Please Take Someone Else's Heart
Natarle was ready to leave for breakfast when she heard the knock on her door. Without the faintest idea who it might be, she asked, "Yes?"
"Good morning, Natarle. It's Murrue."
"Please come in," Natarle answered, curious of what had brought this guest to her room. Not that she did not welcome her—she was even a bit honoured by her visit—she was simply curious, for they were not close companions, and there was little she could offer the woman, especially at this time of the day.
The door opened, and the brunette appeared from behind it with a bright smile on her face; one as bright as the sun that hung in the morning sky, and Natarle was instantly warmed by it. "Good morning, Murrue. How can I help you?"
"I was wondering if you had a spare hairbrush I could borrow; mine broke, and I don't want to go downstairs with such untidy hair."
Natarle tilted her head a bit, surveying the other woman's brown wavy locks; not a hair seemed to be out of place, her appearance looking every bit of perfection despite her claim. But, she chastised herself, that she was not supposed to question another woman's standards—particularly one who was such a beautiful creature; always graceful, always kind—a flawless woman she could only watch and admire, and admit to herself that she would never become half as fine a person.
Her sudden self-awareness rendered her attempt in a polite smile into one that was instead accompanied with an uncomfortable frown. "Yes, I think I do have a brush I can lend you, though next time you could simply ask the servants to bring you one; you wouldn't have to come all the way to my room."
"Oh," Murrue let out a small gasp of comprehension, "I hope I'm not inconveniencing you by coming here, Natarle. I apologise if I-"
"No!" Natarle cut in with a fretful voice, swiftly aware of how her words have been misinterpreted. "I didn't mean that! I simply thought, you shouldn't have to bother yourself with such trivial things… You are our guest; we should be taking care of you better than this."
And then she smiled again one of those sweet, warm smiles. "You're already taking great care of us. It's only a very short distance from my room to yours anyway, so it's no bother."
She was being much too kind, and Natarle would not dare disapprove such kindness by arguing further, instead choosing to swallow her words of disagreement and led her guest inside. "I'll find something for you; do come in while you wait."
When Murrue entered the room, her expression became something between astonishment and admiration; a room like this was most likely not what she had expected. Natarle was not surprised; her bedroom, in itself, was a grand and tasteful lodging, just as the rest of Dominion Hall was, but apart from the essential furniture the room was rather bare and desperately lacked character, or in Stellar's words, her 'personal touch'—like her dress style, like herself, most unbefitting for place of such magnificence. She wondered briefly what Murrue's room looked like, though she hadn't need to think too hard to know that it must look much more inviting than hers.
Oddly, Murrue seemed to have genuine interest in her surroundings, her eyes taking a detailed scan of every inch of the room. While Natarle failed to understand why, she decided if that was what amused her guest, she was fine with it. She was still trying to locate a spare hairbrush for her—she had put away most of them as ever since she cut her hair short she hardly needed those things, and after such a long while she could not recall where she last left them—and then she heard a small delighted squeal, "This is so adorable! Is it yours?"
Natarle turned to see Murrue holding the bear—the one and only item in her room that could qualify for such a comment—and she found herself unable to fight the heat rapidly rising up her face, particularly with Murrue looking so expectantly at her. "It… it was a gift… from Fllay," she muttered cautiously, hoping that dropping in her sister's name would somewhat balance out the picture forming inside the woman's head, for she knew that 'adorableness' was something that did not sit well with the image others perceived of her.
"You must like it very much for you to keep it on your bedside table," Murrue assumed, the glimmer in her eyes hinted that she had it all figured out. It did not help that she seemed to notice, as she ruffled the bear's clumpy fur, that it looked much more worn than it should if it just sat there and was left untouched.
Was there a point in trying to explain herself? Natarle handed Murrue the hairbrush she found as she considered quickly, and as pointless as it sounded, she could only repeat her answer, "It was a gift."
Murrue giggled, but did not push further regarding the matter. She held the hairbrush up, and smiled satisfactorily, "Thank you, Natarle. You've been most helpful."
o-o-o
Judging by the knock on the library door, Arnold knew the visitor was not Natarle—whom he was expecting to arrive any moment now—but someone else. He knew, because neither of them ever knocked anymore; their paired presence in this room became so natural, that it was in fact stranger if either of them was absent, and they were comfortable enough that they need not knock to announce the other of their arrival. This, for Arnold, was a rather encouraging fact.
A curious face peered from behind the door, and he saw that it was Murrue. "I thought I'd find you here," she said, triumphant at her successful find.
"You were looking for me why?" Arnold asked, watching her come towards his with a bit of bounciness in her step. She seemed excited, and he wondered why it was not Mwu she went to instead of him. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and normally he'd be suspicious, except something told him he should not be—at least not this time.
"I know what you can get for Natarle."
So soon? He only sought for her help yesterday, and now she already has an answer? "How?" he asked, a bit skeptical.
"I was in her room this morning," she said, proud of her achievement.
Arnold's lips tugged upwards, unable to hide his satisfaction of the confirmation that her sources were reliable. "Go on," he pushed.
"How would you thank me?"
He thought for a moment. "You shall have my unwavering support should you find yourself in a situation with Mwu as your opposition. Any, and every, situation. For two weeks."
"Three."
"Deal."
Murrue looked at him, slightly stunned; if she had known he'd be so easy, she would definitely have bargained for more. But then how was she supposed to know? Arnold hardly ever gave in to extortion, so how was she to foresee that he would see differently in this matter? When she came to think about it, he usually took her side in their banters anyway, which meant she hardly gained much. But a deal was a deal. She made a small pout, acknowledging the agreement they had just made. Putting one hand on the table to support herself, she leaned down, their faces close, and placed her other hand near her mouth and whispered in pretended secrecy. "I guess she's too embarrassed to admit it, which really is quite endearing, but there is this bear that sits at her bedside table that she is very fond of, and she tries to hide behind the fact that it was a gift from Fllay."
"A bear?" Arnold queried.
"Yes, a bear. You do know what a bear is, don't you? Not the real ones, but those small and soft, fluffy playthings, and hers has a red bowtie around its neck…" Her last words died when she noticed that Arnold was no longer interested in what she had to say, instead looking into the distance behind her with an alertness that she instantly recognised. She turned around to see, standing at the open door, the person who had secured Arnold's undivided attention by merely entering into presence. She straightened herself and smiled as she greeted, "Hello, Natarle."
The raven-haired woman stood dumbstruck, staring at them as though it was too difficult to comprehend what she was seeing that she could not spare time and thought to respond to Murrue's simple greeting. An awkward moment passed until she reached her comprehension, evident by the widening of her eyes accompanied by a bright flush on cheeks, and a short, quiet, "Oh."
Whatever understanding she came to, it was hardly decipherable by the response she had given. "Natarle?" Arnold asked as he stood up, wanting to welcome her into the room before she were to elaborate.
But Natarle clearly thought differently. She took half a step back, her hands waving frantically in front of her, and there was an odd gloominess shadowing her beautiful violet eyes. "I'm sorry! I- I didn't…" She stammered, her focus darting erratically across to almost every corner of the room, except Murrue and him. "I didn't mean to intrude! I didn't realise you two… I, um, I am-… Oh, please don't mind me!"
"Wait!" Arnold called after her, but it was too late; she had already fled, the door closing behind her with a careless slam.
Murrue watched in confusion, and turned to her friend. "Why does she look so shocked?"
Arnold frowned but gave no reply; he too was considering the same question, and there was one queer explanation forming in his head—one that would be nothing but problematic if it was the correct explanation.
"What did she 'realise' about us?" Murrue continued to ask, "Was it something we've done that made her run like that?"
As soon as the last note left her question, a heavy sigh was heard. "No," Arnold murmured with so much frustration packed into that one little word. He had at first only suspected, but Murrue's innocent queries had clarified it for him that he had guessed correctly.
"What is it?" she pressed.
"Oh, no." He said dejectedly, taking a pause as if he needed time to confirm his thoughts again. When he decided to continue, the last word left his lips in slight distaste, "She thinks you and I are… together."
o-o-o
She chastised herself over and over again as she hurried down the corridor back towards her own room.
The tears that threatened to fall had blurred her vision, and she accidentally bumped into a corner. But she knew it was not really her inability to see clearly that caused the mishap; it was her inability to focus. She was running, but her mind had been left behind, elsewhere.
Where the gentle sunrays warmed the room, grazing the soft, creamy white hand laid on top of her favourite wooden table. Where one's brown silken curls fell onto the other's broad shoulders. Where gentle whispers were exchanged, and amused upon. Where the beauty of the scene, had she not interrupted, might have been immersed with slowly-heated passion.
It was just punishment; she deserved this—to witness the cold, hard truth with her very own eyes—for daring to dream of what she was not allowed. She had reminded herself so many, many times already, that love was a sentiment she could not afford—particularly towards those she treasured most.
She was in a way thankful for walking in on time to have seen it with her own eyes, that he already had someone—someone so impeccable, that there was simply no room for comparison, and thus no point in imagining what could have been, because 'could have' was never happening. If she had not seen this moment, she would not be feeling this heavy, unyielding pain in her chest that made her unable to breathe, and she would not have been aware that she had made such an unforgivable mistake.
The mistake of falling in love.
It was a wakening call that came in time, giving her sufficient warning before she fell too hard, too deep, too far into this empty dream. But all was good now; he was happy with Murrue, and with this knowledge, she would be able to keep her distance, and keep him safe.
And this was the greatest blessing she could give.
Author's note
This chapter marks the half-way point of the whole story. 24 more chapters to go!