And the Clock Struck Twelve
By seraphimstarlight
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Tales of the Abyss or any of its characters.
Author's Note: Thanks again for all the reviews! And yes, Carmina Gaedelica is from dot hack. It's the name of one of the root towns. (Yay to Tarame! ) Anyway, thanks again to all readers and reviewers. Your support means so much to me.
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They wound through the streets of Grand Chokmah, taking a turn some way or another every so often. They followed an aqueduct until it merged with several others at a large fountain. She thought she saw several large houses off in the distance, but he passed those by, heading down a street that she could have sworn led out to the city limits.
At times they passed through wide avenues crowded with shops and, at times, through tiny alleyways that, somehow, managed to be dark even at midday. They passed by several more fountains, majestic statues of various nobles, several large parks filled with flowers of all imaginable colors and varieties. For a moment, she thought he might have gotten lost, but he moved with purpose, as though he was certain of where he was going.
Slowly, the crowds began to thin, and the buildings disappeared into trees, shrubs, and gentle, rolling hills. Turning, she saw the city grow smaller and smaller until it shrank into a small dot that danced on the horizon.
Where on earth were they going?
She turned to ask him, only to come face to face with a large gate set in a high stone wall. Looking back, she saw that they had indeed followed a road out of the city and had traveled some distance to the east.
He pushed the gate open, beckoning her to step inside. She did, and, suddenly, the wild landscape vanished, replaced by a vast, perfect lawn crossed by paths of white gravel and dotted with shrubs sculpted into various shapes. She noticed, with some amusement, that in the far corner of the garden, near the side of the house, there was a shrub in the shape of a cheagle. She couldn't help but laugh when she thought of how Tear would react if she saw it.
He called back to her from further along the path, and she ran to catch up to him. When she reached him, he led her along a side path through a flower garden to another, wider path flanked by short box-shaped hedges. A fountain further along the path sat between them and the house.
As they passed by the fountain, she noticed that the plants she had mistaken for plain shrubs were actually rose bushes, sprinkled with delicate ruby roses. She stopped to look at them, and he stepped up beside her.
"Would you like one?" he asked quietly.
She looked up at him, a bit startled. "Pardon?"
"The roses," he said, "I noticed you were looking at them."
"They're beautiful," she said noncommitantly.
He nodded, as though sensing her hesitation. "They're a special variety that Pere bred."
"Pere?"
He nodded again. "He came here with me from Duke Fabre's manor."
She mimicked his action, not certain what to say. She simply stood and watched the roses swaying in the light breeze. Half-formed thoughts drifted slowly through her mind. What they were about, even she did not know. Some were of the past—of the Fabre manor and her memories of Pere. Some were of the rose garden at the castle. She was trying to figure out what the other thoughts were when something soft brushed against her cheek.
For a moment, she thought he had kissed her, and she pulled away, startled, only to find that he had plucked one of the roses and now held it up by the side of her face.
"Beautiful…" he murmured.
Whether he was referring to her or the flower, she did not know. He did not speak again, but the tenderness in his eyes was more than enough. For a brief moment, she wished he would kiss her.
Remembering her realization from earlier in the day, however, she quickly dismissed the notion. She did not wish to offend him by stepping away, so instead, she carefully took rose from his hand and tucked it in her hair, securing the short, thornless stem under her headband.
"Thank you," she said, smiling.
He blinked a couple times, as though surprised that she had pulled away.
"You're…welcome," he said at last. He looked away towards the manor.
She was glad he had turned away; she was not certain she could bear to see the look in his eyes, whether it was sadness or anger. She could not bear to see him hurt in any way. For that reason, she had sworn that she would not make the inevitable more painful for him. She would maintain her distance regardless of how much she wanted to run up to him, throw her arms around him and kiss him. She would not let her feelings show. She would save him, even if it broke her heart in the process.
"Let's go," he said, his words breaking the silence that stretched between them.
She could only nod and follow him mutely towards the manor.
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There were no words to describe the manor as a whole. She could only take it in in pieces. The marble steps that led up to the door, the alabaster columns that supported the second story balcony, the ornately engraved wooden doors, the rows and rows of large windows—"beautiful" seemed too simple a word.
The doors opened into a large hall, in the center of which were twin staircases that spiraled to the second floor. The ceiling that arched above them was painted in various shades of blue, mimicking a daytime sky. A multi-tiered crystal chandelier hung from the center of the dome.
As her eyes swept the room, they lighted on a large portrait at the top of the stairs. She started towards it, slowly climbing the stairs towards the second story landing. It took her a moment to recognize the person in the picture. She turned to look at Guy who had moved to stand beside her.
How different he looked from the person in his picture; here, he seemed so vibrant, so alive. She found the person in the portrait cold and distant somehow…
He made a sound beside her. "Ah, I can't believe they went ahead and hung that thing!"
She gave a nervous laugh, unsure of what to say about the portrait. "Who?" she asked instead, figuring it would be the safest option.
"Elsi and the other maids," he said with a sigh. "I told them that I wanted the portrait burned. Do you think they some how misunderstood?" he asked with a smile.
She laughed again, genuinely this time. "Probably."
"When the Emperor insisted I have my portrait painted, I agreed. I had not idea it would turn out like this." He waved a hand dismissively at the thing.
"I feel terrible for saying this," she said sheepishly, "but it's hideous."
He nodded approvingly. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?"
"It doesn't look a thing like you."
"I say," he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "there is some resemblance. Consider the refined air, the noble profile, the—"
"—the frilly shirt…"
"—the frilly shirt…"
She laughed at the pouting frown that crossed his face. On any other noble, it would have seemed unsophisticated, but she couldn't help thinking that, on him, it was cute. Though she doubted that she would ever tell him that.
"I didn't choose what to wear," he said defensively.
"Let me guess," she said, "the Emperor…"
"The Emperor," he repeated.
She turned back to the picture, studying it carefully, until she suddenly burst into laughter.
"What?" he asked, startled.
"Your face. It's…"
He colored slightly and turned back to the portrait. "What?"
"You look like you're in agony."
The pout-frown returned. "Of course I was. I had to sit there for only Lorelei knows how long! It was…unbearable."
"Oh come now," she jibed, "it's not really all that bad."
"Have you ever had a portrait painted?"
"Of course."
"Recently?"
She shook her head. "No. I had one painted about…five years ago."
He seemed confused. "I thought you had one painted every year or so."
She looked away. "Normally," she said quietly, "that would be the case, but…"
He took several steps closer. "What is it?"
"Normally, I would—have my portrait painted every two years, but…now, that I am of age…it is traditional for my next portrait to be painted after I am married."
His face fell. "Your wedding picture," he said quietly.
She could only nod, uncertain of how to respond.
He glanced back towards a conspicuous blank space on the wall next to his picture. It was where the portrait of his wife would be hung when he married. For a moment, she allowed herself to envison her portrait hanging next to his. It would be nice.
A long silence stretched between them, until a maid called to them, telling them that dinner was ready to be served, if they wished to eat. She was not surprised to see that the servants in the manor addressed him casually yet respectfully. His staff were so at ease around him, that it was hard to believe that he was the lord of the manor. He treated them as he would treat anyone else—with respect.
She realized with a pang of regret that, before her journey, she would have been horrified to witness servants being so casual with any noble; to the old princess, it would have been a sign of utter disrespect. But here, there was no disrespect, only ease and friendliness. She wondered how the servants in the castle saw her.
"Don't worry," he said, as though reading her thoughts.
"About what?" she asked, defensively.
"Elsi."
She frowned. "Why would I worry?"
He smiled. "I can see it on your face. You're thinking about the servants in the castle, aren't you?"
The frown deepened.
"You don't have to worry. From what I heard in the kitchen, the servants are happy to work for you."
She chewed nervously on her lip. "That's not…"
She jumped when he placed a hand on her shoulder. "If it's..." he hesitated, "if it's about me, I…don't want you to worry about that either."
"But—!"
He shook his head. "You can't blame yourself for that."
She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and took a step back. "And who should I blame then? You?"
"If that will make you feel better."
She bit back a frustrated cry. "Stop it!"
The outburst startled him. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open.
"Stop it! Stop being so—so kind to me when I don't deserve it!"
"What makes you think you don't deserve kindness?" he asked quietly.
"How can you ask that after what I did to you?!"
His expression became unreadable. "You have never hurt me."
For some reason, the statement stung. If he meant what he said, that she had never hurt him, than maybe nothing else had ever passed between them. She could only remember hurting him. Maybe then, she had been wrong, and he had not felt anything for her. Maybe—
He replaced his hand on her shoulder; she did not pull away. "You never hurt me."
Why did he keep saying that?! Did he really want to hurt her that much?
Truthfully, she could not blame him if he did.
He took hold of her other shoulder, shaking her slightly but not harshly. "Listen to me, you never hurt me."
It was too much to take. "But I did!" she burst out. "Back in Baticul—!"
"You were a different person back then," he cut in, "you can't be blamed for that. You've changed since then. That's all there is to it."
"But—!"
He ran his hands along her shoulders as though smoothing her clothes. "If it will make you feel better then, I accept your apology."
She rubbed at her eyes and looked up at him. "Why are you so good to me?" she asked, not thinking about what she was asking.
He took her free hand in his. "Because you are you," he said at last.
She wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but if had been right, she had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to say. He stepped back from her but kept hold of her hand.
"You're probably hungry," he said after a moment of silence, "Elsi's got some food ready if you want to eat."
She nodded. "That would be nice."
"Come on then, the dining room's this way."
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Dinner was a wonderfully simple affair of soup, salad, and pasta. She was pleased to find that he had not opted to use the formal dining table but, instead, had a smaller table set up near the large bay window at the other end of the room.
They ate in a comfortable silence. She couldn't help thinking that this was a most pleasant way to eat a meal—much better than that dining table in the Kimlascan castle. Certainly, it was convenient when there were a large number of guests. But otherwise, it was just so…awkward. This was much better she decided. When she got back to Baticul—if she could go back, she thought with a pang—she would make the suggestion to her father.
"Do you eat like this everyday?" she asked when they had finished eating.
"I think simple is best."
She smiled. "It was…nice," she agreed. "It reminded me of when we were traveling, and we used to eat around a campfire."
"The good old days?"
"Something like that."
She looked out the window which overlooked a large courtyard. This was a pleasant place, made even better by the presence of its owner. She glanced over at him, surprised to notice that he was watching her. She felt the blood rise in her cheeks.
"Y-yes?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
After a moment, he shook his head slowly, a smile creeping onto his face. "Nothing," he said, "I was just thinking how nice it was to spend some time together."
The blush intensified. "Yes, yes it is."
He hesitated for a moment, as though considering something then added, "It would be nice if we could spend more time together like this."
"Yes," she said slowly, "I do miss the others."
There was a silence, then he said, "That's not what I meant."
She looked up him, eyes wide. He placed his hand on the tabletop so close to hers that she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
When he hesitated again, she felt her insides knot up painfully.
At last he said, "I want to spend time with you."
Her breath caught in her throat, and, suddenly, she became aware that her hand was inching towards his. His eyes held her gaze steadily and, had the table not stood inbetween them, she was certain he would have kissed her. What surprised her even more than this, however, was that he showed no sign of fear or regret as he had before.
This, she knew, was more dangerous than before. Even if he had not said it directly, she knew he wanted to spend time with her. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted something more.
She had not been certain this morning when she had talked with him at the docks, but now, she knew. It was a quiet kind of realization, nothing like what she had expected, and she wasn't at all certain how to respond. Instincitvely, she reached out and touched his hand lightly.
For a moment, he seemed startled, but then he twined his fingers in hers and pressed their palms together. It was a gesture full of longing and, somehow, far more intimate than even the kiss they had shared.
He knew. He had to. He knew how she felt about him, and he felt the same way she did. It was so terribly clear now. She tightened her grip on his hand, willing herself not to cry.
"I wish," she said at last, "that we had more time."
"So do I," he said. "So do I."
She blinked back tears. "Well," she said, trying to be cheerful, "at least we have the next three days. We can dance together. And maybe, if we dance together all three nights—"
His face fell.
"What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.
He looked away. "I—I'm sorry," he said, his voice trembling, "but, I won't be at the dance."
She tried to ignore the noise that roared in the back of her mind—tried to find some words to make everything make sense. "The first night, right? Well, then we can on the second night."
He shook his head again.
"Then the third?" she asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.
She thought she would faint when he shook his head again. Her body suddenly became unable to support her, and she slumped back weakly in the chair. A sharp coldness seized her, and darkness crept into edges of her vision.
He was by her side in a second, kneeling beside her, and had placed his hand on the side of her face. The warmth of his touch revived her, as though she drew strength from his proximity.
"I—I don't understand," she said after several long moments, "why won't you be at the dances? You're nobility now, so I don't—"
"It's not that," he said. "I was put in charge of security for all three nights."
"Security?!"
The idea was so ludicrous; she did not see how it could possibly make sense. Guard duty?
"Why?" she asked, confused.
He gave a long sigh. "There have been several threats from various groups—malcontents and such—and, in order to ensure the safety of the various nobles attending, the Emperor has agreed, in conjunction with the Malkuth military, to step up patrols."
"But, why you?"
"It was a special request from the Emperor himself. He said that he trusted me to do this."
Inordinate amounts of rage surged through her veins. She couldn't help but think that the Emperor had done this to ensure her cooperation. A recently emboldened part of her screamed that she didn't have to "cooperate" with the Emperor if she didn't want to. But still…Kimlasca….
"What about—the Colonel?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Jade is to act as the Emperor's personal bodyguard."
"Why couldn't he let you do that?" she demanded.
"I guess, he just trusts Jade more."
She hesitated for a moment. "So, I won't be able to see you at all?" she asked, feeling her hopes crumble.
The pain was evident in his voice. "No," he said at last.
She gripped his shoulder until her knuckles turned white. He flinched but said nothing. She did not know how or when, but he had pulled her into his arms. He held her while she cried. She did not know how long they sat there, but by the time she felt she could once again stand on her own, the neck of his shirt was damp with her tears.
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Author's Note:
So, umm, sorry if this part seems rushed or if there are about a million typos. I really didn't have much time to write this week because of an evil, evil term paper that I was forced to work on. So, I essentially wrote this chapter in about ten hours or so and posted it right away, so that didn't leave much time for proofreading. It was either I finish it tonight or wait to update until Monday night. There shouldn't be any really bad errors…at least I hope not.
Anyway, the next chapter should cover the first night of the party. I'm not certain when I'll get it out, but I'll try to post it by Monday at the latest. But, again, this paper is being evil, so I can't really guarantee anything. Nevertheless, I'll do my best to get it out on time. Thanks again!