earnest look on his face. "Yes, I get it. Your father must be a pretty funny guy."
Gregory's face fell. "He was."
I didn't know what to say to that. I should have noticed the past tense he used referring to his father earlier. I looked away from him, unsure of what to assume. Did his father die at the hands of one of my own soldiers, from my mother's orders? In wartime, it was a luxury – and a fallacy - to assume that someone died of natural causes.
Gregory broke the mounting tension. "It's okay," he said, his signature smile back. "It was a while ago."
That didn't help, of course. The war had been going on for as long as any generation could remember. Saying that his father had died a while ago did not eliminate the possibility that he had been killed in war. I took a deep breath and regained the composure that I seemed to have left at the door. "Are you comfortable?" I asked, changing the subject with as much tact as I possibly could muster up. Under the circumstances, it wasn't much.
"If you could open the curtains a little bit, that'd be nice," he said hopefully, as if I would refuse. At once, I walked over and grasped the edge of the fabric. The curtains were cold and thick in my fingers, feeling foreign on my skin. The Keep did not have heavy curtains- avians as a whole loved sunlight, loved the air that would lightly billow underneath gauzy treatments.
"So, was that all bravado, then?" Gregory asked airily as I pulled open the curtains.
"What do you mean?" I inquired, puzzled. I opened up the other window to see three guards standing alert on the balcony. They all nodded at me, evidently not willing to turn down their attention for the few moments that it would take to bow. I turned away from them.
"The 'how-can-I-trust-you-you're-going-to-kill-me' thing," he responded, watching me move away from the window. I couldn't be certain, but I thought his eyes narrowed as he tried to look out the window. The glare from the sunlight was too much to tell. "You said that you were worried, but when I was coughing, you rushed over here. That could have been a ruse."
My defenses were back up. "Was it a ruse, Gregory?" I asked him carefully, stepping lightly. My skin was tingling, my heart buzzing.
He sighed, a shadow of the happy person he had been a moment ago. "No, silly girl." He closed his eyes and sank against his pillows. "Why would I want to kill you?" he asked, speaking to me or himself, I wasn't sure. "I'm not a fighter. Sure, I'm the solider, but I'm not a fighter." His eyes snapped back open, and he looked at me, pleading. "I never liked fighting. I was older, so I had to be the solider, but the blood? No, I could never stand it. I've never even killed anybody." By the look on his face, I knew this was something that had been eating him up. "I have had chances to, dozens of chances! But, I just, I could never. I could never take a life. My family—" Here, he took another breath and plowed on. "My brother is the fighter, not me. Zane? Ha! He'd gut you where you stood." My eyes widened, and my hands shook involuntarily.
Zane continued, rambling wildly. "But not me, I'm not a fighter. Danica, I've thought about killing you. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't." He stared straight into my eyes, beseeching, and I couldn't move. I was entranced by his desperation. "But what would it do? Prolong this war? I tried to convince myself to get the guts to do it, but I'm not my brother. I'm not a fighter. I'm not a killer. I'm telling you, Danica, why should I kill you? I've tried to figure it out. I know that my family, my people would tell me that I'm here, to do it! This is a chance nobody has! But, this violence? I don't understand it! How will killing you help anybody? No, it wouldn't," he said, sinking back onto the pillows and closing his eyes. "Violence never helps anybody."
I looked at him, and willed my voice not to shake. "So you thought about killing me?"
He laughed, a bitter sound. "I tried to convince myself it was for the best. But I could never do that. Killing, no. There is no reason why your life ending would help anybody."
I didn't know what to think. He was admitting to trying to kill me, but not wanting to. Was there a big difference between the two? He wasn't a killer, but he was laying it out in front of me that he was supposed to be one. What could I say? Thank you or not killing me? I don't think violence is a good thing either? I'm sorry that my people have killed yours?
"When I rescued you in that field," I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. "I went through the same thing you are going through now."
"Not now," he interrupted. "I wouldn't even entertain that notion now."
"Regardless," I continued. "I went through this same dilemma. My guards said I should leave you there to die, you told me to kill you, and I didn't know what to do. My brother was dead, and it was by the hands of your people." He opened his mouth to say something, but I held up a hand. "So it would have been very easy for me to just let you die. But, it wasn't your fault, this war. And it isn't mine either. I think all this blame just distracts us from the issues, and it makes us hate each other more. But, having you sit here, I know that you aren't evil. And neither am I."
"I know," he said, smiling again. His good mood seemed to be returning. "So it's good, then! That neither of us are dead. Because now we know!"
I laughed softly. "Yeah, it's good that neither of us are dead."
"I don't think I'd enjoy that," he said, stretching out on the bed. His bad mood seemed to have vanished out the door. "Being dead isn't good." He yawned.
"Are you tired?" I asked him. "Should I let you alone?" Actually, I should send him up a healer, or some type of food. "Are they feeding you?" I asked belatedly. I wasn't sure if they had just locked him up in here, not worrying about any needs he might have.
"Yup! Some lady comes in and feeds me soup. Well, not actually feeds me, you see. Just gives me the bowl. It's not bad. It has a weird texture to it, though."
I smiled and came closer to his bed, moving a stool so I could sit next to him. We discussed the differences between stew and soup- apparently there was no soup where he came from, just hearty stews with thick meats swirling around in the sauce. By the time I left him, it was because he had his head tilted backwards, his tongue poking out of his mouth while he snored softly.
Rei was standing outside of Gregory's door, and he escorted me back. We were silent again, partly because of our forms, and mainly because I had nothing to say.
We landed, and he stood next to me, letting me know that he would be guarding my door, again, tonight. "Goodnight, Shardae," he told me, standing, back stiff to the wall.
"Goodnight," I told him, sighing slightly. I entered my room and let the door shut behind me. Before my senses even had time to register the subtle shift in the shadows, there was a hand clenched around my mouth, and an arm around my waist, preventing me from moving. Or screaming.
