There's just something so very interesting about Olivia's POV, even though I did change some parts of her in-game personality, that made writing this a lot of fun! I'm looking forward to more of her POV chapters.
The sitting rooms of the castle's west wing, Olivia was told, had been personally designed by the late Exalt's spinster aunt. Poor childless thing that she was, she devoted herself entirely to decorating and planning and designing, and positively threw herself into rebuilding half the castle from the ground up after a fire during the early years of her brother's reign nearly destroyed the place.
Olivia certainly could not tell whether any trace of the woman's touch was evident, as it all looked like the rest of Ylissean architecture she had seen so far. It was pretty, at least: the coffered ceiling had the iris brand carved into the recesses of the wood, and the colour complimented the walls' paneling; the lone wall free of panelling was instead wallpapered in a tasteful flowered blue, and great care had been employed to make sure the shade did not overwhelm the furniture set that came in various hues of the colour.
The various wives, sisters, mistresses, and other assorted female members of the courts attending the summit were perched on their seats as a veritable menagerie of fashion and wealth. They cooed, preened, and peacocked over their damask silks, their crushed velvets, their taffeta and satins and gauzes and lace.
Olivia was content to sit on the cushion provided for the bay window and look out into the gardens below. She was no fool, though, and kept an ear on the general conversation; though it was plain to anyone with half a brain that the little get-together was devised by the men of the realms mostly in an effort to keep them entertained and out of their politicking, there was a silent understanding that, underneath the passing of finger-foods and exclamations of admiration over a lady's dress, this was also a form of power brokerage. Everyone present had a measure of status and a pedigree in some way or another. And beneath every smile, there was an attempt at assessing their fellows' worth, their connections, and to what ends they could leverage them to their own advantage.
Still, Olivia did wish that they would drop the façade of vapid fawning. They were all obviously women of good breeding who had been educated accordingly, yet there were only so many times she could stomach the same conversations of cosmetics and clothing and scandals. She missed her cultured discussions of humanities and the arts with her friends back in Regna Ferox. She did not particularly care for the gossip being passed around like the little tea breads and was becoming increasingly bored with each passing second.
If I hear another word about Lord so-and-so's latest tryst or Lady whatsit's daughter's engagement, Olivia thought to herself, then I would very much like to stab myself in the ears with a pair of knitting needles.
She had thought her fellow Feroxi would be more direct and forthcoming in the conversation, but, though no strangers to the world of frivolity and painfully structured etiquette, it seemed as though they were rather overwhelmed by their Ylissean and Rosannois contemporaries and elected to let them do most of the talking with but a few phrases thrown in. Their characteristic honesty would have been taken as blunt and rude given the current subjects.
Olivia wondered if things would have looked differently with Plegian ladies present, or even invited to the castle at all.
And speaking of Plegians…
"I can't believe he's here," a blonde Ylissean hissed. She stabbed her needlepoint with a viciousness uncharacteristic of the dainty persona she had previously presented.
"Who?" Her friend, who had been much more interested in her snack, discreetly wiped her lips before returning to the conversation as though she had been paying it mind.
"That Plegian freak."
"Must you spoil the peace?"
The blonde narrowed her watery blue eyes at the offending character: a stern looking Valmese lady with a pince-nez framing a set of grey eyes that stared coolly back. "He already spoiled the peace by being here."
"If we'd have wanted to hear grievances being aired out about your neighbours, then I daresay that we would have done better to sit in on the men's conference. Please. Let us stick to more appropriate topics," the Valmese woman admonished.
But it was too late—the very room seemed to lean in on the little scene with an inhalation of anticipation. The air was now thick and tense once the issue of the Prince of Plegia was brought up, their polite veneer having been stripped away over the thought of such controversy in their midst.
Sides were being picked at the very moment.
"The subject was bound to come up sooner or later," a Feroxi woman—Tullia, Olivia remembered—said rather uncouthly, if at least honestly.
The blonde Ylissean jumped right back in now that the subject had been broached. "He should have never have come," she insisted. "Lord Chrom was a fool to allow him, and now we'll all suffer for it."
"Suffer what?" the Valmese lady scolded. Her eyepiece and critical gaze made quite the schoolmarmish impression on the assembly. "I cannot seem to comprehend how is it that the presence of a mere boy apparently portends such catastrophe as you say, or how he is able to reduce ladies of your stature to such a state. "
The blonde, previously content to put forth her best impression of a put-upon waif, dropped the act in affront. She narrowed her eyes at the apparent challenge. "I take it, then, that you approve of him? You wish to make friends, hmmm?"
"Far be it for me to approve of the lordling of a group of uncivilised desert-dwellers." The Valmese woman's glare was witheringly cold in response. "But here I was under the impression that the nobility of this fine country was above such maudlin displays and would exercise more restraint, instead of trying to moan about how much they dislike their neighbours to any person that will listen."
The blonde's nose quivered and flared in deep offense, and her mouth opened to fire off a retort.
Thankfully, a fat young Rosannois interrupted before a fight could break out. "Pardon me!" she said. "But I cannot seem to comprehend what is it about your Plegian neighbours that inspires such—how do you say in your language—animosity! Surely they need to be here, given the circumstances?"
The room dissolved into a flurry of discussion, with women clucking and crowing and talking all over one another in an attempt to get their version of the facts through, and for a second Olivia briefly lost her hold on the conversation. What she was able to make out were a few Ylisseans explaining the bad blood between the two countries: their shared history, stories of war atrocities, and anecdotes of Plegian misbehaviour whose veracity Olivia doubted of. A particularly pious old woman very sternly recounted the religious basis of their mutual grudge and why worshipping Grima meant eternal damnation for the heathen souls who believed in such wickedness.
"I say!" another Rosannois interjected. She was wearing a cheerful pink gown that complemented her pale peach hair. "I am not entirely sure what to make of all this if there are no Plegians here to share their side of the events," she pointed out sensibly.
Her statement proved deeply irritating to the Ylisseans. "What's there to say? You all heard of the horrible things they did during the war—and the one before! How exactly will 'another side' excuse all of that?" the blonde snapped.
The peach-haired girl, displeased with such open aggression, looked away to a side and bit her lip. "Well…what if they say the same about you?"
"Preposterous! How on earth are our people in any way as comparably bad as theirs?" the pious old woman from before scoffed.
"'Calamity for the fly is good fortune for the spider,' I was always told," was, surprisingly, an Ylissean's sage answer. She cleared her throat before continuing. "I can't say I know many Plegians myself, but there is a point to considering their perspective—especially since I think we can all agree that they most likely say the same things about us." Her face changed with a sudden, sly twist of her lips. "And I daresay that's rather rich coming from you, Lady Compton, what with all the interesting things I've heard about your husband's conduct on the battlefield—"
The old woman—Lady Compton—and the blonde drew their ruffled feathers up in a reproachful rustling of silk and lace. "You mind your mouth about my husband, you," the former hissed.
"I'm just saying that there's something uniquely interesting about a woman who thinks that Plegians eat children of all things seeming to not care a whit about her husband engaging in a spot of baby-hacking before lunch—"
"That scoundrel Lord Chrom has somehow decided is fit to be harboured within our walls is a war criminal and should be tried as such for all that he's done. My husband is a noble man dedicated to the good of the Halidom. But somehow it's him who gets tossed to the dungeons instead! It is completely unfair—"
"Pfffffffft. As if a war of all things were ever just or fair except to those few who gain from it!"
Olivia was treated to a cacophonous symphony of squabbling women and sighed to herself as she continued staring out the window, growing even more tired of the situation. The gardens looked so inviting and refreshing, and she was increasingly desirous of taking her leave to enjoy a cooling stroll in the hedge-labyrinth and admire the fastidiously tended flower beds. Anything was preferable to being cooped up with ladies whose costly garments and fanciful perfumes belied their all-too human natures.
But Olivia could not lie to herself—the subject matter still kept her more interested in the goings-on of the room more than she cared to publicly admit.
A lull in the politically charged argument thankfully came up. Another Feroxi, going by the name of Bice, took that as her chance to speak up. "I daresay I'm rather surprised by the prince. From what I heard, I was picturing a tall, muscular warrior…but the actual person is quite small." Titters from the audience accompanied her words.
"I too, was surprised," a very fat Ylissean with a grandmotherly look to her said. "But what I have seen so far was pleasantly surprising! I was told things like, 'oh, he is very horrid and imposing,' but seeing him in the flesh, well, he was a rather polite young man!"
"And he is so good with children," her friend gushed. "I was out with Princess Lissa and the Duchess, Maribelle, the other day, and he showed up with their boys in tow. I do think that it is a very good sign that he seems to quite like Her Highness and milady, but after we retired for our dinner—well! Those boys could not seem to stop talking about him!"
"If I remember correctly, I did hear that he is interested in children of his own one day."
The last sentence brought about a remarkable change of atmosphere in the room.
A Valmese woman with an extraordinarily long chestnut braid tapped her chin thoughtfully with her closed fan. "He's a bachelor…isn't he?"
"He is," Bice confirmed.
"And if I remember correctly, he is a bachelor who is also poised to inherit a rather impressive fortune," Tullia added.
Slow, tentative murmurs and whispers ran the length of the room: the sound of careful calculations and planning. Olivia could practically see the cogs turning in the women's heads as they carefully went over the significance of those facts—and what they possibly could mean for them.
An Ylissean woman with one of the most expensive looking day-dresses of the lot offered her take, fueled in part by her evident fondness for the sherry offered to them along with the tea breads. "Well well…if that doesn't sound like quite the catch!"
"You're joking, right?" The blonde from before was completely astounded by the sudden show of interest.
"What's there to joke about? Young, rich, and single…it helps that he's good-looking," the tipsy lady stroked the lusciously long purple ringlets framing her flushed face and giggled.
"If he were to marry, whoever he chooses not only will have access to Plegia's coffers, but it also means having control over a sizeable part of the continent and its main trade routes to Valm," a middle-aged Valmese woman stated very matter-of-factly.
The room's noise rose in pitch, with ladies eagerly sharing their opinions and thoughts in a whirlwind of talk. The women were divided: those who staunchly stood against Prince Daraen and anything Plegian, and those who were rather keen on marrying into power and wealth. The ones who remained indifferent to the situation, or those who leaned in one direction or were not wholly committed, were a little more difficult to spot.
"I've heard he's got his eye on someone, though. Right, Livvy?" Tullia obviously meant it to be light hearted teasing, but Olivia still cursed her all the same as the entirety of the room turned its attention to her.
A haughty looking Rosannois sized her up with barely disguised disdain. "You're Khan Basilio's niece, are you not?"
Olivia, still painfully shy even after years of etiquette training, could barely muster up more than a whisper. "…Yes."
"Hmph. Well, I can see why Duke Virion chose you. Not bad looking at all, at least."
The way she spoke of Virion was nothing short of contemptuous, and Olivia noticed how the air around the Rosannois seemed to sour at the very mention of the man. Sully, who stood guard at the door along with the other attendants, breathed in very deeply and clenched her jaw tightly.
"So, Virion is interested, hm? And the Plegian too?" Though her tone was supposed to be of curiosity, the way the peach-haired girl raked her eyes over Olivia and the slightest curl of her lip indicated that her mood was decidedly negative. Olivia, her neck hot and prickly, said nothing.
The Valmese woman with the pince-nez from before scoffed. "How is it that he has been here for a few days at most, yet the rumour mill is already churning out nonsense?"
"But it's not nonsense." This time the speaker was Fabiana, a Feroxi noblewoman who, for some reason or another, had always had some sort of grudge against Olivia. She wore a smile like a cat who just found a canary just as easily as she wore the kohl that the newly rich of Ferox seemed to favour. "We all saw him coming 'round for an audience with her in the early hours of the morning some time ago."
The whispering increased. The atmosphere shifted once more; some of the women looked to Olivia with curiosity in their eyes; others, with stony-faced disapproval; and yet another part with envy and suspicion. The heat migrated from her neck to the rest of her body, and Olivia suddenly felt cholicky and faint.
Social events were never her forté—worse were the ones where she was put on display as the centre of attention, like when her parents would host lavish birthday parties for her and her brother as children, or when she was the star attraction of a performance. But memories of hiding behind her mother's skirts as wealthy strangers presented her with piles of gifts and sweets or being applauded onstage were infinitely preferable to the discomfort of being sized up by a room of distrustful elites whose gossip could potentially ruin her reputation.
Olivia had to tread very, very carefully unless she wanted to suffer the consequences of incurring their ire.
"You are a dancer, yes?" the peach-haired Rosannois questioned her again.
"Y-yes."
"That must be why. Virion was always very much a man of the arts." The way she phrased it made it seem as though she was talking less of noble entertainment and more of something disreputable—Olivia could not tell if her antagonism was purely towards Virion, or if she was also looking down on her dancing, as she had heard that, while the arts were widely patronised in Rosanne, the people who produced them were not considered with the same appreciation.
"As a dancer, I'm sure she loves the thought of entertaining two men at once!" Fabiana remarked snidely. "It must be so nice for them to enjoy a performance during peacetime instead of needing to be constantly refreshed on the battlefield."
Feroxi were supposed to stand their ground and challenge those who would dare to antagonise them. Theirs was a warrior culture that strongly valued confidence and personal strength—but Olivia had neither of those. She was best characterised as a timid, shrinking violet whose level of courage amounted to only being able to make direct, sustained eye contact with close family members and servants. Anything more challenging than that was usually enough to force her to flee.
And so she did, Fabiana's nastiness having been the final straw. She silently picked up her skirts and made her way to the door with her head held low and her neck burning in shame, the women's whispering chasing her out the door and adding heat to the fire. The refreshing air in the gardens did little to dispel it.
"Those bitches." Sully, loyal as ever, was right on Olivia's heels from the moment she saw the young woman stand up. "They'll whine and moan about how much they hate being at court 'cause everyone is so catty and mean, and then they'll turn right around and stab you in the back if they're feeling bored." She spat out a glob that landed in the flowerbed they had been contemplating.
Olivia said nothing. She was still mentally torturing herself over her cowardice back at the ladies' gathering, over Fabiana's smugness, and over the certainty that rumours of her involvement with Prince Daraen would be all over the castle by now. Equal parts of dread and shame filled her to the brim. No doubt she would be treated to another one of Basilio's "pep talks" at supper, and it would end as they always did: with his words falling on deaf ears, Basilio most likely thinking she was a disappointment to the Feroxi way, her internalising it, and everyone coming away feeling worse for it. Olivia wanted nothing more at the moment than to run back to her parent's villa on the coach and hide there for the rest of her days.
Then she remembered that her parents were dead, and she slipped further into her melancholy gloom.
Suddenly, a flash of white caught her eye.
The men had let themselves out for their recess from the summit, and their voices grew louder as they streamed out into the gardens for a brief stretch before returning inside for dinner in a private hall. Olivia pulled Sully with her and hid behind a column, nervous of making her presence known.
But if the men were out, that meant Daraen was there, too.
Her curiosity outweighing her fears, Olivia dared to peek out from the safety of the column.
Daraen's clothes were obviously borrowed and of a too big fit on him, yet his posture was easy and relaxed as he leaned on the balustrade of the arcade and watched the others. His calm expression betrayed no hint of his inner thoughts—Olivia wondered if he felt any trepidation whatsoever, given his precarious situation in Chrom's court, and if he was ever lonely, being the sole Plegian in the castle.
A few Ylissean men strolled out and gave Daraen some very dirty looks before retreating back inside. Olivia's curiosity was further piqued, and she wondered just what had happened (besides the obvious) for such animosity to be displayed so openly. Had he offended them in some way? Perhaps he won another concession like the one Basilio had told her about before?
Chrom emerged from the castle, immediately homing in on Daraen and heading straight to him. He clapped his hand on the Plegian's shoulder, and Daraen's face changed from serious and contemplative to having a smile stretch out on his lips. Chrom seemed to be asking him a few things, to which Daraen replied with a rather wry smirk. The Ylissean prince threw his head back and laughed heartily, attracting the attention of the men out in the gardens, and wiped a tear from his eye with a chuckle. They bowed their heads together in close conversation. Basilio and a red-haired man who Olivia recognised as Sully's father appeared and joined the pair, with the conversation turning down a distinct direction that was very typical of being in her uncle's company as she recognised the reactions—eye rolls, blushing, and groaning in annoyance—as he told what was no doubt a crude joke. Exchanging a few last words, Basilio left first, Sully's father left second, and Chrom and Daraen lingered for just a bit longer. Chrom whispered something to Daraen, and the much shorter man punched him lightly in the chest before dissolving into a fit of giggles. Beaming, Chrom looped his arm around his white-haired companion. Surprise and an obvious bloom of colour spread across Daraen's face, but he allowed it in the end, and the two left like that for dinner. The gardens were quiet again.
Sucking in a shaky breath, Olivia realised that her heart was pounding in her ears as she tried to process the scene that played out before her. Sully's talking sounded so vague and distant for some reason.
"I-I'm sorry—what were you saying?" Olivia finally managed to say.
Sully frowned. "I said," her phrasing was slow and cross, "why the hell did you go and hide like that? Skulking around like Gaius now, are we?"
Olivia was, once again, at a loss for words.
Supper was normally just her, the female companions of the Feroxi delegates, and Sully in attendance, but this time Olivia was having sharing a meal with her uncle and Sully; her uncle had excused himself from the usual leaders' supper to spend time together. The trio supped in a private room of their guesthouse, as Olivia still felt too discomfited over Fabiana to stomach being in her presence. The food was the result of the Feroxi bringing their own cooks to prepare their national foods while away in Ylisse: a thick slab of roasted fish, usually served in Regna Ferox once the rivers had thawed in their brief spring; beetroot sprinkled with salt and thyme; pickled onions and carrots; and their traditional smoked ox, served on enormous silver tray with a sweet glaze of rare mountain honey and horseradish.
Basilio, of course, did most of the talking and eating, sometimes at the same time. Sully gladly joined in and traded highly opinionated words with the enormous Khan over everything from sporting events to vulgar jokes. Olivia quietly excluded herself from their boisterous conversation, as she was still absorbed by what she had seen in the garden.
Chrom was different around Daraen, she thought. All smiles and friendly touches and banter, with a bit of sheepishness, perhaps—nothing like the awkward, stuttering, bumbling mess he became on the disastrous few occasions they were around one another.
What was it that Daraen saw in Chrom? And Chrom in Daraen? Olivia wondered. Mortal enemies just last year, and now acting as though they were dear old friends, catching up with each other and simply happy to enjoy each others' presence. Why, had Daraen been part of Chrom's court since the beginning, or at least not a Plegian, she was sure that he would have been called a king's favourite.
But there was a catch: while their interactions were undoubtedly full of warmth, Daraen had told her that he was acting as his intermediary because he was deeply indebted to Chrom, and ever since that day, Olivia had wracked her brain trying to figure out what exactly it was that he owed the Exalt-to-be. Was he friendly simply because of that debt? Was he afraid that not acting that way would affect him adversely, and so he had to constantly curry favour in order to stay afloat? No, that could not be, Daraen most certainly did not strike her as such a manipulative type, and their interactions were not those typical to court sycophants. But if such kindness and goodwill were genuine, then why cite his debt to Chrom as his reason for seeking her out?
And just what was that debt, anyways?
"You all right, Livvy? You've been rather quiet tonight." Basilio was genuinely concerned for his niece, pausing his meal to make sure she was alright. Sully had stopped as well, and watched her intently over trencher.
Olivia started. She had been so engrossed with her thinking that she very nearly forgot she was not alone. "I–I'm f-fine, uncle Basilio."
"You sure? You've hardly touched your food since supper started."
Sure enough, her trencher looked as though the maidservants had just served her. Olivia felt rather foolish for having been caught in the middle of her speculations. "O-oh! I'm sorry. I must have been lost in my thoughts."
"Lost in thoughts about that Plegian, I'll bet." Sully rolled her eyes as she shoved another forkful of meath in her mouth.
To Olivia's deep embarrassment, a cat-like smile appeared on her uncle's face, and the Khan guffawed loudly. "Oh ho! The Plegian, you say? Little Daraen?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"It's n-not like that, uncle," Olivia protested. She buried her face in her hands as the inevitable wave of obnoxious ribbing began, and she could only hope to get a word in edgewise as Basilio kept going on and on and on…and on and on and on as the colour in Olivia's face grew steadily redder and brighter. She loved Basilio dearly, but it was so difficult to think that her patient, sensitive father had been raised alongside a brother who had, frankly, turned out so boorish and loud.
Sully, initially amused, soon tired of the Khan's aggravating display. "OY! Knock it off already!"
"Sully, Sully," Basilio looked aggrieved. "My Livvy is finally interested in a man. Why shouldn't I comment on it?"
"I am NOT interested!" Olivia, in a rare outburst, threw down her fork with a loud clatter. "Every time I mention things like this you always jump straight to assumptions and then you want to embarrass me!"
Basilio was properly taken aback. "Okay, Okay—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that. But you can't fault me for thinking that after all the rumours I heard today. Not that they're true, because they're rumours, but—ah, y'know what I mean, Livvy."
Olivia, sighing, sipped gingerly at her wine. "It's just…today, at the ladies' gathering…a woman brought him up and it spiralled from there." She swished the drink in her cup morosely. "They were saying awful things about him…and then Fabiana…she–she said that because he had that meeting with him, then it must mean that I'm…"
Basilio's face darkened for the slightest second, but the change was gone in the blink of an eye. "We were at war not too long ago. It's normal that nasty gossip happens."
"But it was still so unkind to hear…"
"Livvy, while I agree that those kinds of words are bunk more often than not, the unfortunate thing is that a lot of them are based on little kernels of truth. And yeah, the kid's alright, but I can't say I blame a lot of people for still being angry at him. He did a lot of damage on the battlefield."
Exhaling, Olivia rolled a piece of pickled onion around on her trencher, thinking carefully about his words. "Can you tell me what you know about Daraen, then? Something that isn't gossip? What kind of person he is?"
"Well…he's got really bad table manners—"
"Oh, like you're one to talk," Sully snorted.
"––and he really likes to eat. He looks tiny, but I've seen him put away a decent amount of food in record time. Heard he grew up with Kandaari nomads, so I guess it makes sense. Times can get lean for 'em." Basilio tapped his chin with his fork thoughtfully, smearing food on his goatee. "He's a little bookworm who can go fast through a text, he's good at taking notes but his handwriting is atrocious, and he can get defensive about a lot of things if you know how to rile him up well enough, like his parents."
A pensive silence befell the little table as Basilio contemplated the most controversial guest of Ylisstol castle.
"I've seen him do things that shouldn't be possible without tomes. And I've seen him smash open men's heads like ripe pumpkins," he said quietly. "But I've also seen him play with Chrom's nephew and take lessons in table manners from Lissa. And he's been nothing but polite to us since he stepped foot in here." Basilio sighed and rubbed his temple, his jollity gone; he now looked and sounded his age. "What I'm trying to say, Livvy, is that he's a complex person who's done a lot of bad, but he can probably do a lot of good, too; I'm hoping he can, and that's why I'm on speaking terms with him, but what I think of him might not necessarily be the same for you—you're the one who has to decide what the gossip and the rumours and you personally meeting all mean to you, and if that's enough for you to decide to keep talking with him."
Olivia was wide awake. She had been tossing and turning for the better part of the night, Basilio's advice to her tumbling around in her head like a pair of heavy river rocks swept away by the current. Daraen was a curiosity, yes, and the mystery of his relationship with Chrom an intriguing puzzle to crack…
…but should she even try?
She sighed and tossed herself back into a prone position. She stared at the canopy of her bed, its delicate floral pattern hard to discern in the darkness, and revisited the conversation at supper again.
Daraen was in a tight position: having to battle infuriated foes who were most certainly out for his blood, yet also facing being held accountable for his actions…and running Chrom's matchmaking ploys on the side.
Did she really want to involve herself in that?
Her bedroom was quiet save for the faint rustling of the trees outside her window and the steady ticking of the clock. Olivia turned to face her nightstand where the clock was placed, and wondered.
She could save herself a world of trouble if she simply chose to walk away, to tell Daraen and Chrom that their efforts were best focused on their summit instead of expending additional energy on trying to woo a woman whose previous refusals had been very clear. She could avoid the nastiness and petiness of the ladies whose own interest in Daraen ran the gamut from eyeing a profitable courtship to wishing he would drop dead. And perhaps there were men—nobility, clergy, politicians and the like—who would see her as a nuisance for becoming close to Daraen. Or perhaps even a threat.
There were so many things that she did not know about Daraen, or even the circumstances that brought him here. She recognised that she was most likely in over her head.
And yet…there was something about him.
Groaning in defeat, Olivia gave in to her ill-advised, sleep-deprived ideas, and marched herself down the stairs.
Sully and Basilio had stayed where she left them: at the table in their private dining room, sleeping off the copious amounts of wine they had imbibed after Olivia decided she wanted to turn in early. Sully at least had the sense (or as much sense as any drunk could have) to at least sleep on the little divan tucked into a corner; Basilio slept right on the table, his cheek cushioned by a half-eaten roll, and his snores echoing loudly in the silence of the night. Olivia tsked disapprovingly. She feared that his drinking habits would get the better of him sooner than latter, and wished that he would listen to her, if at least once, and take his health more seriously. She sighed and returned to her quarters for blankets, draping them over the sleeping pair, and left to resume her search for Gaius.
The Feroxi guesthouse was silent. The guards on the night shift were the only ones currently awake, yet were wise to stay mum at the sight of Basilio's niece wandering about with her hair loose and in her nightdress. First she peeked into the parlour, then she looked into the alcove under the stairs where Gaius sometimes liked to hide to eat his ill-gotten gains; then the second parlour, then outside her uncle's room, then the kitchen and the dining room and the little library. Olivia checked the larder twice and was considering searching the gardens, until a sudden thought gave her the idea to look up.
Though Gaius had seemingly mastered the arcane skill of sleeping anywhere, Olivia had no idea why he decided the ceiling beams above the kitchen made for an ideal sleeping place. The rogue had thrown his cape carelessly over him and cradled the empty wax-paper wrapper of a since eaten pastry, his legs dangling freely, and his head wedged uncomfortably between two intersecting beams. Olivia selected the sturdy broom used to sweep the place every morning and evening, and poked Gaius in the foot three times with it.
In the blink of an eye, the previously sleeping man had shot up higher into rafters and drawn his dagger. His glittering eyes and black clothing reminded Olivia of a frightened cat.
"Yeesh." He sheathed his knife with a sigh and picked his way down to his previous position. "Would it kill you to maybe learn how to wake people up normally?"
Olivia pouted peevishly. "Not until you learn how to sleep like a normal person."
Gaius yawned. "Touché." He jumped down from the beam right before Olivia, surprising her and forcing her two steps back. "But I think you would have learned by now, babe, that I don't exactly count as a 'normal person.' So!" He seemingly produced a match out of nowhere, struck it against the sole of his boot, and flicked it onto the table, the dangerous manoeuvre somehow lighting the half-finished candle on it rather than setting the whole place on fire. He yanked a chair out from where it was tucked under the table, twirled it, and finished his odd performance by sitting down backwards on it. "What's a normal person like you doing looking for weird ol' me so late at night?"
Flabbergasted, Olivia forgot how to speak for a few moments, until she was able to collect herself and cleared her throat expectantly. "W-well…I was hoping you could…do me a favour."
"Ahhhh, of course. I take it that it's a certain kind of favour, else you wouldn't have woken me up so rudely."
"I'm not ru—" Olivia began to protest. She cut herself off with a sigh. "Yes, it's a…special sort of favour."
"Well, spit it out then. I've already lost enough sleep as it is." Gaius yawned annoyingly to emphasise his point. "And you do realise this is highly inappropriate, young miss? Skulking around in the dead of night with naught but your nightie, why, someone would think you were off for a secret tryst—"
Olivia, blushing a fierce scarlet, shushed him furiously. "I had to do this at night, else I wouldn't have been able to get ahold of you during the day!" she admonished. "A-and I couldn't sleep, alright? Satisfied?"
"Maybe." He regarded her semi-curiously from under the sleepy lids of his eyes. "So? What's this favour?"
"Well I—"
"Ah, hold on just a second. We haven't discussed my payment yet."
"Your what?"
He raised an eyebrow and spoke in a rather patronising manner to her, as though she were a half-wit. "Babe, you know I don't do anything for free—I mean, I love free things, but I don't do free things myself, so I have to be guaranteed my payment first if you're ever gonna get me to do something."
"B-but—"
He interrupted her with a raised finger. Olivia was disgusted by his dirty fingernail, sticky with dried remnants of a past snack. "Ah, ah, ah," he wagged his finger in her face. "Less small talk, more payment plans. We good on that?"
"Fine," she huffed in annoyance. "A year—no, two year's worth of sweets, guaranteed at the end of every day." She pursed her lips in concentration, thinking of an additional incentive to sweeten the deal for the gluttonous miscreant. "A-and I promise I'll find a way to be around the stables more often so that you can have an excuse to talk to Cordelia."
Gaius was in shock, so impressed with the enticing award Olivia had just offered, that his mouth dropped open and a half-eaten lozenge he had somehow kept inside his mouth while asleep fell out. Olivia chose not to comment on her distaste. "How did you—must've been Sully. Figures she'd blab about my personal crap," he muttered under his breath, then refocused his attention on Olivia. "Babe! You talk a good game. We've got ourselves' a deal."
Had Olivia known what was coming, she would have attempted a sidestep, but it was too late; Gaius seized her hand for a good, firm shake, and she internally recoiled at the sticky, warm sensation of his skin on hers. "T-that's good to hear."
"So what's the job? A locked vault? A hidden treasure? Anyone who's been talking too much? You need somebody assassinated?"
"Well, today Fabia—what? No! Nothing of the sort!" Olivia hissed.
"No? I mean, the payout's pretty sweet, so I'm guessing it's not just any kind of job."
Mentally steeling herself for the inevitable outpouring of mockery on the jester's part, Olivia inhaled, exhaled, and laid out her request as simply as she could. "I-I-I want you to gather information on the P-Prince of Plegia."
Dead silence. Then, to her horror, a slow, toothy, knowing grin spread out on Gaius' face from ear to ear. "You liiiiiiike h—"
"I do NOT," Olivia whined and hid her red face with her hands. "And please stop—"
"Livvy's in looooooooove," Gaius crooned. "Livvy's got the hots—"
"Gaius." Olivia tried to apply as much force and authority as she could to her command. "I can revoke your payment at any moment. Do you want me to do that?"
Gaius rolled his eyes condescendingly. "Sheesh. Can't take a joke, can you? Fine. I'll stop making fun of you for just because you've got a flaming hot passion for a boy who's younger than—"
"GAIUS."
"Fine, fine. I'm stopping now." He waved his hands as airily as he waved away her complaints, and then dipped into a low, mocking bow. "Your wish is my command, your ladyship."
"Thank you." Olivia glanced around awkwardly. How much time had passed since she entered the kitchen? She could not see the clock very clearly from her standpoint. And she was, finally, feeling rather sleepy. "W-well, since that's been settled…I-I guess I should leave now…"
"Ah, wait just a sec there." Gaius stopped her short of the doorway. "I'm real happy with my payment and all, but can I ask what this is all about?"
Olivia had no answer. She could not for the life of her say why exactly she wanted this done.
What was it about Daraen that made her resort to this?
Gaius, sensing her inner turmoil, sighed and relented. "Look. I'm not gonna ask anymore about this until you know yourself. All I'm sayin' is that this is too big of an assignment to be anything less than just a passing interest."
"Is that how this looks like?" she murmured.
"Just–get some sleep, Babe." He vaulted back up to the rafters and settled himself back into his unfathomably uncomfortable sleeping position. "We're both gonna need some shut-eye if we wanna get this show on the road. And I do like getting an early start on a job."
Saying nothing, Olivia hoped he could see her tiny, grateful smile as she exited the kitchen and returned to her quarters for the night.
Writing Gaius is my JAM, he's just so witty and snappy! He works so well for a Shakespeare AU and the entirety of the current Feroxi group is certainly the funniest of the bunch–he and Olivia will certainly keep Robin on her toes! And in the next chapter or two…new characters await!