Delarn worked in the Falador park, raking and tearing up the weeds in the gardens, impatiently planting the seeds for new flowers that she would impatiently wait to grow so that they may be cut and sent to any high official that may have a wife that may want them, just to do this all over again. These were the tasks that she was given, and she was always being watched by someone. She didn't always see them, but she always knew they were there, and she never, never, was allowed to work in a place where she might find a way over that imposing wall, back into the chaos of her chosen path.

She wasn't treated badly, per se, but she felt cramped and the walls make her feel claustrophobic in a way she wasn't used to. She could be deep in the tunnels under Varrock with an uncountable amount of Zamorakians rushing past and jostling her, but she couldn't stand the feeling those walls imposed. This city said that she would never escape, where the tunnel said that if she just kept moving and didn't let herself be dragged under she would eventually reach the end. Perhaps if she kept her good behavior, and kept doing her best at the jobs they gave her, she would be allowed to leave, but there was problem with that.

For weeks now she noticed how the other pages acted around Colsen. They mocked and belittled him every chance they could get, and they would grow dormant whenever there was someone around that might say something. She wondered why the person watching her wouldn't do something, but she had a feeling that they weren't allowed to reveal themselves unless dealing with Delarn directly. This was too small of a reason to expose themselves, rather.

At first, for that reason, she turned a blind eye and kept to her work, but the more she would see them tormenting him, the more her skin would burn up. These boys were bigger and stronger than him, and all he wanted was to learn medicine and read his books. He had been sitting in the garden that day, reading his books, in fact, when she noticed them approaching. They were predictable in how they approached, and she had seen it enough times. She scanned the tool she had with her and a wicked grin spread across her lips.

By the time they came around the corner Delarn was back to her weeding, obscure, discreet, and they saw only Colsen. The biggest boy, the leader of the group, stepped forward and yelled at him, "Hey, pipsqueak! What do you think you're doing? Think you can just skip out on morning exercises?"

Colsen was already wrapping up his books so they wouldn't touch them, at the very least wouldn't do as much damage to them, saying, "I finished earlier than you. I had to get up early." This was true. He was responsible for making sure that Delarn got her breakfast before she had to take care of her chores for the day.

"You getting privileges now for taking care of that criminal?" Another of them sneered. "We all know what you're doing."

"She's not," he answered, trying to keep his eyes off where Delarn was working. She could feel him glancing over, but as far as she knew they didn't actually know what she looked like or that she was the same person being referred to.

"I knew a weasel like that would say that," he replied, marching up to him, oozing menace. One of the boys, like they always did, went to the nearby apple tree and reached to take one that had fallen from the branches. Delarn held her breath.

The next moment the boy screamed in surprise as he stepped into her trap, a rope closing around his ankles and dragging him into the tree. The other boy took off in fright, his foot catching on an easily disguised divot before he stopped on a few poles that sent him spiraling into the pond. Delarn knew he was the most skittish of the three and would be frightened by his fellow getting caught.
The leader turned and Delarn regretted that she couldn't see the look on his face. He then turned back to Colsen. "What did you do? Do you think this is funny? I'm going to show you something funny."

"No," Colsen said, glancing at Delarn again. "I don't know what happened! I swear I have no idea." He had caught signs of her strange behavior, but thought nothing of it until he saw the results. He stood quickly at the boy closed in on him, but his expression was suddenly blank when he stepped on a rake and it hit the boy in the face.

The moment it hit him in the face it was obvious he was enraged, throwing it away from him angrily, but his angry movement trigger another, and that one hit him in the side. This went on for a while until the old man, the one that said he would take care of Delarn in exchange for her good behavior, grabbed the boy's elbow. The boy turned to swing at him, but stopped dead when he saw who it was.

"Sorry sir!" He cried out, horrified.

"Indeed," he replied, leading him away from the mess and turning back to Colsen. He looked scared as well. "You're not in trouble, lad. Just pick these up. Delarn."

She stiffened and murmured, "Yes sir?"

"Come along, lass," he told her, and she nodded jerkily, standing and starting to gather her gardening supplies, but he admonished her. "No, Delarn. That's what I told Colsen to do. You just come along."

"Yes sir," she answered again, following along. The old man paused for a moment and took his bow off his back long enough to nock an arrow and send it flying. It hit the rope that held the boy that was still screaming for help, still hanging from the tree, and he fell in a heap. The old man had his bow back on his back and was walking again before the boy could straighten himself out, and Delarn followed speechlessly.

In his office he motioned for her to take a seat as he closed and locked the door, leaving them alone and asked her, as he went to sit on the other side, "You know why I called you here, don't you?"

"I shouldn't have done that to those boys. I should have told someone about what was happening," she answered.

"Do you believe what you did was right?" He replied primly.

"Well, I think so," she answered, squirming in her seat. "I think that it's not fair how those boys treat him."

"Even if he's breaking the norm in his actions, interrupting the flow of the training for the rest of them?" He answered.

"What?"
"Miss Delarn," he told her gently. "There are some instances in which it's better to allow events to take their course. Some situations require a bit of hammering out for order to be met, and these instances need to be respected."

"But that's not fair!" She replied, her eyes widening.

"I know you think you know what's best, but trust me. Before long you'll see it for yourself," he answered, smiling gently. "Sometimes you've got to stand back and watch before any set actions should be taken, and sometimes in the interest of balance it's better to let things take their course. Understand?"

She felt something rising her in stomach, but she didn't know what it was, and so she sat silently and nodded and he smiled, standing and patting her head comfortingly. "Now why don't you head back to your room? There will be plenty of time for you to finish your work tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," she answered as he ushered her out of his office, back to her room, back to a troubled sleep.

The afternoon of the next day she found herself in the pub, taking stock. One of the perks of being a White Knight was a discounted cost on the drinks in that bar, the Rising Sun. She had a feeling she was given this task to keep her out of the garden, out of sight of it. It bothered her for a bit, but after a moment the task at hand became more important to her, and she could overhear various patrons talking, and so she couldn't help but listen in from time to time. There was one particular instance in which one voice in the bar rose above the rest.

"When I find her alone I'm going to make her pay," the man growled, and she peeked over just long enough to see that it was the same knight that had tried to question her when she was first brought here. "No one makes a fool out of my boy."

"She's practically a slave," his comrade answered. "Just shut up about her. After a few more years here and she'll be nothing but a dirty rag and your son will be ordering her around himself. Who knows, he might even have her."

"If she comes anywhere near him I'll wring her neck myself," he growled, downing what sounded like his fifth pint to her ears. "She'll have it coming to her."

"Wolf, are you checking your numbers?" The barkeep was peeking over her shoulder, and at the mention of her moniker it not only brought her back to the task at hand, but brought the attention of the knights. She could hear the man standing, his armor creaking—would she have to oil that armor for him at some point?

Still, she paused, she took a breath and looked at the numbers, murmuring them one by one until the moment when the man was standing over her, on the other side of the bar, and there was an explosion of motion as he started cursing and slurring at her, reaching for her angrily. She couldn't hear what he was saying, couldn't make it out over the rushing sound of her heart beating. She slipped from where she was jabbed against the bottles and barrels like a frightened animal just as the bartender tried to seize him, to hold him back. She heard the knight punch the man with a deafening crack.

He was fine. She recalled he was fine. She didn't know at the time, but he was.

She tried to get to the door, tried to escape as he wheeled around, but his friends grabbed at her arms and she barely managed to wretch herself free before he was upon her, punching her heavily in the back before she could dart away. She hit the ground hard and scrambled under a nearby table, and he leaned down to follow her, but she kicked him hard in the face causing him to pull back angrily, hitting his head on the table. She finally managed to scratch her way to the door, taking a deep breath once she made it out as if emerging from deep water. The elderly knight was standing there, however, waiting for her, his arms crossed and his expression grim.

She froze, seeing his mouth pursed in disapproval, and she cried out desperately, "It wasn't my fault!"

"What did we just get finished talking about?" He asked, his tone icy.

"Was I supposed to let him beat me?" She cried, holding her shoulder, the center of her back pulsing painfully.

"Delarn," he replied sternly and she grew silent, her face draining of expression, of anger, of anything at all as she followed him back to the castle. It wasn't long before she found herself being sent back to her room.