1st of November, M.E. 753

There was either a chill in the air today or I am catching cold. Quite likely the later, as my head feels as if an iron giant were trying to push its way out, and I also feel a pang in my throat as if I've swallowed a handful of cactuar needles.

When I went in for the meeting today, I found another hot liquid awaiting me—I was surprised to find it to be herbal tea of some kind. I felt much better for about two hours after drinking it. Alas, it didn't last. It helped me through the meeting, but the effects quickly died away afterwards. At least it helped me through the most important portion of my day's events.

I do hope to clear this by tomorrow. I have an extraordinarily busy day.

2nd of November, M.E. 753

The illness hasn't cleared. It has, in fact, gotten worse.

6th of November, M.E. 753

It is difficult to believe nearly a week has gone by. I am a generally healthy person. I can't imagine for the life of me how I took ill. Uncle says it is, in part, my tenuous schedule. He again insisted I needed an assistant. I was never one to argue with the wisdom of age. Still, procuring one will be onerous. I haven't a clue who would be equal to the task.

8th of November, M.E. 753

Peculiar—no, rather astonishing—turn of events. It seems while I was ill, Miss Claren felt I might somehow miss a matter of import. She spoke with my Uncle, who spoke to Counselor Amicitia, who in turn spoke to His Majesty. She was granted permission to take notes in my absence, albeit away from the official table.

Imagine my surprise when I found her standing at my door with a stack of paperwork. When she explained, I could think of nothing except to thank her. My astonishment peaked, however, when I reviewed the documents. She hadn't simply jotted notes—scrawling freehand left for me to interpret as I could. No; there were carefully-made reports and spreadsheets, timelines, data, and footnotes. All subject matters were divided and neatly labeled. I can't imagine when she found time to do such a thing.

I would document more here, were I not so flabbergasted…

10th of November, M.E. 753

I thanked the crownskeep maid that comes and checks on my room every day. She certainly doesn't need to; Unlike Noct, I can keep up with my surroundings very well. Nevertheless, she did prove indispensable for the duration of my illness. I told her as much: I thanked her for the medicine and the herbal tea that seemed to soothe far better than any pharmaceutical concoction. She then informed me the tea was brought to me every day by my Uncle.

I checked in with my Uncle, then, and he mentioned to me that Aleya brought it to him every morning, inquiring of my health.

That is not the entirety of the story, of course. I found she also was the one responsible for the hot Ebony that is left on my desk every morning.

Perhaps I would be grateful, were it not so concerning. I scarcely know her. Perhaps she feels badly for stamping my foot in the library so many months ago, and is trying to make it up to me in her own way. Perhaps she is grateful I intervened when she was being harassed by the Glaive. And though I hope not, there is a chance her motivations might be a bit more self-serving. It could be an attempt to draw closer to the Crown.

I shall have to keep a wary eye on her. It may be best to befriend the lady; I shall determine her intentions quickly enough.

13th of November, M.E. 753

Noct was again found sulking today. And again, a visit from Umbra. I do hope our Oracle can divine herself into her own notebook soon, before our dark prince goes mad with loneliness. I've never met her before, but for Noct to remember her for so long from a time when he was much younger…Well, she must be quite the remarkable young lady.

I saw Aleya Claren leave the kitchens today, just as I entered. I didn't have a chance to speak with her, as she was exiting at one aperture and I was entering from the other. There's been no more offerings waiting for me over the last few days.

This woman is an enigma I certainly cannot fathom. She wouldn't concern me as much if she could be a bit more transparent.

Ebony Tarte:

Cleigne Wheat Birdbeast Egg Butter Vanilla Cocoa Ebony Espresso Sheep Milk

Sprig of mint

21st of November, M.E. 753

I've tried to befriend Miss Claren, to get to know her better. Unfortunately, she seems to be as busy as I. I'm told by my uncle that she volunteers when others are out—often meaning she works double or overnight shifts. As of yesterday, I noticed she is also working on keeping the training room stocked and kept.

Speaking of training, I've my first lesson with Commander Yore in a little over a week. I'm looking forward to it. Though I suspect training to be phenomenally brutal—as is his rumored style—I am open to a challenge. Should Noct need me, I shall be not only his hand, but the blade within it. I'll never let any harm come to Noctis. If I am to be able to hold true to that standard, I must push myself beyond my limits.

Uncle tried to talk me out of it; He swears Yore is not the best instructor for me. Curious—he's never given advice on my studies or training before. I'm sure he's just concerned for my safety, as Yore is considered a master opponent.

I suppose we shall test that theory very soon.

30th of November, M.E. 753

Yesterday did NOT go as I expected. Where to begin?

Yore is quite the formidable foe. I expected skill, tactical genius, speed and cunning. I suppose I was taken aback by the FURY in his attack. It was as if he were truly trying to maim me. I've always been somewhat comforted by the fact that my fellow Crownsguard members could give me a proper beating—if, of course, they managed it—but would also keep a wary eye on the limitations of my health; Mindful of my physical safety. Yore is not such a man. 'In battle,' he says, 'your foe will cry for your blood. How will you ever win in a true battle if you've never tasted it?'

My skill is my agility. While Gladio may be powerful, Noct a master of weapons, Cor immortal, and Prompto very lucky, I am agile. I am quick. Those skills have earned me much praise, and I take pride in them. Rightfully so, as they have saved me many times in combat. They did not save me today.

I scarcely knew what was happening. I only remembered trying to evade, and so often failing. After a particularly breath-stopping blow to the ribs, I truly felt as if I saw stars, and I couldn't seem to stand. Air was elusive. And yet, he demanded MORE. 'More,' he told me, 'Your fancy classes will never protect the Prince. Only your sword—only your steel—can best your enemies. Pick up your steel, boy.'

Thankfully, it wasn't real steel. But I digress.

A voice sounded from the corner, and I recognized it immediately. "Stop!" She cried in a pleading tone. When I turned to lay eyes on her, I could see her wringing at a towel in her arms, a look of utter fear on her features.

Yes, it was indeed Aleya. If I hadn't been distracted before, I certainly was, now. After all, no one wants to be bested in battle, especially in front of an attractive young lady.

Master Yore reprimanded her, of course, annoyed at her interference. He began the lesson anew. It was only a few more moments—only a space of a few half seconds—and I knew I would be defeated. I simply could no longer summon the energy to rally against his onslaught of attacks. And then, it happened:

[FLASHBACK]

Ignis reeled at the pain that suddenly plagued the very center of his face, radiating into white-hot streaks of misery across his forehead and cheekbones. He felt momentarily blinded. He staggered, losing all sense of space and depth.

"Ignis!" He heard her scream. He let out a gasp and a slight groan. Nausea hit him hard. He trembled, hands briefly clutching his knees to regain his balance. And after what felt like an eternity—but only a few moments—he opened his eyes, only to see Aleya running towards him. She was running towards him, but also towards the swordmaster who prepared for his next strike.

Wounded as he was, he acted on instinct. He could not allow harm to come to an innocent bystander. "Aleya, no!" He dove for her; Closed the short distance between them. He felt their bodies collide with an unpleasant slam, but he had no time for any less. He wrapped his arms around her, cradled her head against his chest, and pivoted on his hip, offering his back to Yore's weapon. It was already arcing with extreme gravity downward to the pair. Ignis flinched and stiffened, ready for the blow.

Surprisingly, it never landed. To his astonishment, he found Yore had stopped only a few centimeters short of making contact with his shoulder and spine. Before Ignis could turn and address his trainer, Aleya pushed Ignis away from her and shouted at the aggressor, "What do you think you are doing?" She kept a soft grip on Ignis' left forearm, willing him to stay within her grasp. "Can't you see he's injured?"

"Aleya, I'm fine…." Ignis began. No, he wasn't. The room was a blur. He wasn't even sure he knew where his feet were. The pain in his eyes and forehead were terrible. All he could feel was pulsing, throbbing fire throughout his head and face. Not only that, but he was sure his lunch would make a re-appearance in short order.

Master Yore was not the least bit impressed, concerned, or caring towards the angry Crownskeep and her injured companion. "Who do you think you are?" He asked her in a voice brimming with icy lethality. "How dare you intervene!"

She took a step towards him, as if challenging him. "How dare you!" She spat back with vehemence. "You're supposed to be training him, not pummeling him!"

Ignis felt a gentle hand at the side of his face; Heard her speaking to him. "Are you alright? Look at me."

He had no time to reply. Yore was already countering her. "Stand aside, Galahdian wench! We've work to do. Mind your place. This does not concern you."

Her grip on Ignis' arm tightened as she stepped between the two men, much to Ignis' embarrassment and dismay. She meant to shield him from Yore, and was acting as his shield. The humiliation was not pleasant. "Master, I regret to inform you that if you so much as think of swinging at this man again, I will go straight to King Regis myself."

Ignis didn't know much about his trainer. But, he knew for a fact that he was an enemy no one wanted to make. "Aleya—" he attempted again. He was too disoriented to find her. Stars filled his vision. Despite the pain within his skull, his skin felt quite numb. His limbs were barely his own. Dismayed, he realized there was nothing he could do further to help her, even in this tense situation.

"Bridle this shrew!" He spat at Ignis, shoving her into him. She lost her balance for a fraction of a second and then righted herself, extending her arms as if to show a barrier Yore could not cross. Yore sneered at the action. "…Or I will bridle her myself." With that, he threw his training weapon to the ground, and marched away, calling back to Aleya, "Clean up this mess, Crownskeep!"

Once the door slammed shut and she felt it was safe, she missed not one moment. She whirled to Ignis immediately. Through the pain-induced tears welling up uncontrollably, he was beginning to be able to make out her face, staring up earnestly at him. She again put her right hand to his cheekbone; the other hand cupped his chin, tilting his head back slightly. "Oh, my. That looks bad. Wait just one moment." She literally dashed off, heels clicking rapidly on the training room floor.

It was then that Ignis directed his gaze to his feet, where the training sword of Master Yore had fallen. He wished at once he hadn't. His head swam with the motion, and a fresh gush of blood spattered at his toes. It was apparently coming from his nose, as thick as a river. Sadly, there was blood all about his feet as well. His eyes followed the trail of crimson stain footprints Aleya had left behind. He wasn't squeamish at the sight of blood, nor was he faint-hearted about injury. Still, the realization of how badly he was bleeding sunk in and caused concern. He stared blankly at one red heelprint for a moment, until he felt a firm grip on his elbow. He turned to find her extending a towel to his face. "Here. Put that under your nose." And before he knew it, she was under his arm, hands around his torso, leading him to the bench along the wall. He faithfully followed her lead, as if he had known her his whole life and she was most deserving of his trust.

Once he sat on the bench, he began choking on something at the back of his throat, and spat fresh, slightly darker blood. She nodded briefly. "Posterior epistaxis," she surmised, matter-of-factly. "Lean forward slightly. I'll go find a medic." She guided his elbows to his knees.

"Aleya, don't. I'm perfectly…"

"You're not going to tell me you're fine, are you? Does this look fine to you?" She gestured to the gymnasium floor.

He grimaced. There was no point arguing with her. She was determined. Besides, as badly as he hated to admit it, he did indeed need medical attention. He was beyond embarrassed. Of all the times to fail so miserably—did it have to be in front of her?

She hadn't waited on his approval, and in only a few moments more, she had notified the guards to bring in the medics. She returned to wait with Ignis. She knelt before him for a moment, patting his kneecap comfortingly. "Don't worry. You'll be right as rain in no time."

He opened his mouth to respond, but the quirky sarcastic retort he had summoned died on his lips. Now that he was becoming more oriented, he noticed her appearance fully. She was spattered with blood, so much so that he wondered for a moment if she had somehow been injured herself. But no; She was soiled with his blood; Her bright white button-down shirt had a crimson stain down her right shoulder and arm. Tell-tale dots of crimson from where he had blown out a breath dotted her hair, back, and right hip. He stared at her, horrified at what he had done, even if by accident. "A—Aleya. You're attire—is quite…"

She glanced down her chest and then down her right arm. She wrinkled her nose with a smile, completely unconcerned. "Wow. That's kind of gross."

"I'm terribly sorry."

"Don't apologize, Mr. Scientia," She stated, patting his knee again. "You dove in to protect me. You've nothing to apologize for."

"Still…." He felt quite foolish in front of her. Bested in battle, bleeding profusely, voice garbled by blood and a soiled towel. Worse still, he had managed to spray fresh hemoglobin all about the place, even properly soiling her in the process. She looked as if she had committed a murder—or perhaps had been the victim of one. His face burned in self-reproach. He couldn't imagine ever sinking into lower dignity. He'd made it a matter of personal resolve to always carry himself with dignity and respectability. How pitiable he must seem now!

She smiled warmly and curled her fingers around the wrist that was not holding the towel to his face. He found himself momentarily flabbergasted, completely disarmed by her gray-blue irises staring up at him intensely. He found himself paralyzed, holding his arm in the air slightly as she clung to it. "Please, Mr. Scientia. Not another word about it. It is I who should apologize to you. I'm not sure master Yore will be any kinder to you in the future, due to my interruption. I don't think he likes me very much."

Her kind smile flitted away and was replaced by a conscious discomfort that Ignis could read very well. Though Yore was a Master, he had no cause to hurl such abusive terms at her. No doubt, she felt an agonizing self-consciousness as well. Feeling sympathy, Ignis tried to re-direct. "Well, I suppose that makes two of us," he answered, breaking her hold on his arm when he gestured to his bleeding nares.

She broke into a grin for a moment, then clicked her tongue in dismay. "It could have been worse, you know. It could have been your eyes." As she was reaching up to check his injury, the door opened, and a medic rushed in.

"Mr. Scientia! What in Eos happened?!"

[Back to Entry]

And that was that. I was immediately descended upon by Crownsguard medics and staff. Word had traveled quickly, and the Marshal soon followed. I at times tried to find Aleya in that sea of shoulders and concerned faces, but she disappeared for a while. On our exodus from the training hall, I scanned the room one last time—and I found her. She was on her hands and knees, still soiled with my blood, scrubbing the training room floor.

It appalled me. I know it is her occupation to keep up with the grounds—she is a "Crownskeep" after all—but there seemed to be something so demoralizing and so desperately perverse about it all. Here was a woman who came to the aid of another and had certainly suffered her share for it. As a final injustice, she was now made to scrub the training room floor, despite not being able to clean herself up, first? No, it was wrong; Terribly wrong! My guilt overreached any common sense, and I did try to tell her to stop, to take the day off, to see my uncle with my permission to release her from her official duties, to thank her for all she had done for me.

Alas, however. The training room doors slammed shut, and I was practically dragged into a waiting ambulance.

Now, I'm in the hospital, awaiting surgery, much to my chagrin. Apparently, I've a mangled septum and a minor concussion.

Noct was notified I was admitted and came by, frightened out of his wits. He's not used to seeing me like this. And, well, after the death of his mother, the tragic death of his keeper, the former Oracle, and most of his former retinue, Noct carries much fear of losing those closest to him. He's refused to leave my side this evening, although I pleaded with him to do so. Even now, in the wee hours of the morning, he occupies the chair next to my gurney, sleeping soundly.

Yes, yesterday could have gone far better, for all involved. I recall Uncle telling me that he feared my match with Yore. It seems he was right, after all. How foolish of me not to listen. I will not make the same mistake twice.