Chapter Ten
Typically, one is filled with dread before retiring for the evening knowing there will be obligations the next morning. On such a night, the person would wake up perhaps a few hours before they would rise, regretfully recall that in a few hours they would have to be up and doing things they'd rather not be doing. The past two weeks had felt like this for Celena - filled with regret for rising the next morning, knowing what was expected of her and hating every minute. Although the night of her birthday was different, going to sleep knowing that her brother could do things on his own now. Even so, she had not slept well.
The sun did not wake her that morning, as the light outside had turned gray with clouds and the promise of rain perhaps late in the afternoon. A dreary morning was just more of an excuse to stay in bed all day. Taking a deep breath, Celena forced herself to push back her thick bedcovers and regretted the very instant that their warm, comforting weight was lifted. The chill of the morning air in her room gave her goose bumps and made her teeth chatter uncomfortably. She sat up, holding herself and rubbing away at her arms in hopes of regaining some warmth. Unable to tell what time it was, she could only guess that it was late morning.
Celena dressed quickly, though she was in no hurry. A simple gown for today, she decided. Perhaps she would go for a ride in the fields. It had been so long since she did anything fun for herself. At least, it felt like a long time. She only rummaged through her armoire briefly before choosing her gown - a nice silken frock of white, sleeveless. The white lacy collar was something Celena wished she could get rid of but alas, it was the style of her culture. The frock was thrown on her bed, followed by her favorite bodice of light blue satin.
As she fastened her stockings in place, she caught a glimpse of her small leather travel bag in the armoire - the one she'd used when she traveled to visit doctors two years ago. It lay crumpled and empty in a darkened corner of the wardrobe but it seemed to fascinate her beyond reason. He will come for her soon, she thought, and she must give her decision. Her eyes hardly left that bag as she threw on her dress and laced up her bodice. She fixed her collar, still staring at it, her mind reeling. What should she pack? She was going to pack, wasn't she? She certainly couldn't go unprepared . . .
Her own thoughts stunned her. Had she already decided? The very idea surprised even herself. She grabbed the bag, thinking very hard about what should go in such a small holding space. An extra set of clothes, definitely. Food. A canteen of water. He will come for the map - they'll need a compass. She glanced down at her hand and nodded curtly to herself. Yes, she still possessed the ring on her right hand. Having the list of items clear in her mind, she set to work.
Allen never realized exactly how much he would come to detest grapefruit. He always loved it as a child, liberally sprinkling the sugar on the juicy pink surface and digging out the meat. He supposed he had forgotten exactly how the digging was done and, lacking an arm, found he could not hold the bowl steady and hope to pierce the blasted fruit at the same time. Needless to say, the fruit bowl toppled clumsily to the side at his every attempt, the grapefruit practically unscathed. He sat there in the dining room, glaring at the slice of grapefruit and wondered if it only mocked him.
"Trouble with breakfast, Allen?" Celena asked. She took a seat across from him at the dining room table, the other half of his grapefruit served in front of her. She smiled slightly, reaching for the sugar cup.
"Not at all." He didn't really try to hide his annoyance in the matter, gently pushing his bowl back in front of him. "What's got you so chipper this morning?"
Celena shrugged, still smiling as spooned her heavily sugared breakfast. "Not sure, really. It's such a gloomy day outside. Maybe my mood makes up for it." She grinned, "And yours."
"You'd feel the same, if you were as hungry as I am." And as frustrated, but so much was a given and there was no need for Allen to elaborate on this. Steadily, he reverted back to stoicism - this always seemed to make things easier for him to deal with. He picked up his spoon again, holding it for a long while and looking rather thoughtfully at the grapefruit. So wrapped up in his thoughts of disdain for his breakfast that he didn't notice Celena move her place just next to him, pushing her bowl across the table as she moved with the spoon still in her mouth.
"What are you up to?" Allen asked, watching his sister take a seat.
She set her spoon down and only looked at him briefly. "I can either feed you or hold your bowl steady while you spoon yourself your breakfast. Either way is fine with me." She flashed him a playful smile and waited for his answer.
"You will not feed me." he responded immediately, staring at her with narrowed eyes as she giggled. He sighed and looked at his breakfast again, resigning. "But you can help me keep the bowl still." To this, Celena obliged immediately, using her right hand to hold the fruit while he ate - she simply waited until he was finished before starting on her own breakfast.
It grew quiet in the dining room, save for Celena slurping occasionally on her spoon. Although Allen was not quite as sated as he would have liked, his breakfast served its purpose and filled his aching belly. Now he sat back in his chair in silence, glancing towards his sister every now and then. Perhaps he sought conversation with her. It had been a while since they simply talked. Were things really so different that he couldn't even find casual conversation with his sister anymore? At this, he had to glance towards his right side, grimly reminding himself that things had changed drastically. He no longer blamed Celena for what he thought she did to him. He had spent the night before thinking things through very carefully. It took an entire night in bed for Allen to realize things - things about himself, about his sister, and about their futures.
How heavy his heart felt with uncertainty. Allen wasn't entirely sure what they were to do for money now that he was no longer in the Royal Regiment. There was little left of their father's small fortune and perhaps they could live comfortably for a month or so before being forced to find other means of income. Otherwise, all they would have left is their estate - the maids and their cook wouldn't stay for charity and would go to the city to find other people in need of their services. Gaddes had left them once the ship was repaired, having been reactivated in the Asturian army. Allen had not heard from him since. Allen and Celena would once again be left alone, as they had been when they were children, although at that time they still had their mother with them. No, this time they would be left utterly alone - without food or money. A dark time to live in. Allen took a breath, preparing himself to speak about this to Celena.
"We face difficult times, Celena." he began carefully, trying not to sound so sorrowful. Celena had just finished her grapefruit and now pushed the bowl away before settling herself in her chair. She looked at him thoughtfully, nodding after a moment.
"I know, brother." She took his hand and offered him a small smile, reassurance.
"I - I'm not entirely sure what to do. My idea was that I would support you and I until you married. Then I would simply go on with my life in the Knights Caeli until I retired or died in battle." He huffed a bit at the last. "The unexpected always happens, I suppose. Nothing ever turns out the way you plan."
"That's what you said when we came home after Aston announced the duel in court." Celena scowled a bit, "And I hate cliches like that."
"Well, whether you hate it or not, the truth still is that we have to do something to keep going." He squeezed her hand gently, "I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wanted to take care of you. But now I just can't. Money - will be a problem by next month. I'll do - what I can but we'll have to work together. You might have to find work in the city . . ."
Heat rose in Celena's face. A job? Her? She wasn't sure if the amount of alarm she felt towards this prospect was evident in her face. Her head felt suddenly larger at the thought of herself working in a mill or factory - slaving away at plucking chickens or being a seamstress. A seamstress! Her brain screamed in protest. But her voice was much gentler.
"Surely there's something else we can do." she tried nervously, a small smile playing on her lips. "Perhaps Millerna would be kind enough to help us in our time of need. Perhaps she . . ." There was a knock at the front door, interrupting her next statement. Celena repressed a sigh of relief for the welcomed detour and began to stand.
"I'll get it." Allen insisted, receiving an uncertain glance from his sister as he stood as well. Celena followed dutifully behind him as he marched briskly to the door and opened it. A young boy, no older than fourteen, stood outside wearing a tunic emblazed with the seal of Asturia on the blue fabric - embroidered in gold were the two serpents entwined around a sword. The poor lad was soaked, as it had been raining all morning, and his teeth chattered.
"I h-have a m-message for S-Sir Allen." managed the boy, offering a sealed scroll with his shaking hand. Allen, though a bit uncomfortable, moved aside to let the boy into his home. Celena hastily moved as well to let the page have a clear path. The page glanced at Allen's face in question.
"Come inside." Allen said, and at once the boy complied. The door was shut behind him. The fallen knight was trying very hard to be hospitable, even so soon after his accident - and he found it more difficult than he would have liked. Still, he could not help but feel sympathy for the young messenger. The boy stood there, holding his arms close to his drenched tunic and trying to retain what little warmth he had left. He still held the scroll.
"Celena, take the scroll for me please." He put his hand on the boy's shoulder as Celena was given the scroll. She only looked at her brother briefly in worry before following him as he led the boy into the parlor. A fire blazed in the fire place, even if it was just the end of the summertime - a cold, dreary day called for a warm fire in the household. Celena watched the boy as he was invited to take a seat in front of the fire so that he may warm himself. She then turned her gaze back to Allen, who looked almost - amiable.
"It's a long ride from the palace. Surely longer in the cold rain." he said after a moment, still standing. The page grew considerably more comfortable, his cheeks once again regaining a bit of color and he risked moving his arms away from his wet body.
"Yes, sir." answered the boy politely. He seemed to struggle with himself now, however. Beginning to grow warmer and more focused, Celena noticed how the boy kept his gaze averted. She looked to Allen - he must have noticed this too, for his lips became pursed and his features tight. He moved to obstruct the boy's view of his right side.
"Your name?" asked Allen tightly.
"Quintus, sir."
"Ah." Allen swallowed. He was slowly crumbling with his resolve on this. Perhaps this hadn't been such a wise idea to begin with. Yet, he still tried to speak to the boy. "Quintus, have you met my sister Celena?"
Almost automatically, Celena stepped forward and offered the boy a smile. Quintus smiled back, his eyes flashing excitedly.
"Oh, yes!" said the boy, "You were magnificent at the duel! I never saw a woman fight with a sword like that before! I . . ." his voice faltered, apparently picking up on the tension in the room at the mention of the duel. "F-forgive me, Sir Allen."
"Please, don't call me that. I'm not a knight anymore." Slowly, Allen turned to his sister and received the scroll. Quintus' gaze dimmed of the prior excitement at Allen's words, though it mattered little if Allen noticed. Celena had, however, and she winked at the boy, trying to look reassuring.
Allen pressed the scroll against his chest, shifting his hand over it to properly break the blasted seal. He hated doing things one handed, but he had little choice in the matter. Once opened, the parchment unrolled evenly as if it had been written and rolled up not an hour before.
"Who is it from?" Celena asked, watching Allen's face darken. For a moment, he said nothing but kept reading the letter intently.
"Princess Millerna." he answered absently. A few more minutes went by before he finally finished reading, clutching the parchment so hard that it crinkled. His jaw was clenched.
"What - does she say?" His sister asked carefully, but Allen was simply too upset to answer cordially.
"Nothing." he snapped coldly, quickly leaving the parlor. His steps could be heard marching up the stairs.
"I guess it wasn't good news..." Celena said under her breath. She turned back to Quintus, who was now looking very cozy in the armchair by the fire. "You can stay here until you're dry and ready to go back to the palace. In the meantime, could I get you something to drink? Milk?"
Quintus smiled up at Celena appreciatively. "Yes, please, Lady Celena." Celena nodded, smiling slightly before going back to the kitchen. She picked up the fruit bowls containing the grapefruit husks left on the dining room table before entering the kitchen. The servants had the day off today, Celena reminded herself. The day after her birthday was usually the last day of the bazaar on the merchant streets of Palas. Their servants always got that day off. Celena sighed, disposing of the husks in the garbage barrel outside by the servants' entrance to the kitchen, ducking her head as rain showered upon her. Just as she was about to go inside, she stopped suddenly, nearly horrified at what caught her eye.
Crouching in the briar, and seemingly enduring minor yet multiple amounts of pain from the briar's thorny branches, was none other than Denevive. His long hair stuck to his back, the bangs around his face plastered to his cheeks.
Celena groaned before hissing, "Denevive! Are you insane?"
"Don't ask. Just get me out of here." began Denevive in a whisper, trying to move out of the bush, though the thorns kept snagging at his shirt. Rolling her eyes, Celena tried her best to pull the thorns away from his shirt. All the while Denevive was being very good about not yelping every time a sharp point came into contact with his skin.
"Do you have an attraction to bushes or is it mere coincidence that I keep finding you in them." She asked as she worked, her own dress managing to get caught within the bush. She growled, pulling at it hastily and ripping it slightly before being freed of the plant. Finally, Denevive stepped out of the bush, looking bedraggled with his torn shirt and wet hair.
"I heard footsteps and thought you were Sir Allen. So I dove into the bush here, to hide. I was looking for you."
Despite the rain that poured down onto them from the heavens, Celena felt that elation once again and her mouth quirked up into a slight smile. "Is it ready? You have the ship? Everything's prepared?"
Denevive smiled as well. "Yes, everything's ready and waiting at the docks in Palas. I came back for a few things. The map, the ring - and your answer."
My answer, she thought. What is my answer? Even if she had decided that morning, she now wasn't sure. That morning it had been a detached sort of dream to look forward too, not quite real. But now that she faced the chance to adventure across the seas and far away from home, she found herself cowering though her heart raced. It ached from palpitations, adrenaline pumping through her like a flood.
Just as she was about to open her mouth to tell him her answer, they heard footsteps, long and hurried. Allen. Celena gasped, her eyes widening. "Quick! Hide!" she told Denevive, running back into the kitchen to waylay her brother.
"Allen!" she said, trying very hard to sound casual, "Oh, brother. We haven't played chess in so long. Let's do so now, shall we? It should be wonderful fun during such a rotten day."
Allen stood stiffly, blocked from the door by his sister who stood with her hands clasped underneath her chin, her eyes wide and jovial. He raised an eyebrow. "Chess? Since when did we ever play chess?"
Celena's perfect smile faltered, her hands reaching out to take his arm. "Since today!" she declared after an awkward moment, turning him around and guiding him out of the kitchen. It was then that she noticed him holding his sword, the white scabbard clutched in his hand. What exactly he was intending to do with it was lost on her for a moment. Before she could ask him, however, he quickly turned around, making her lose the grip she had on him.
"I don't have time, Celena." Allen said in a clipped tone, marching quickly out the back door and into the fields.
"But it's raining. . . !" Celena began to holler to his retreating form before her voice died, watching her brother disappear over the soggy hill. She stepped back outside, looking around for Denevive.
"Back in the bush again?" she asked, annoyed and her hand on her hip. Denevive crouched in the same place as before, his arms and face scratched from thorns. "You're lucky my brother didn't see you."
"Uh - can you help me out again?" he asked, noting how Celena still stood there, staring at him.
"Why should I?" She raised an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes, "I already ruined my dress trying to get you out from the first time, it's pouring rain, my hair's wet, my clothes are wet, it's a terrible icky day, my brother's mad, my hands are pricked from thorns, the servants are gone, and I've probably got loads of better things to do."
Denevive's eyes only looked up at her innocently, his eyebrows raised and pleading, "Please?"
Celena clicked her tongue and succumbed. "Oh, alright." Once again, she set to work pulling the thorn-filled branches away from his clothes and successfully freed him from the briar. "Come along inside then. More places to hide in there if my brother decides to come back in a hurry." She took his arm and led him into the kitchen. Denevive, glad to be out of the rain and indoors again, watched as Celena looked out the window toward the fields.
"Hopefully he won't be back any time soon." She went to a cabinet, bringing down a glass before going to the pantry. "Blast it to the Abyss!" she exclaimed, bringing out an empty milk bottle.
"What in the world is wrong?" Denevive asked, noting the empty bottle and wondering why running out of milk was so horrible.
"Mallie." Celena answered simply, "She's probably rendezvousing with the milk man again. And now we have no milk to serve our guest. Just one more problem! One after the other!" She slammed the bottle down onto the counter and went to fill the glass with juice instead.
"Guest?" Boy, was he lost. But instead of asking more questions, Denevive followed her out of the kitchen and into the parlor. There was the guest Celena had mentioned. The young page was looking very comfortable indeed, curled up in the armchair with warmed rosy cheeks. He turned his head toward the interrupters of his nap, his eyes widening. Before Celena could hand the boy his juice, he was on his feet and gawking at Denevive.
"Sacred Serpents! You're - you're . . . Sir Denevive of Fanelia! One of the king's samurai generals!!" The boy's mouth was hanging open in awe as he stared up at the flattered swordsman. Denevive tried not to look too pleased, posing a bit with his hand on the hilt of his sword (which Celena failed to notice that he wore).
"Why, yes. That's me. I take it you saw the duel?" Denevive smiled down at him. "Your name, lad?"
"Quintus! Quintus Arcier. Oh, wow! Sir, what an honor to meet you." But before the boy could go on, Celena stepped in front of him, rudely blocking Denevive and roughly handing the boy his glass of juice. Quintus looked up at her face, seeing how stern it was and, gulping, took the glass. "Th-Thank you, Lady Celena." he said, and returned to his seat.
Celena turned towards Denevive and ignored the look of disappointment on his face as she jabbed a finger in his ribs, her eyes livid. She forced him backwards and out of the room, though he still looked over her shoulder with a bit of pride in his features. "Charming boy." he said. Celena scowled.
"Just don't you forget what my brother has to go through because of that stupid duel." She poke him one more time for good measure.
Denevive put his hands up in defense. "Of course I won't forget." A glint caught his eye, coming from Celena's right hand and he took it gently. "Ah, the ring. Safe on my lady's finger." He grinned at her and kissed her hand. Celena couldn't really help but soften up and blush. Suddenly she felt a tug on her finger as Denevive tried to pull the ring off, interrupting her flowery thoughts of romance.
"What are you doing?" Celena pulled her hand back, looking down at the ring on her finger.
"Well, I'll need it for the journey, since you're not coming with me." He looked at her with his head slightly bowed, a small smile on his face as he tried too hard to look saddened - only, he looked too pleased to sincerely think she wasn't going with him.
"You could have asked . . ." she grumbled, pulling on the ring which, despite her efforts, remained firmly on her right ring finger. She tried again, getting it just over the knuckle . . . before it clung adamantly to her finger. She stuck her finger in her mouth, wetting the skin sufficiently enough and tried again. She pulled and pulled, stomping her foot furiously. The ring held fast.
Denevive groaned, trying desperately to hide his contentment. "It won't come off?"
Making grunts and squeaks, Celena kept pulling. Eventually she gave up, letting out a heavy sigh and fixing her hair. "We can do one of two things."
"Chop off your finger?" Suggested Denevive, reaching for his sword. Celena, her eyes widening, clasped her hands close to her chest and began slowly step backwards towards the kitchen with a nervous grin.
"I'll get the butter."
Dear Allen,
My deepest, most sincere apologies and condolences to you. Never, in all my wildest fears, would I have been able to think of my father as acting so maliciously. The young samurai that accompanied Van was so skilled. I had feared for your life, just as Celena must have before entering the arena to help you.
Help me! scoffed a voice in Allen's mind. As if he ever needed help to begin with, he thought to himself. His left hand gripped the hilt of his sword, still sheathed in the white scabbard. With a sharp forward motion, the scabbard swiftly flew off the lethal blade and fell into the wet, muddy grass field. Rain fell in thick, heavy drops upon Allen's head, sufficiently soaking him. His white shirt stuck to his skin, but he didn't care. His mind was focused on one thing only. Slowly, he lifted the blade before him in a salute to his invisible opponent.
Mentally prepared, he stiffened - scowled and slashed the sword through the shower of rain in front of him. He nearly lost his grip on the hilt and, with his one hand, shifted the grip on it. It would have lost him valuable time had he been fighting for his life. Closing his eyes, he regained his composure, letting himself breath out his sudden rage. He had once been so confident! He had been that day of the duel, remarking offhandedly to Celena how he would be pleasantly surprised at a worthy challenge. Little did he know the situation, how it had come to be - declaration of a duel to the death by the king, a decision needing to be made that he wasn't prepared for. No one was supposed to win that day, just as no one was supposed to lose, both sides fully aware of how mad King Aston had grown over the past two years since the War of Destiny. The duel was to humor a dying man's last request, but they didn't think he would die that very day!
My father is dead, Allen. Although I would not expect you to grieve with this news. His heart failed him just as you were struck down. I was torn, as I still am. Please understand. It wasn't until afterward that I was told of your injury. I am so sorry! My heart is filled with nothing but sorrow. I pray that you would forgive me. For my inaction. I firmly believe that I could have stopped the duel from even occurring, yet I did nothing. Forgive me.
Allen snorted, raising his sword again and slowly going through simple attack motions and blocks, each time having to adjust the grip he had on the hilt and each time growing more frustrated. His arm began to tire quickly, but he did not stop working the swift motions of the blade, locks of his soaked hair falling in front of his face. Annoyed, he flicked his head back in an attempt to force the locks from sticking to his face.
So, the princess was sorry. The princess wanted forgiveness. Bah! She did not understand one drop of his pain, his grief - his utter and never ending frustrations. Curse this arm of his, that it would not work properly as it used to! Not without its companion. His left hand was unused to holding a sword alone. Despite how his hand slipped on the hilt, Allen kept working. No, Millerna would not understand. No one could understand what he was going through. Every slash of his sword, every jab, was weak and would be harmless against a skilled opponent. Loss upon loss was the story of his life, and he had at one time considered himself used to the idea.
When Celena came back to him, his life seemed like roses and carnations again. Even when she was a grown-up girl with the mind of a child, even as he worked so hard to teach her and raise her from her five year old mind to the young woman she was now, he still considered her a blessing. But had she come back only for him to lose her again? To a bumbling samurai - the very same who cursed Allen to this fate? How awful was Fate him. How amusing it must seem to the gods to watch this poor wretch of a man struggle for everything he's ever held dear. He lost his arm, his career, and now his sister to blind love.
Blind love.
Allen swallowed, sword poised in a killing blow to his invisible enemy. Impatiently, he struck at the long grass, clumsily bringing his sword down and around. It caused the chopped halves of the grass blades to fly up into the air, along with a shower of the rain drops that had been restlessly shifting upon the green like tiny diamonds. He remembered blind love, and it was not too long ago that he experienced such blissful ignorance. Oh, how his heart ached at the thought of his love - his only love, Marlene. She had been fairer than fair, more beautiful than the roses in her secret gardens, and her smile held mysteries that no one but she and Allen knew of. More than once during the time when they courted did they share a secret smile here, a pleasant stroll through the gardens there . . .
Their love had been great. So great that it could not last, for once you reach the top of a mountain, the only way left to go is down. This was true for all the greatest loves in the world, and Allen pitied those who believed in such fate. True, he had great love for Marlene, but was that so wrong? She had been taken away from him, and him from her, only to be wed to a hard-faced duke whom she held no love for. Or did she? She had carried and gave birth to not the duke's child, but Allen's - and he would never get to hear his son call him father. Such was the way of his accursed fate. You can only have one true love - everyone else was a substitute . . . or so the saying goes. But with how dark things had gotten in Allen's world, no light seemed able to penetrate the barrier.
I cannot help but grieve these days, not only for my father's death but for you. I was told that you were relieved of your rank in the Knights Caeli. Stupidly, I convinced myself that such a thing wasn't possible. But no, the world has changed, as did her people.
Do not grieve for me, silly girl, Allen found his mind's voice saying. I do not need your pity. She was just a girl, after all. No older than his own sister. But she had loved him - no, had been infatuated with him, thinking it was love. Millerna was so much like Marlene, being her younger sister. Allen had thought he loved Millerna, had hoped in vain that his feelings were true. But they could never be true again, and now he realized that his happiness left him the day Marlene was sent to the Duke of Freid. Now he realized that Millerna could never replace Marlene.
I will soon be crowned Queen. My coronation will take place in three days. I won't expect you to be there, especially if you have not yet recovered, but your presence would be honored. Perhaps then I could extend my sincere apologies to you in person. Until then . . .
Millerna
One knee sinking into the soggy, wet ground, he gasped for breath, his sword digging into the ground as he leaned on it heavily - defeated. He was weak, pathetic. The sweat that poured from his brow mingled with the pelting rain, washing over him and cleansing him of his failure. Too much time had gone by without lifting his sword, too much blood loss cursed him to that day. Frail and beaten, Allen sluggishly straightened, realizing how cold he was. The rain didn't help, pasting his clothes to his skin but he tried to ignore it. Dull as his vision was, he worked the wet steel back into the scabbard without really knowing how he had done so - only knowing that he did, grabbing the scabbard and stumbling back towards the manor.
He entered the kitchen dripping wet, trailing in mud behind him as he walked, but he didn't care. Sound reached his ears, coming from the adjoining laundry room in the kitchen - sounds of human squabble. His hand still clutching the scabbard, he pushed open the door to the laundry room.
"You!" it was all Allen needed to say to gain Denevive's attention, the half-elf's gaze having been on the door since he'd heard Allen's footsteps. The samurai was caught in a rather awkward position, both his hands plunged deeply in laundry tub filled with soapy water. Celena's right arm was elbow deep, firmly in Denevive's grasp while she sat next to him, her face buried in her spare hand and looking away embarrassedly.
"Allen!" Denevive tried to say cheerfully, finding himself frozen in the position he was found. Celena turned her head to look at her brother.
"Allen, I can explain everything. It might take a week, but I can." she tried, but Allen only snorted.
"I think I know perfectly well what's going on." he said, glaring at Denevive, "You will leave this house immediately, never to return again."
"Wait, Allen, you don't understand." Celena said, breaking out of Denevive's wet grip and shaking the excess water off of her soggy arm as she approached Allen. After a moment, Denevive followed suit and wiped his hands on a spare towel. "The things you found yesterday in your study? The map and ring . . ." at this, a small groan came from Denevive but Celena continued before either of them could say anything, "They're part of an important quest that Denevive is going to undertake." She said the last as if stating a brave triumph.
"A quest." Allen sneered, standing in the doorway, rigid. "Then go on this quest for all I care - with luck, it will rid the world of the vermin you are."
Denevive came up next to Celena, his head held up in pride. "Your snide comment is noted, Sir Allen - "
"Don't call me that!" Allen snapped quietly. Denevive simply smiled pleasantly and wrapped his arm around Celena's shoulders, pulling her firmly to him. She looked suddenly very panicky, stiffly looking back to Denevive and then to Allen.
"And Celena intends to come with me."
Allen's hard gaze turned back to his silver haired sister, his eyes narrowing. "Is this true?"
Celena stammered, "Well - uh - I . . ."
"Yes." Denevive answered for her. "Celena, dear," he whispered to her ear, just loud enough for Allen to hear, "go on and get your things." He gave her a gentle nudge towards the door and she hesitantly obeyed before her path was blocked by brother.
"You're not actually going to leave," Allen huffed with a half-smile. He frowned suddenly, "Are you?" Celena could only look at him briefly, her eyes sparkling with tears, silently pleading for him to understand that she needed this. She needed to get away from her cage that she had been living in for two years. Without a word, she hung her head and pushed past him, Allen having moved aside as if resigned.
The blond man once again acquired the dull stare, looking towards the man who had destroyed him. A snarl came to his lips, his brow creasing in anger, but said nothing - only glared at Denevive.
"I never intended for us to have bad blood between us." said the samurai, having thought long about his actions and accepted their consequences long ago, "I had admired you, you know. It was an accident - what happened in that ring. I would have stopped but I was blinded by my duty to the king, my king. You understand what that duty is."
"My duty changed darkly that day - kill or be killed. And I was not ready to die, cowardly as it may seem to a bull-headed samurai. In vain, I fought, only to be cursed with a fate worse than death."
"It was cowardly." Denevive responded, pushing past the man angrily and stomping towards the foyer. "Your king was crazy but unnervingly fair. Had I won, he would have kept his word."
"He would have won, either way!" Allen raged behind him, following closely. "Aston had always wanted me dead - hated me for reasons unknown. He chose me because I would be loyal like the dog I am, and would not let him down. If I had lost, he would have rid the world of another enemy!"
"You think you are only enemy to your king?" Denevive turned on him, losing the control he vowed to keep in check.
"My king is dead, as much good as it's done me! And I know my enemies still live, for they stand here in this room as we speak!"
Denevive snarled, his voice low. "Your own sister cannot stand to be with you any longer. Do you not see what your anger does to her, how you hurt her?"
"My anger!" Allen raged, throwing his head back in frustration, "You are the cause of this! It was you who did this to me! Took away everything I hold dear! And now you take the last thing I've ever cared for! If I had the strength, I would strike you down where you stand!" As if to punctuate Allen's threat, an arrow zoomed past Denevive face and bit into the wooden wall next to him. Denevive stumbled back, having felt the air gust in front of his face, now staring wide-eyed at the black and silver shaft of an arrow embedded in the wall.
"Name of the gods!" gasped the samurai, glancing at Allen who seemed just as shocked as he himself was. Instinctively, Denevive pulled out his sword at once, whirling about to face the owner of the arrow.
"What in the Abyss is going on!?" roared Allen, taking a step back from whatever malevolent thing that might attack. He felt himself wither inside as he cowered, but could not help the reaction as defenseless as he was without his sword arm.
Before Denevive could even explain, his fears were answered when the front door of the house was nearly knocked off its hinges, kicked open and hitting the wall as it swung heavily. A man, clothed in black, his face hidden by a soaked hood, charged inside. A bright silver sword was wielded in the man's right hand. Without much more than a glace at his surroundings, he attacked Denevive. The metal of their blades clashed loudly in the front hall, the force of the cloaked man's attack forcing Denevive back and knocked an ancient vase from its stand, sending it to the floor with a loud crash.
Allen cursed under his breath, trying to determine the reason for the attack. It had come swiftly, and for no apparent reason, like a thunderclap on a clear day. Allen kept his back to the footrest in front of his favorite chair. He had dropped behind it, instinctually seeking cover from any further arrows. With the cessation of the arrow fire, he pulled himself up, looking over the luxurious ottoman. Immediately he caught the flash of steel and sharp movements of Denevive's sword cutting through the air and rebounding off of the blade of their mysterious attacker. Rising to his feet, he fumbled with his left hand at the pommel of his sword, trying to keep track of the fight and gauge a time to jump into the fray. Allen's pulse beat furiously, the sudden adrenaline rush of combat overtaking him. with one swift movement, he pulled his sword free from the tooled scabbard, raising it's blade into a form that he remembered Balgus teaching him long ago.
Allen's arm shook, the weight of the sword was uncomfortable and unfamiliar in one hand. But, by the Gods, he would do everything in his power to stop the masked attacker.
Denevive stepped back from his opponent, keeping true to the fighting stances that Lig Vieta, the doppelganger sword master, had taught him. He kept his left side to his enemy, leading with it when he came in to strike. He and the masked one traded a series of quick blows, testing each other's strengths. The one in the black robes was good. Definitely well trained, and very quick... but he was not as good as Denevive.
The cloaked one caught his foot on the edge of the large rug that blanketed the foyer. His momentary disorientation was all Denevive needed. With a quick thrust of his blade, Denevive fainted to the black one's left, quickly reversing his cut as the attacker tried hastily to bring his blade up to block. The cloaked one was fast, much faster than Denevive had anticipated, but he was not fast enough. The attacker's blade took the brunt of Denevive's blow, turning the deadly blow into nothing more than a torn shirt.
Though it was not the desired effect, Denevive took a certain cold amusement from the look of surprise and anxiety in his attacker's eyes. Moments ago the cloaked one seemed confident, almost arrogant. Now, his steps and thrusts were weak, almost simplistic. Apparently torn cloth was enough to shake the attacker's confidence.
Pressing forward in his attack, Denevive failed to notice Celena as she rounded the last edge of the staircase and entered the foyer.
"What in the name of.."
The cloaked man noticed Celena, or something about Celena. With little warning, he abruptly withdrew from the fight, charging at the startled noble woman. Allen moved forward with purpose, intent on keeping the disguised attacker from his sister, but it was obvious that he would arrive too late.
To Allen's surprise, and the younger Schezar's as well, the cloaked man did not strike at Celena with his sword. Instead, he dived forward, catching Celena's hand in his own. The young woman struggled against her attacker, trying to shake off his grip, but his hand seemed molded of iron, and her rebuff was ineffectual. The attacker's hands clawed at Celena's fingers, finally latching solidly onto the gold band encircling Celena's ring finger. After a series of quick tugs, it was obvious what the attacker wanted.
"The ring!" Celena shouted, trying to shake off the black cloaked man. "He's after the ring."
Allen ran forward seizing the attacker's arm, and trying to haul the cloaked one off of his sister. With a final pull, the attacker and Allen went down in a flurry of movement. Denevive took a few steps forward trying to determine where to jump in and help the elder Schezar. As he came within range of the brawling pair, a odd flash of light and whistling sound caught his attention.
Fire.
Through the windows, arrows wreathed in flames flew into the manor, striking the walls of the foyer. The curtains of the windows soon were ablaze in the fiery magnificence, the rug following suit, creating obstacles in the way of escape. Allen had managed to waylay the cloaked man, having returned to his feet and blocking the enemy from escape.
"Run, Denevive!" screamed Allen above the roar of the flames, "Take Celena and run! Get out of here!"
Denevive gave no thought to the order, grabbing Celena's hand and dragging her outside in the storm. Outside the gates, awaited the carriage that had just pulled up, a carriage requested by Denevive to take them to the port. Their lungs burned as they ran towards their escape, Celena's free arm wavering with the grip on her knapsack.
"Hurry! The ship will leave port soon!" said the driver just as they boarded the carriage and slammed the door shut. Denevive gave a quick order and the driver sped them off through the forests of Asturia. Celena, out of breath and dazed from the action, looked back to her home. It grew smaller and smaller as the carriage rode on, and the last sight she saw of it was when it was licked by angry orange flames and surrounded by dark clothed men. She closed her eyes to the tears that spilled down her cheeks, and whispered a quiet farewell to her brother, hoping his death would be swift.