This is a fic for Pidgie's Fic Exchange!
For: Notsk (Neisseria_Meningitidis)
THIS FIC WOULD NOT BE POSSIBLE WITHOUT THE HELP OF THECOLOURPURPLE123. HE IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE OUTLINING AND BRAINSTORMING BEHIND IT. WHILST I WROTE IT, HE DID EVERYTHING ELSE.
Please check out his works, he is beyond fantastic and a massive help to me. (Check footnotes for links)
It was almost amusing. In any other situation, the strongest man on the planet would have probably laughed.
With each step deeper into the barren halls, the Sword Saint was further reminded of his intimate failure. The fresh wounds littering his body were only a tiny fraction of the damage unleashed by the unholy armageddon of which Reinhard took part.
As impressive as it was to have pained him so, his aching bones could never hold a candle to the death which had befallen the innocent and the evil alike held within this fortress. He could no longer identify the source of the startling odor of cruel iron that flooded his senses, his own excessive bleeding being matched by the devastation of the world around him. Truly, the circumstances were now grave.
But that's why it was almost funny. For years he had dreamt of the day he could explore the world and see the sights forbidden to him and him alone. He hadn't ever imagined that he'd leave Lugnica any time soon, but now that he was free, all he could see was agony. Were it not for the deeply grim nature of the situation, it would have been comedic in an ironic sort of way. He had finally left the confines of his home nation and stepped out into the great unknown only to wreak havoc wherever he went. It was just another reason some small part of him would always see a monster in the mirror.
Still, the knight forged on through the unsettlingly familiar halls. Beige stonework formed the walls of a madhouse, yet reminded him so strongly of home that it made his skin crawl. Worse yet, the carpet, bathed in the savage colour of blood, could only remind him of true nobility.
Yet, there was nothing regal about it. It was a cruel mockery of his nation's highest ideals.
And yet… he was to blame. It was his own actions that led to much of the bloodshed and terror on display here. The Sword Saint - a renowned hero universally known for his strength and valor, for being near the peak of knighthood if not defining it himself - couldn't even stop and help a troubled boy when he needed it the most. Reinhard was a firm believer in the ideal that 'all actions have consequences', and it wasn't too far from his mind's truth that his lack of action was the ultimate malpractice.
Subaru once had caring eyes. Physical appearance aside, Reinhard understood that Natsuki Subaru was a kind boy. With a single conversation, he could tell that each action he took and each decision he made was done under the impression that he was protecting something. But now… his morals were just so misguided that even his positive intentions soured his every act.
Had Reinhard considered the vulnerability of the boy so obviously troubled at the start, multiple years of suffering could have been turned into something much more beautiful. Subaru had nowhere, no one, nothing he could truly rely on. Everyone around him was equally, if not more unstable than he was, so Reinhard couldn't help but feel responsible for it all.
It was his decision, or rather lack of a decision, that spun the fabric of this catastrophic mess, and so he would cling to his last threads of dignity as a knight and see his troubles through to the end, no matter how absurd his current circumstances were. He would have laughed, were it not so sad.
Reinhard had been submerged in various forms of intense heat for so long, he was almost getting used to it. An unfamiliar combination of roaring fires and the searing heat of his wounds was something the knight had now familiarised himself with, yet, as he pushed deeper into the halls of the tower reeking with sorrow, that was all torn down nearly instantaneously.
It was slowly growing cold. Not just cold, but freezing. The further he probed, the icier the wind grew. It was peculiar, why on earth was such a breeze present indoors, especially one of such intensity? Even in his tattered state it didn't lose much of a threat to him, yet it quite literally gave him chills. What was causing this…and why?
The once unforgiving heat he had been submerged in rapidly faded into grim cold, much like the intemperate weather outside the brickwork walls which once symbolised safety for a very broken man. No, he was no man, he was a boy. A tormented soul. His grandest mistake.
However, the Knight of Red couldn't lose himself in his thoughts for much longer, as glacial waves beamed at him in such a way that it was malicious. They were trying to push him away, they were guarding something and were doing everything they could to stop him dead.
With every step, the wind billowed harder. He was obviously getting closer and closer to its source, and so he steeled his will and charged ahead. Below him, the once luxuriously soft carpet was frozen solid, a firm crunch echoing out with each pace. His fingertips were numb and his eyes stung, yet the raging storm would not stop the man from atoning for his sins.
Then, a figure. She had bundled herself up on the floor, her face hidden in her knees. Vast amounts of mana soared from her body, and the air surrounding her was much colder than what a regular human could survive. She was the source, she was…
"Emilia-sama…I've found you, thank goodness you're safe," Reinhard gasped, reaching a caring hand out to her, hoping to help her up from the state she had got herself into.
As if it wasn't cold enough already, an explosive blast of frigid air blew out from the cowering girl's body - a clear display of her intentions.
Reinhard did not wish to come to blows with her once again, especially not after the conclusion of his short duel with her contracted spirit. He pleaded with her, unoffended by her frosty response, "Emilia-sama, let me help you out of this place. Let me take you somewhere safe-"
"NO! Leave me be! I wish to die here, Reinhard. I have nothing else to live for… no one else to live for…" Emilia scowled, the air around her continuing to drop in temperature rapidly.
Reinhard flinched, yet immediately realised what he must do. This was, once again, his mess - and he'd be damned if he didn't clean it up. He was the one who slew the beast of the end, as well as the man who befell the Purge King and his organization. He was almost definitely responsible for each and every one of this poor girl's woes, and it was his sworn duty to right those wrongs.
"Emilia-sama, please… if there's anything I can do for you, anything at all…"
The silver maiden paused her frosty onslaught for just a moment, her expression twisting into one of deep thought. However, her comfort was short lived, for the cruel winds slowly wound up again, and a pleading beg escaped her lips.
"Find Subaru. Please, you must find him."
Reinhard wasn't as stunned as he was apologetic. He should have known, why didn't he know. Yet, it was his duty. That was all he could do now. He had been the catalyst to so many hardships, so now he had to take the liberty of fixing his deep errors. That's all he could tell himself. Over and over again.
"He's a drowning man, one who had to grasp at straws to survive for so long as he did…I will find him. It's the least I can do now," Reinhard agreed, his tone pained and defeated. His guilt had compiled to the point where he ended up crushed, unable to steel himself and do what was truly right. He should simply ignore her and do what was right. He should take her by force and rescue her from this prison of a castle… yet he was simply unable to.
The cold grew harsher.
Leaving the broken former candidate for the throne behind in her weeping sorrow, Reinhard resumed his pursuit of redemption, beginning his search for the man who he wished he could have saved the most. A man disgraced at the height of his reign of terror, a man once golden-hearted who fell from grace faster than anyone could have ever anticipated.
Although, despite the rapidly increasing distance between himself and Emilia, Reinhard found it oddly concerning that the chill was only growing more aggressive. What on earth was going on with her, Reinhard didn't even want to think about it. He knew it was the pinnacle of cowardice to leave someone at their lowest alone, yet she only cared for Subaru. Ignoring her request would result in the catastrophe around them only worsening, so he had to bite his tongue and listen.
The Sword Saint was truly moving at an incredible speed, and soon found himself standing in the doorway to a room he was certain he was looking for. It's door was spilled open, the various deadbolts either opened or destroyed. There was obvious rage put into its final opening, and the room behind it would explain a fair bit.
Carved mahogany formed the wide arching desk sat contently in the centre of the rectangular room, each side of it closely guarded by towering bookshelves of the same luxuriant woods.
A majestic concoction of mahogany and ivory painted the walls and framed the bookcases. Any free space was adorned by grandiose paintings fitting of the finest sybarite. Each artwork was bordered with gold that finely twisted into floral shapes. Flaunting gold detailing accented the room, boldly displaying its owners lavish tastes and arrogance. It was even more of a cruelly regal atmosphere than that which the hallways held.
However, the one thing that caught Reinhard's eye the most was the startling presence of a wide open secret entrance, once concealed by a bookcase but now simply a hole in the wall. It was obviously torn open in a fit of panic and discomfort, and the man responsible was no doubt in Reinhard's mind.
"That's so like him…" he thought, pushing through the lavish office and into the almost stereotypical entrance. He hoped that whatever hidden exit or escape Subaru had used wouldn't be too irritating, yet as he shuffled through the narrow hallway and into the newly expanded room, a sight only describable as harrowing burned into his retinas.
There lay Natsuki Subaru, his lifeless body idle and cold. Despite having fallen on his back, his lifeless eyes bore right into Reinhard's soul, the ambition, hope, and care they once held many moons ago having been siphoned out. The once white skin of his neck had cruelly variegated, patches of deep purple and blue showing the cause of his savage death.
The Purge King had met his end, his windpipe crushed, his airways cut off - his life meeting a rather brutal end, quite fitting for the man behind so much brutality.
But that wasn't Natsuki Subaru. Reinhard knew the true Subaru. The one so selfless that he would sacrifice everything for those he loved. The one who would risk his life several times over against the likes of the Bowel Hunter for people he hardly knew.
But the tyrant that had been slain was the Purge King. The man, tainted by trauma and hardship so cruel it was Incomprehensible.
Reinhard knelt by the body of the boy he had truly failed, dutifully closing his eyelids for the final time. He wanted so badly to apologise, yet his quivering lips produced no words. His guilt and regret burned harder than ever before, yet as he sat drowning in his own sorrow, a sound he almost didn't expect struck his ears.
Chains. The sound of chains frantically rang out, snapping Reinhard from his pained trance, capturing his attention which he had solely placed on Subaru's lifeless corpse. The knight quickly shot up, and as he sharply turned his focus to his left, the image of a girl filled his eyes.
Her porcelain skin was alluringly gorgeous, not unlike the dangerously beautiful ice which imperceptibly sept into the room, her rosy hair enticingly long and captivating.
Her beauty was almost…sad. The life seemed almost drained out of her, her complexion much like a drowned man. However, her eyes told a different story. They were full of hatred, spite, and cruel anger. They shone differently, they had their own burning purpose, they kept her afloat. Unlike Subaru's, they showed her soul, they showed who she was, what she wanted, what she was feeling.
"R-Ram…san…?" he said, instantly recognising the maid from their encounter over three years prior.
Her lips moved, yet no words escaped. She was gravely weak, so much so that the icy gale overpowered her meek attempts to crock out her reply. Her weakness was deeply upsetting, the once crotchety and loud-mouthed maiden had been reduced to a wordless prisoner - her shackled hands and feet much like a slave.
Reinhard wordlessly snapped the chains which bound her to the concrete wall, and before she could struggle away, stole her up in his arms. Her frail and fragile frame was feather-like, so much so that it was beyond concerning. She felt so tiny in his grasp, so delicate and infirm… he never wanted to let her go.
His gaze fell from her face, which was slowly fading into the depths of sleep, to the boy lay still on the floor. He thought of Subaru and Emilia, how he had let them both down from the start. He let them fall into the deep pool known as suffering, and failed to pull them out before that suffering spiralled into a deep, blighted pain. So much pain had been caused because he failed to stop the two children who needed help the most from drowning.
With a swing of his leg, Reinhard swiftly decimated the concrete wall the girl in his arms was once chained to, stepping out into the intense light of the day outside. He knew exactly what he had to do. There was still someone he could save.
As fresh streaks of morning sunlight beamed through the expansive windows, striking cardial orbs fluttered open for the first time in many hours. The first sensation she registered in her foggy mind was the unfamiliar comfort of the floor beneath her, as well as the uncomfortable lack of dull grey in the walls around her.
As she was laid on her back, her vision was solely focused on the ceiling - not too unusual to most people, but as the poor girl had been chained with her back to the wall in a sitting position, it was deeply unusual for her to be as she was now. As she waited for her thoughts to gather, a process which took an increasingly concerning amount of time each morning, she studied the intricacies of the ceiling.
Deep reds and golds were woven into the white ceiling like vines, intertwining with each other to form what appeared to be a spectacular crest. The perspicacious intricacies of the alluring patterns were in stark contrast to the leaden gray of her chamber, combined with her relatively weak state of consciousness, caused Ram to question her own state of mind. Was she truly conscious? Her eyes remained transfixed to the ceiling, her mind in knots trying to figure out what was actually happening?
She was comfortable for the first time in many years.
The longer she stared, the more confused she became. The spellbinding colours slowly began to twist and tangle together, each shade and hue dancing around, teasing her fatigued mind even more. Yet, slowly, she began to become more and more aware of not her surroundings - they were still weird and incomprehensible - but her own body.
Each and every muscle in her body was sore, really sore, but this soreness was truly unfamiliar. Her usual mana injections were often hastily and sloppily poured in, and left her sore in a crude and genuinely painful way. It was surprising that such a brutal mechanism kept her alive for so long.
This was nothing like that, however. The sensation she felt throughout her body was not the same, in fact it was so dissimilar that she struggled to even call them both soreness. It was much like the difference between a knee graze and a lower leg amputation. This was the feeling of endorphin-filled satisfaction, the satisfaction of having a healed and healthy body despite the lingering pain. She knew that her bones were still creaky, yet they were not at risk of crumbling into dust anymore. She knew her muscles were fatigued and tight, yet they no longer threatened to snap and tear with the slightest movement.
Ram had always been in varying severities of pain over the past three years, yet the pain she felt now was comfortable in a beautifully odd way. It was a pain so refreshing, so fear-free, that her mind was truly eased.
With this, her mind started clearing, the fog of uncertainty slowly being blown away. She raised her neck, something she often struggled to do because of her dilapidated condition, yet even with the fresh and newfound strength she was still very weak - her head quickly plopping back down onto what felt like a pillow beneath her. Once again, her vision was filled with the peculiar patterning of the ceiling. It really was strange, the shapes and lines meshed in such a way that it was mesmerising.
As she closed her eyes gently, Ram inhaled a deep breath. Cool, crisp air rushed through her now-clear nostrils and into her hungry airways. God did it burn, her windpipe and lungs screaming in wonderful agony, each alveolus roaring in its own unique pain. The air licked through her insides, her mind registering muscles that normal people would never feel, would never think about. Ram was always in too great a pain to sense them distinctly, yet as she was now - laid on her back in an unfamiliar environment - was spectacularly liberating.
As she expelled the air from her lungs, her now luscious and life-filled lips curled into a soft, pretty smile. Her lips could only be described as dead and lifeless before, blue and dry - one of the many visual cues that she was gravely unwell. The former maid struggled immensely to shift herself into a seated position, each and every bone in her body creaking as her pain was still immense, yet she somehow managed. Her knees and hips were giving the most trouble, but she knew the pain was nothing serious. It was nothing but aches, as her body had been well and truly healed. For the first time in many many moons, her body was not frail nor famished, she could feel, see, and sense that she was…back to normal.
As she always did upon awakening, she carefully rubbed the sleep from her eyes, noticing her nails were trim and tidy - longer than usual, and perfectly clean. This was odd, since her scratching and clawing at the concrete walls had left her fingertips cruelly mangled - hopes of pretty manicures long gone for the girl just the day before. That was not the case anymore, rather, it was quite amusing. Her nails now looked better than they did as Roswaal's maid.
Her gaze lazily fell to the foot of what she now made out as a rather extravagant bed, much like the ones found in the main bedrooms in the Mather's Mansion. Pure white sheets and deep mahogany furniture showed the class and wealth behind their owner, the intricate wood carvings spread generously across the bed frame identical to those adorning the ceiling.
Ram smirked. What on earth was happening, had Barusu truly lost it again after he already lost the plot the first time? Regardless, the place she was now was obviously not Pandemonium. She felt safe and secure. Sure, she was never really at risk of dying before, as her captor would have done anything to keep her heart beating, yet this was different. She felt warm, like an angel had spread its wings around her.
But once more, she was stunned still when she noticed what had been placed by her feet.
A bouquet of flowers, pure white. Each flower was the same, the fourwing evening primrose, a flower found commonly within the Mathers' household.
'How ironic,' Ram thought as she carefully reached out to retrieve them, not wanting to put her body under too much stress still.
They were truly gorgeous flowers, clearly gifted by someone with good taste. They had been freshly picked, as the petals were free of discolouration. With care not to damage the delicate stalks, she took one of the flowers between her fingertips - the stark whiteness sending her thoughts spiralling.
She thought not of the iconic make-up of her beloved master, the man she believed in so dearly that she would have done quite literally anything for his well-being.
She thought not of the beautifully tailored garments the candidate for the throne, that said master backed, donned each day, the exact design of her purple and white clothing still lingering in her mind.
No, she thought instead of something much darker.
She thought of pure-white snow. She thought of the ground littered with the corpses of beasts. She thought of a weak man, a mere boy over her, a stone in hand. She thought of her promise that day.
"I swear, I will kill you."
In anger, Ram clamped her fist shut, crushing the brickle flower within her grasp. It was uncannily delicate, every part of the cursed thing filling her with a deep, unexplainable discomfort.
With a deep sigh, she flicked the destroyed florets and stalk onto the immaculate crimson carpet gracing the floor. She had always been the one cleaning up such acts of rudeness, so her display of disrespect felt almost liberating.
"It's a shame, really. It's said that these blooms grow more beautiful as they age," a soft, kind voice spoke out unexpectedly, "I'd have loved to see how it matured."
Ram snapped her head towards the sound, to find a man of total grace and charisma stood smiling at the door. Reinhard van Astrea, this generation's Sword Saint.
"Of course, there are more in the bouquet and even more in the gardens, but losing just one is a tragedy isn't it?"
"Sword Saint…?" Ram muttered, a blank stare engraved into her expression, her brain finally beginning to process and understand her surroundings. Her voice was hoarse and croaky, her vocal cords having gone unused for a long while.
"It's a pleasure to see you awake, Ram-san," Reinhard smiled warmly, "you're looking as beautiful as always, the colour of life has bled back into you,"
There was a moment of stark silence, but you could see in her expression that Ram was finally processing things. However, it was much like a switch when she finally understood just what had happened.
"Barusu…is dead? Wait…am I…free?"
Reinhard simply retained his warm smile, nodding in confirmation at the disbelief-stricken Ram. However, much to his surprise, the bedsheets were almost immediately tossed away, and the pink-haired maiden was rather quickly stumbling towards him. She was quite obviously extremely weak still, yet the startling flash of determination and purpose drove her forward.
However, right as she reached him, her knees faltered, only saved by the fast moving knight. He steadied her in his arms, yet rather astonishingly, she managed to regain her balance and stand up by herself again.
"Ram-san, you should not be so quick to move as you are still recov-"
"Reinhard-sama," the girl started, cutting his considerate words off abruptly, "Ram is eternally grateful for everything you have done for her, but she has something she needs to do…I have someone I need to see,"
His white-gloved hand still remained firmly around her bicep, his Divine Protection of Empathy scribing the amalgamation of determination and suppressed sadness coming from the girl.
With a stressed breath, Reinhard locked his own eyes with hers, admitting:
"Ram-san, please take a seat again for just one moment. I have some…news…it'd be good for you to know before you try anything too reckless,"
Ram hesitated for a moment, the concern deep within his glare almost alarming, yet she would not falter. She had been restricted for so long that hesitation was not an option. Yanking her arm from his gentle grasp, she stumbled backwards to create separation between them - her tired legs failing to fully support her body weight.
Her gaze was deadly. Anyone but the Sword Saint would have been frozen silent, her presence intimidating regardless of the fact that she was lent on the chest of drawers. Her determination was evident and steeled. She would not budge.
Recognising this, Reinhard sighed in understanding. He'd have to do it, wouldn't he?
With a deep breath, the noble Sword Saint bowed deeply:
"Margrave Roswaal L. Mathers, Court Mage of the Dragon Kingdom of Lugnica, is dead."
A harrowing silence shook the room, the deep red eyes of the pink-haired maiden widening in a grim concoction of shock and disbelief. Her face showed not just grief, but quite literally projected the physical disgust she felt at Reinhard's sorrowful announcement.
"His body has not been found. An unknown party somehow managed to assassinate him around a year ago. His mansion and its grounds were reduced to ashes…each member of his staff presumed dead."
Reinhard's bow remained deep, his heart crying for the poor girl before him. Why must the world be so cruel? Why must the most wonderful people suffer the most?
"Ram-san…your loss is one I cannot dare begin to relate to. I can only imagine how immense the pain you are feeling is at this moment," Reinhard said, his hands gripping the backs of his pristine white trousers in frustration, "If you wish to hold resentment or anger towards anyone, I beg it be m-"
Crack
A sharp, blunt sound echoed throughout the room, instantly cutting off the Sword Saint's self-deprecating words. She had slapped him, hard enough that he truly felt each and every emotion behind it.
"You…"
Ram began to speak, her tone spiteful and littered with seething anger. Her eyes were so full of warmth and emotion, and every passing moment increased the threat of honest tears leaking from them. They were fixated on the startled Sword Saint's face, yet that same face was so deep in sorrow that she could only realise one fact.
"He isn't lying."
Closing her eyes, the name of one man wafted through her mind.
"Roswaal-sama…".
To say her grief was immense would be a shocking understatement, yet within only a moment said grief was slowly twisting and shaping into something much more powerful.
Once more, red orbs fluttered open, their shining determination showing beautifully. Her plump lips formed into a honest smile, speaking only a few confident words.
"Reinhard-sama, could Ram borrow a ground dragon? There's still someone I need to see."
Tired legs pushed on.
Low crunches rang out periodically, the dense forest floor lacking in clear space for the determined maiden to walk. She had long abandoned the ground dragon the Astrea household had lent her, the woodlands around her becoming so overgrown and dense that the noble mount couldn't push on any further.
In regular circumstances, Ram wouldn't have been as concerned as she currently was, yet the situation was far too discomforting for her to rest easy. Because of this, the brave girl dutifully ignored the searing pain shooting up her legs, pushing harder. She was almost moving without thought, the path she was walking one she had traversed well over a hundred times.
She needn't even think. Every morsel of focus was subconsciously poured into her each and every action, even if she was in no genuine danger. However, the unsettling lack of the Ryuzu clones was something she really struggled to avoid thinking about.
As she dragged further into the overgrowth, Ram noticed the burden of her long, flowing pink hair for the first time. It was such a peculiar sensation, for her hair had been above shoulder length her entire life. Even if it was just for a moment, Ram had found a good distraction, desperately trying her best to keep her quite simply gorgeous hair from getting filthy.
Surprisingly, just as she figured out that pulling her locks over her shoulder allows her to keep it from the floor, Ram had broken out of the thick foliage and out into the open.
However, it was…not what she had expected. Everything appeared to still be where it was the last time she had visited the sanctuary, although even if it was never in the best state of repair in the first place, everything was…depressing.
Scaling vines crawled and scampered up the stone walls, whilst towering, intimidating weeds grew from every crevice of every building - standing or not. The sight was painful, to see houses once encompassing previous life collapsing in on themselves. Any scrap of exposed wood had long rotten away, much like the once somewhat noticeable spirit and atmosphere this small community held.
However, the one thing which struck Ram the hardest was one ruin in particular. A pile of rubble sat meekly where Ryuzu Shima's house once stood. A once comfortable home, brimming with life and character, had been reduced to bricks and stones. Through the rubble grew numerous wildflowers, the striking hue of bright yellow stood out the most.
Hundreds of yellow flowers shone brilliantly, their small petals much like the flowers Reinhard had left at the foot of her bed, albeit not as familiar to Ram. As droplets of rain began to fall, which gradually grew stronger and heavier, Ram felt a deep pang within her heart.
"Yellow. Strong yellow."
Without a second to waste, Ram swung herself around, breaking into a sprint in the opposite direction to the rubble ruins.
There was only one place left to check.
As Ram sung her prayers, a droplet of water struck the brilliant yellow of a common evening primrose petal. Simultaneously, a pained tear ran down the oni girl's cheek.
It wasn't so much a room as it was a hall, but either way, it was positively monstrous. It was grand, resplendent in its furnishings - each and every part of it felt regal to the point of excessiveness.
The room Itself was not too dissimilar to a large church hall, a great stage at the far end and large, dominating stained glass windows a noticeable presence. However, it was the beauty within these things which painted the extravagance in its opulent colours.
Each of the colossal windows depicted the former rulers of Lugnica in kaleidoscopic colors, each fine detail the work of master glazier. Crests, emblems, and badges from throughout the kingdom found themselves eternalised within the vivid glasswork, glowing brightly as to show their pride and nobility.
However the true beauty was upon the grand stage in the middle of the back end of the hall. The stage itself was nothing spectacular, yet upon it sat the seat of the most important person in the kingdom. A seat so noble and refined that with just a passing glance one instantly knows not just its purpose, but it's magnitude.
Upon the stage sat the throne of Lugnica, basking in its majesty, enjoying its total view of the entire room. It's golden body was endowed with rich purples, the crest of the kingdom boldly carved into either side. It was an admittedly stereotypical 'throne' yet the lady sat upon it was the furthest thing from stereotypical, especially within this country.
Burning orange hair crowned her head, her voluptuous body sprawled lazily in her royal seat. Her garments oozed with regality and class, the fiery red cloth so obnoxious and bold that it was obvious she was in charge.
It was clear she was a lady of class, a noble long before she was crowned king. Her spotless white skin radiated elegance, much as her flowing hair - neatly braided at the front - was unbelievably silky and shiny. Her beauty was undeniable, not even in a purely physical sense, but her aura and atmosphere was simply gorgeous. She was a powerful, dangerous lady - and she knew it.
At present, her eyes were shut in deep thought. Her mind was processing some rather critical information that Reinhard, who had just finished his report on the state of Pandemonium and what had just occurred, produced.
"And what of the girl?"
Her eyes remained closed, yet her question was one Reinhard had been waiting for ever since he mentioned her.
"She left for the ruined demi-human Sanctuary located within the Mathers domain this morning, my Queen," Reinhard dutifully explained, his mind instantly shooting to the image of her pained face when he dropped the news of her master's death.
"Hasn't that dump been abandoned for months now? Mineself cannot fathom what business that child has in such a desolate place,"
"She left in a hugely distressed state, she was likely searching for a drop of familiarity in her life again,"
The King of Lugnica opened her eyes, focusing her attention on the kneeled knight before her.
"She requested a ground dragon, she only told the stable hand where she headed, but we don't know why she's so desperate to head there. We gave her our finest, Priscilla-sama," Reinhard admitted, slowly realising just how foolish he was to give in to Ram's demands so easily.
Priscilla popped her fan open with an elegant, smooth flick of her wrist, bringing it up to her face.
"You let her run away that easily?" the Queen asked, her expression covered by her fan, and the neutral yet questioning tone of her voice rather ambiguous. Her eyes remained transfixed on the Sword Saint, who's expression remained firmly neutral. Even when everyone else in the throne room began to crumble under the crushing pressure the Queen was radiating, he stood firm.
It was in situations like this that the servants surrounding the Queen wished Aldebaran was present. He knew how to handle his lady.
Just as she had opened it, Priscilla snapped her fan shut, before returning it to its home between her enormous breasts. She paused, then stood up from her seat, rejecting the help her servants offered her and approaching the still-kneeling Sword Saint.
"Mineself has critical matters of state to attend to. The unamusing affairs of a single commoner are not worth my time."
Reinhard's mouth remained firmly shut. He knew instantly that she was not finished speaking, and he had learned the consequences of interrupting her the hard way.
"Sword Saint, go make yourself useful and keep watch of the commoner girl. Mineself believes her to be of use," the Queen commanded, moving past Reinhard and towards the small door at the side of the room. "Find her, and ensure her safety."
Without another glance or word, Priscilla walked away. Her mind was made up, her business was a done deal.
"Yes, Priscilla-sama."
Fin.
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