Note: The following is the result of multiple re-writes, delays, and overall banging my head against the wall as the world around us falls into a panic from COVID-19 (Oh, and stay safe, folks, best of luck). I eventually cut out a lot of content, to improve the original plan we had for it. This is the third and final part of this chapter.
Thank you for your patience~
The Scholar 4-2
Lillian Varrix, a recent widow of Gideon Varrix, was a stern woman. While her height was only just average for a citizen of the Empire, her presence demanded respect in even the most drunken of soldiers.
Her eyes, though losing their sight at a much too young age of 45, were a steel grey, matching the metallic streaks in her auburn hair. Her build was slight, but she had a wiry tenacity to her strength, handling heavy loads of laundry, soil for the plants, or saplings with practiced ease.
A woman like her wouldn't normally be considered as "flower shop" material, and sometimes she found it hard to agree. It had been her late husband's dream to own a shop, and Gidion Varrix was the most flowery a man could get.
His death at the hands of mercenaries- though they were said to be mere highwaymen, had hit her hard. Not even a body was left, or if there was, a Danger Beast had long since snatched it up.
He had been a jovial man, potbellied and balding, and he had a laugh to match. He had always been the kind one, and she was the realist.
"You're too soft," she had once told him. Her foolish husband had just given a pocketful of coins to an old, legless beggar who claimed to be a veteran of the old Occupation Wars. They had just gotten out of earshot of the joyfully crying beggar when she pulled the foolish man aside for a scolding.
The man had boisterously replied with a bear hug, "Only to even out your steel edges, m'love!"
…..When a sword lost the leather wrapping around the handle, what good was it? What use was a sword in a flower shop? She belonged on a battlefield, preferably dead with her husband, not wasting away here-!
A few taps on the front door, almost too soft to hear, pulled Lillian from her dark thoughts.
The sun was just below the horizon, painting the capital a purple twilight. This time of day, there wouldn't be customers. Most folk would either be preparing dinner, sleeping or visiting taverns.
Lillian cursed. The door was locked, but she had forgotten to take the "Shop's Open" sign down, and she really wasn't in the mood for customers. The door knocked again, and the aging woman fought the instinct to reach for her hidden knives.
That was a particular habit that'd left her husband exasperated to no end.
"Just a moment," she called, making her way to the front door.
With a squeal of rusting hinges, Lillian peered at the newcomer. All she could discern was a brown cloak and strings of fine obsidian hair.
Whoever they were, they were short, to the point she couldn't see a face under the hood. "Yes?"
"Hello~!" A muffled young voice said, "Are you Lillian Varrix, of Gidion's Flower Shop?"
The aging woman narrowed her eyes. "Yes, I am. Kid, usually manners are to introduce yourself as well." She had made a guess that she was dealing with a child, a guess that turned out to be fruitful.
"Really? I'm sorry then! My name is Zaiten."
Lillian raised her eyebrow, impassive and most definitely not amused.
The child paused as if noticing. "Oh, and don't worry, it was your cousin Irene who sent me!"
"Irene?" Fighting off a sudden onslaught of dread, Lillian's eyes widened. "What happened to her? Is she alright? I told her that viper pit of a palace would be the end of her, money be damned-"
The hooded figure, Zaiten, flung out her arms in panic. "W-wait a minute, Miss Lillian! Nothing bad happened, Miss Irene is alright!
Lillian relaxed a bit, letting out tension and dropping her hand from the concealed dirk. "You mean, she's not hurt, or being threatened?"
The figure nodded, and she forced a sigh. Against her better judgment, she couldn't help but feel the earnesty radiating from the child- and they were young, she could tell that much.
"Alright, kid, I'll believe you. But, that leads to why you're here. But," she added, "You can do so inside, I'll warm a kettle for you."
Five minutes and a mug of jasmine tea later, the two were sitting around the small dining table, an iron pot hung over the fire. The scent of roasting beef, vegetables, and tea combined, so it was no surprise when the stranger's stomach rumbled.
A pregnant pause.
Lillian raised an eyebrow, and gestured to the fire, "It'll be done in a minute. I'm not much of a cook, but it should be filling enough…"
She trailed off, not knowing the girl's name. Her hood was still up, hiding their features, but the old merc could tell that whoever they were, they were tiny, fragile even.
Many times, she had seen such people join mercenary groups like hers, only to get cut down the first moment of battle.
"A-ah!" The figure started, reaching to take down their hood, "you can call me, uhm…."
Their hand stopped when Lillian shook her head. "If my cousin sent you out, it's in both our best interests for your identity to remain hidden. It's not the first time she's sent an illegitimate noble out of pity…"
The girl fidgeted uncomfortably, laughing. "Oh, um, yes, I'm an illegitimate noble, just trying to leave the palace...ah-hah, hah."
Deadpanning, Lillian stared.
Just how inexperienced are nobles these days? She probably can't even use a butter knife, let alone that dagger is hidden at her hip!
Zaiten inwardly cringed. It was going to be a long night.
In Zaiten's dreams that night, he walked an ancient, dusty corridor. Stretching endlessly into the darkness, as far as he could see, were towering bookshelves. One foot, following the other, he wandered seemingly without end.
Oddly enough, he wasn't reaching out to each and every book. The constant, thunderous thirst for knowledge was...there, yes, but dulled.
And he walked on.
Though he couldn't tell where he was, Zaiten didn't mind. On occasion, the bookshelves were interspersed with statues. Knights in plated armor, nobles with regal bearing, and ancient-looking bearded men holding scales, books, or flowing cloth.
One after another, they passed by him, but he paid them no mind.
And there was, of course, the faint whispering, nigh inaudible.
For each statue he passed, the sea of voices grew, as well as the frequency of the statues. The shelves of books began to lessen in size, and their contents grew older. Books became scrolls, and scrolls became tablets of stone, clay, and brass.
He walked on.
It was close now, he could feel it. What 'it' was, he didn't know, but he had to find it!
After the instant of an eternity, he stood before a final statue, this one standing out more than all of the rest. Flowing robes, a scale in one hand, a book in the other.
A face, hidden beneath a cowl and behind a mask. Knowing that he was there, Zaiten stepped closer... hand outstretched…
Morning came and went, and although the straw mattress was far less comfortable than the plush beds and down pillows of home, the warm stew, and jasmine tea had done wonders for Zaiten.
The flower shop (Who's namesake, Gideon, was nowhere to be seen) was a two-story building. His room, as well as the master bedroom and kitchen, was upstairs. Though small, his quarters weren't cramped, and Zaiten had enjoyed opening the window for the fresh cool breeze.
On the first floor was the nursery, filled with hundreds upon hundreds of different flowers that Zaiten had never seen before- well, partially. Books couldn't count, in this case, though the Imperial Gardens had at least as much splendor.
He had missed it the night before though, his attention occupied by the rather intimidating woman, and that there was little light.
Perhaps the most interesting thing about Gidion's Flower Shop was the greenhouse in the back.
Without paying mind, a dictionary entry came to the forefront of his thought, automatically.
A greenhouse, also called a glasshouse, or, with sufficient heating, a hothouse, is a structure with walls and roof made chiefly of transparent material, such as glass, in which plants requiring regulated climatic conditions are grown.
(What didn't occur to Zaiten at the time was that no, photographic memory was not normal, nor was the voice that seemed to speak at the back of his mind.)
A voice broke his train of thought.
"...-id? Hey, kid, snap out of it. I've got porridge for you downstairs, so don't complain if it's cold!"
Lillian had disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived, presumably to finish breakfast.
The mention of food was met immediately by his stomach, rumbling it's complaints. Almost chidingly, he rubbed it. It took a minute to break the haze of sleepiness, but soon his shoes were on. He took his time, noting the extra details of the shop's living areas on the way down.
He had never seen what commoner dwellings were like, outside of pictures and books; Far too often focused on mystery or adventure, though he had gone through a very dry and outdated book on architecture from the previous three centuries ago). This place, being a flower shop, had a surprising amount of weapons on the wall, and there were even a handful of picture frames leading down the stairwell.
Most of them were of Lillian and another man, whose bright smile seemed to light up the frame, and complemented the blank or scowling expression of the woman. Next to a river, sitting in a field of flowers, the man's comical expression while eating strange food, and a reluctant grin from Lillian sitting at a cafe table.
A faded, black and white photograph caught his attention. It was placed high, just out of reach, but it made him curious nonetheless. Collodion devices, modern devices of the last century, were top-of-the-line tools for high quality, used dry plates of light-sensitive silver salts to act as capture mediums, and are state of the art...or at least the yellowed pages of a magazine had claimed.
Judging by the crisper and colorized images in the other photos, Zaiten's sources in the library were pitifully out of date. He made a note of that before focusing on the picture.
This one depicted nearly two dozen people. They wore leathers, chainmail, or cloaks, and bore enough weapons to outfit a company of Imperial Guards. Broadswords, crossbows, halberds and pikes, axes, and two knives.
Two knives, black and sporting jagged curves...gripped by a much younger, happier Lillian, hands resting at her side.
Before he could dwell on the old photograph, his stomach growled, telling him that when sausages and porridge were on the line, there would be no stops.
"I'm coming down, Miss Lillian!"
Lillian didn't stop herself from giving the girl a 'thousand-yard stare'.
One could call it outward suspicion- and indeed she was wary of all strangers, but the real reason she didn't avert her eyes was surprise.
The girl sitting before her was even smaller now that she had forgotten her cloak. Even with her painfully obvious wig tied back, Lillian could tell that this newcomer was of noble heritage. Everything, the petite frame, high arching jawbones, and emerald eyes simply screamed ancient heritage.
If not for the obvious looks, Lillian would be second-guessing herself. The child ate with enough gusto to match a full-grown man, let alone a girl her age.
"...fhwaht ish it?" The child asked, cheeks stuffed in a chipmunk fashion.
That's dangerously adorable, damnit!
Lillian didn't say it out loud. Instead, "I didn't think nobles would ever eat like that, let alone a little girl like you."
The stranger had the decency to look embarrassed- adorably so, cheeks faintly tinged.
"Hauw did-" she swallowed her food, still being adorable in the process. "How did you know I was a noble?"
"You just told me." Lillian couldn't help but smirk at the girl's panicked look. "That, and you shouldn't have taken such a fancy cloak."
"O-oh. I'll have to remember that…"
Good, she's not completely braindead.
She leaned forward with her hands clasped under her chin. "So, what are you doing outside of the palace? Did they run out of warm milk?"
Just out of habit- definitely not because she wanted to test the kid- she started tapping her feet rhythmically.
(Zaiten found the noise to be soothing, piercing stare aside, but it wasn't anything near what he got from father…)
"That's silly, Miss Lillian. I drink a lot so I can grow big, but not that much!"
The stare intensified. She never liked sass talk, certainly not in her own home…. even if the kid was adorably innocent about it.
"No, it's just that...I wanted to go outside!"
What.
"What." She stated her thoughts audibly.
The sheer airhead way the girl said that…Lillian gestured for her to go on. "You...just wanted to go outside the palace?"
The child- and Lillian was suddenly regretting not learning the name- eyed the unfinished heap of eggs before her as if it was a matter of life and death.
Before she could shovel another mountain into her mouth, Lillian stopped the child with a glare. Timidly, she responded.
"I wanted to go outside, to see more than the palace. To go outside the walls and visit farmlands, really, but... The city, with all the shops and people! The farmlands, outside and free from the walls and mean-looking guards! Inside the palace, it's stifling. People glare at me, I don't have friends, but most importantly, I need to know!"
Lillian would have scoffed. A noble growing up in such a cushy environment would never know just how good they had it. Food, shelter, a society with rules and free from death. She wanted to scoff, at just how similar it was to those idiotic novels.
And yet, there was something about the noble's expression that made her stop. Was the Palace free from intrigue, subversion, and murder? Would a young noble, illegitimate and obviously unique, have friends or family, someone to rely on?
More importantly, this child had just expressed a wish to know. To know the genuine lifestyles of her subjects.
Considering what most nobles were like, was that wrong of her to discourage?
A quiet, traitorous voice whispered from her memories. 'Is this not what you wished for, so long ago?'
"-ian? Miss Lillian, are you alright?"
The aging mercenary shook her head, clearing the stupor.
"Fine, kid, I'm just fine." Leaning forward, she grinned and looked her in the eye. "So, what's this about adventuring outside the walls?"
Zaiten couldn't believe his luck.
The scary woman was really kind after all. Her smile, even with the scars, was still a smile. He may have been young, but he knew that while everyone could smile, only good people could have good smiles.
It really was as simple as that.
So yes, the day was going well. He had a new friend, a better cloak for blending in (Though he had pouted at how coarse it was, in contrast to his old one), and was now on the way to his destination; to learn agriculture in the farmlands.
The crepe in his hands was merely a bonus. According to the vendor, it was called Blin in his homeland; a sugary, sweet, heavenly bonus that made him sigh in bliss. All too soon, it was gone, leaving him unexpectedly filled yet empty at the same time.
Out of idle curiosity, Zaiten looked around for Miss Lillian, but she was nowhere to be found among the much taller crown of people. The market was bustling, but he knew that Lillian would easily find him, so long as he stayed where he was.
Still though, it was very tempting to explore…
Behind him, he heard a muffled sob. Even though the market was noisy, he stood on the bench to find the source of it.
There, back to the wall, was a young girl. She was crouching with her back to the shadowed wall, somehow managing to hide even with her neck length, orange hair.
Zaiten made his way over.
"Excuse me, miss?" He crouched, "Are you okay?"
"uuwa?" The sobs paused, and the girl looked up through her hands. She opened her mouth to say more, but quickly shook her head, eyes squeezed tightly. "don'wanna talk to strangers."
"…why?"
"Mama and Papa say not to talk to strangers."
That got Zaiten thinking. Growing up in the palace was lonely, and as much as he loved the servants who helped raise him, it was their jobs. Feeding him, clothing him, dragging him from the library for dinner…and head pats, of course!
But, despite all of that, he never truly experienced the love of a mother, right? What would a mother say to that?
"Well, miss, my name is Zaiten, and though I don't have a mother, you can talk to me now!"
"B-but I'm lost, and you're a stranger." The girl sniffed again.
Zaiten smiled, "But I'm not a stranger, you know my name~! Now you can tell me yours, and then we'll be friends!"
Unable to resist, the orange-haired girl smiled back. "My name is…"
The innocence was lost to both of those children, living in their own different worlds. They sat there, surrounded and seen by hundreds of adults, yet unnoticed; that day, a spark formed. Such a spark would burn unnoticed, like a small ember beneath a foundation of wood, but it is the greatest of flames that have the humblest of beginnings.
As it turned out, that little girl was merely lost for a moment. Her parents, alongside their old acquaintance Lillian Varrix, had been discussing the recent series of Danger Beast sightings outside the Farming District. The old merc had decided against Zaiten's little expedition, at the end of it, and had called on the Captains of the City Guard to return the young noble home as a favor between old war friends.
Lillian Varrix, after all, was their old drill instructor.
The adults returned from the Guardhouse to a heartwarming sight of two young children; huddled together and sharing a crepe, their smiles shone with all the brightness of the sun. Obliged to scold their daughter, the young married couple couldn't keep a grin of their own from appearing.
Though her parents would soon perish to the treachery and chaos of the coming times, the life of the little girl had already changed, though for better or worse is difficult to determine, at times.
The young prince of self-made exile had made a lasting friend with only a smile and innocent question.
What was her name?
"My name is Seryu! Seryu Ubiquitous!"
And she would be my greatest, most worthwhile friend.