1Author's Note: I want to apologize for the lack of updating lately; as we all know, life can be harsh when it comes to time to write and create. A few health snags plus work meant a long time in me finally moving forward, but I couldn't have done it without a few strong words of support from you dear reviewers. Keep them coming and I promise I will too. For your patience, I give to you Part 2 of The Mask You Wear..
It was easy to forget that two months had passed since Queen Ashelia Dalmasca's coronation ceremony, but not so easy to forget the endless maze of hallways that made up the central palace of Emperor Larsa Solidor.
Even now Judge Magister Gabranth walked with a slightly urgent clip, all but ignoring the requisite salutes by the guards posted in the grand hall. One hundred and fifty paces between each he mentally recalled, recording his progress by the number of pairs he passed. It was easier to measure by such militaristic methods than by measuring his own iron-plated steps echoing off the walls day after day.. Such was the role that guardian to the young emperor provided. He would never dream of regretting the promise he had made to his previous benefactor but some days stretched far longer than others in the guise of someone else. For now all that mattered was that he was Gabranth; therein lay the hope of a fallen brother and soldier.
The Judge Magister finally rounded a corner and came to another pair of guards, these posted in heavier armor marking their higher duty of ensuring the identity of each and every soul that passed in and out of the room behind. Just as there could be no mistaking his identity from the demonesque armor he wore, the image of twin serpents coiling about a sword etched in the doorway always reminded him that this was the chamber of the last remaining member of House Solidor.
"The Emperor is expecting me," his voice rasped from behind the mask. "Let him know I've arrived just now."
"Yes, m'lord!" barked the guard on the left, lifting his hand to the brow of his helm. The sentry turned and gave a knock to the chamber door before opening it and dissapearing within. Moments later he returned and motioned for his fellow to move his spear. "Emperor Larsa welcomes your return Judge Magister. Please enter."
Gabranth slipped between the men and entered the adjoining room to the sounds of the door closing securely behind him. Only once he heard that did he lift his gauntleted fingers up and take grip of both sides of his helmet just beneath the ornate horns. With a firm push the helm slid off his head and was tucked under one arm, allowing Gabranth to smell the sweet air unabated. His eyes closed for a precious few moments while he breathed deep the taste of it, this place perhaps having grown to be his favorite in all of Archadia.
Just beyond the final door the palace opened up to an arch-laden promenade with waters redirected to create magnificent falls and waterways stretching the width of the palace. Greenery clung to the walls here, sunshine pouring down onto the meeting place unrestrained thanks to the lack of wall or ceiling to speak of. Spread about the promenade, fine sculptures and empty benches spoke of a different time when House Solidor's family gathered as any other did to enjoy the finery that their position provided. Yet without family, only one other soul sat basking in the impossibly fine weather.. Seated as he was many times at a long table at the rear of the promenade. The youthful face peeked up from a stack of official papers and beamed, pushing himself to a stand quickly and hurriedly walking over to where the Judge Magister stood.
"Lord Larsa," Gabranth managed with a weary nod and half smile. His form bowed slightly forward in respect to his master. "I heard that you summoned me and returned to the palace as soon as I could."
"Archadia welcomes its hero back with open arms," the dark haired teen replied back with an infectious smile and chuckle. He too drew a deep breath and seemed to bask in a moment of private peace with the knight. "But of course I summoned you only to know how your travels fared. I hope they found you well.. Sir Basch?"
It was always with a degree of discomfort that he heard his name used, if for no other reason than one of anonimity. Grabranth's - or rather Basch's - brow furrowed a bit as he cleared his throat, to which the young emperor sighed and waved his hand dismissively.
"Come now," he added lightly. "This place is safe. And private. I honor your brother's wishes with all the respect they are due, but there must be at least one place in the world where you can be yourself without fear of discovery or malice. You deserve that much, I think?"
Larsa smiled again and turned to walk back toward the table he worked at with guardian closely behind. Basch nodded silently at his explanation, waiting until Larsa had reseated himself before speaking up in grim reply.
"You know I trust you," the former Dalmascan captain corrected. "But these are still delicate times. I only do what I must to protect you and Archadia for myself and my brother."
Larsa leaned back in his seat and shuffled a few scrolls together, regarding the Judge Magister with a keen eye. He was silent for a brief time but eventually nodded in understanding. Steepling his hands together he leaned forward again and motioned toward the seat in front of him despite knowing his companion would never sit.
"Then tell me what news you bring from the west. How fare the lines?"
Basch moved quietly to the other side of the desk and set his helm down on the edge with a slow sigh. He would have shrugged had it been habit, but instead his lips turned ever slightly downward at the mention of his recently ended assignment.
"For now the Rozzarian empire's fleet keeps its peace with ours," he explained carefully. "But there are still tensions as expected. Truth be told I'm impressed no serious incidents have occured thus far.. But there have been the occassional fires to quell among the soldiers. Peace is a fragile thing to uphold."
"And war is a horrible thing to forget," Larsa added with a sagely nod and a sigh of his own. "Both sides lost so many countrymen.. It would be foolish to assume they could forget such hatreds so easily." The youth looked up again with a genuinely worried expression. "Do you think the peace will hold?"
Basch kept his gaze focused on the eyes of the empty mask looking back at him and stayed silent for several moments of thought. Finally he lifted it to meet Larsa's, forcing a half smile back on the emperor's behalf.
"I think," he murmured. "That in cooperation lies our hope for lasting peace."
That brought a smile to Larsa's face, the former captain's words echoing ones spoken long before. He nodded and drew a slow breath as he rose and collected his papers, keeping an eye on the quieting guardian.
"You are tired," he noted. "And you have had a long journey. I would see the Judge Magister retire for a few days of duty and recover. Zargabaath mentioned he would be glad to spend some time free from his airship and you have earned your rest. We will speak again on this later, I promise you."
The Dalmascan gave a slight bow once again and retrieved his helm, replacing it over his head and into place before watching the young master slide from behind the table. A sudden realization came to him, and as he fell into step next to the youth he cast a glance to him with a downward tip of his head.
"What would the Emperor suggest I do in the meantime? It is not my habit to lay idle for too long."
"A letter was delivered to me while you were away," he replied with an uncharacteristic grin up the elder knight. "I made sure it remained sealed and left it in your quarters. I'm confident you will find something in its contents to keep you occupied for awhile, Gabranth. I have faith in you my friend."
As the double doors opened Larsa stepped past the saluting guardsmen, leaving the Judge Magister to stare blankly at his back for a moment before taking his quiet - and confused - vigil just behind the young Archadian emperor's footsteps back into the hallway.
For the thousandth time in as many days a quill hovered above parchment, freshly inked.and yet unused. The wielder watched as ink spots beaded and slid in slow motion down the fine tip of the writing instrument until at last they fell to the blank sheet as useless spatter. Like every other time, it was the only sound in the room besides her breathing, and each time the process happened she cringed and bit into her lower lip as if glass was shattering all around her.
It began as an occasional oddity in her daily life until one day, some weeks ago, she noticed her quick had become a habit. A few days ago.. she finally admitted it was growing into something of a cruel obsession. Inevitably, she would close her eyes after a few minutes of watching the dripping ink and mentally berate herself for her weakness, followed afterwards by more self loathing for even having a weakness after all she had been through. Like fated clockwork she waited and watched the ink bead once again in the vicious circle that had become her private thoughts and the attempts to write them when her voice had failed her.
As expected when enough droplets had soaked into the unusable parchment she shut her eyes tightly and set the quill back into the inkwell. Careful not to stain her hands what remained of the paper was savagely crumpled into the tightest ball she could manage without her nails digging into her palms. Once done that shameful piece of evidence would, of course, be disposed of simply by focusing on it for long enough; fire magic, though powerful, was not without its everyday uses.
Ashe opened her eyes long enough to watch the last bits of ash breeze out of her fingers and into the air thanks to the warm breeze filtering in through her bedroom curtains. Through pursed lips a shaky breath escaped, tasting strangely of guilt. She hated feeling this way; common and emotional like a schoolgirl who had nothing better to do than daydream and whittle away her days. A woman in her position was irresponsible to allow tiny hopes and dreams to cloud the gravity of the bigger picture and selfish for letting the desires of the one outweigh the needs of the many. To put ones country before oneself was the need - no, the absolute purpose of existing - of a queen. She had to remind herself of her duty every single day.
And as she did, Queen Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca closed her eyes and felt the warmth in her blood grow colder and the trembling of her lower lip steady itself. Her control was coming back, slowly but surely. Even the smell of burned paper slowly wafted away.
"I will not falter," she whispered aloud as blue eyes opened to her room, the breeze comforting her senses and reminding her where - and who - she was. The queen found solace in a self embrace, thumbs rubbing into the silk fabric covering her upper arms as if a chill had managed to find her despite the desert winds.
Her gaze was caught not by any sight just beyond her balconied window but instead by two simple trinkets perched on a table next to her bed. There a pair of silver rings gleamed back at her and added to the invisible weight she bore on her shoulders that bound her. Every time her spirit wavered she found herself looking at them.. and all thoughts of herself were chased away by the reality they provided.
Suddenly the room seemed to materialize around her as though the past few minutes had all been a dream. The sounds of the birds chirping in the distance came back into audible range. She perceived the mullings of a bustling city just beyond that window and took note of the time of day by the position of the sun across her floor. The duties of a queen awaited her, and she had put off those duties for far too long now. A knock at her door snapped her back to her full senses, startling her into a quick stand from her seated place.
"Who is it?" Ashe spoke up in as steady a tone as she could.
"Altressa, m'lady," came a petite voice from the other side of the door, belonging to one of her handmaidens. Young and nervous, she knew by the sound of her voice that the newest member of her royal entourage was still growing used to being in the Queen's precense. "Ah...y-you have visitors from the city! A young man and a dancer, they said they know you personally. Your guests from Rozarria will be arriving shortly as well.. Shall I have them wait in the drawing room your majesty?"
Ashelia blinked at the doorway and frowned in curiosity, turning to gingerly pick up her crown. She stared at it for a moment before replying in an even tone through the securely locked door.
"Tell them I cannot see them.."
"...m'lady? How --" Came the timid voice from the other side, uncertain about the message or its meaning. Ashelia closed her eyes and shook her head.
"Tell them Queen Ashelia is indisposed," she explained sullenly. "And that she apologizes. For the inconvenience..."
When she was sure the handmaiden's footsteps had left the vicinity of the door the Queen set her crown down and sat back down, biting her lip before resigning herself to wait until her official business arrived courtesy of Rozarrian airships.
"I will not falter," she whispered once again to herself as she studied the magnificent view of Rabanastre's rooftops from her bedroom window. "..ever again."