And the Clock Struck Twelve
By seraphimstarlight
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Tales of the Abyss or any of its characters.
Author's Note: Thank you all for your kind support and for your patience and all your kind reviews!
Author's Note 2: I've been having difficulty uploading to this site lately, and I have no idea why. If more than two or three weeks go by without an update to this fic, please check my profile for announcements. If this problem persists, I may have to move this story to a personal site.
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Almost immediately, a large group crowded around the Emperor, forcing Natalia back towards the dance floor in order to avoid being trampled. She stumbled backwards rather ungracefully as the mob rushed forward, nearly toppling her over in the process. She managed to regain her balance, but, for a moment, she had balanced rather awkwardly on the thin, precarious heel of her stilletto. It had wobbled ominously, and she had feared that it would break. To her dismay, however, it chose to remain intact. If it had broken, at least she would have had an excuse to leave.
A loud exclamation from somewhere within the crowd drew her attention away from her shoe and the vague escape plan that was forming in her head back towards the front of the room.
Her heart stopped abruptly in her chest. The roar of the crowd disappeared into silence. The Emperor who, a moment ago, had been talking animatedly with some noble or another had not only fallen silent but was now making his way through the crowd towards her. She turned around, hoping that he was looking at someone behind her, but she stood alone and slightly dazed in the middle of the hall.
He waved the crowd aside as he approached her, and, to her surprise, they moved aside without question or hesitation. As he approached, her mind screamed. She wanted to look away from him, but something she could not identify kept her rooted to her spot and made her unable to look away.
It was the mask. It had to be the mask. At least, that was what she tried to convince herself. But as he neared her, she saw something in the eyes behind the mask that held her so. What it was, she did not dare think, but her heart which had stopped mere moments ago, had begun to throb painfully in her ribcage.
Inwardly, she cringed. Was she really that fickle that she would feel anything so strongly for a man she had been so determined to hate?
As he advanced, he kept his eyes, so vibrant and blue, locked on hers. Hate was most certainly too strong a word. It wasn't that she had anything against the Emperor as a person. In fact, for the ruler of what had been her country's enemy for many, many years, she found him surprisingly agreeable. To her shock, however, right now, she found him far more than agreeable—an after effect of the wine, she supposed.
Truthfully, she'd only had a few sips of the wine. Maybe she simply didn't hold her liquor as well as she had thought. When was the last time she had drunk alcohol anyway? She couldn't remember.
"Your Highness," he called to her, "It is a pleasure to see you."
To her surprise, there was none of the usual informality in his air as she would have expected from him considering their past meetings. He was graceful and well-mannered, even as he turned aside the attentions of some of the more persistent guests.
When he reached her, he took hold of her hand and raised it to his lips, just as Alpine's son had done before. This time, however, she felt none of the disgust—the sheer revulsion—that she had felt at the other man's greeting. If anything, she felt…comfortable.
In the back of her mind, she knew that she should have at least been worried. She could not understand why she was not. This man should have represented everything ominous and unwanted—not because he was from Malkuth and she from Kimlasca, but rather because he was the insurmountable obstacle that stood between her and the person that she…
But no. That was not fair to the Emperor. He had nothing to do with her current dilemma. He was an outside factor that, had she not been too afraid to make a decision, would not have presented too much of a problem.
As she curtsied and greeted him in the pre-programmed manner of formal dialogue—a task that did not require too much attention after her many years of formal gatherings and greeting various dignitaries—her mind drifted back to the couple days prior. With a twinge, she realized that, for all that time, whenever she had reached a point where she had to make a choice, she had hidden behind her unconfirmed duty to the Emperor. And when even that had fallen away, she had hidden behind her duty to her people.
She had claimed it was "duty" when it really was "cowardice".
A quiet sigh escaped her.
"Are you well, Princess?"
She snapped her eyes back to the Emperor's face, momentarily startled when her gaze met the mask rather than his eyes. Come to think of it….that thing was rather ugly. For that matter, the rappigs weren't all that pleasant either, but that was a subject better left alone for now.
"I am fine, Your Majesty," she managed to say after an awkward pause. "It has been a tiring day."
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Ah yes, I suppose it has." He smiled at her, and, to her dismay, her heart did a somersault in her chest. "After all that preening earlier, I can see why would would be tired."
She arched a delicate eyebrow. " 'Preening', Your Majesty? I've done no such thing for this particular occasion."
"Really?" he asked as he leaned forward, the tips of his long hair brushing against her cheek, "Then you must naturally look fabulous."
She drew in a sharp breath, took an involuntary step backwards and tried to make her heart stop flip-flopping awkwardly in her chest. She frowned to herself, at the traitorous organ's actions.
"Did I offend you, Princess?" asked the Emperor, taking a step back.
Her face, already flushed from his previous flattery, turned several shades darker. "N-no, Your Majesty, not at all! If anything," she added, turning away, "I must thank you for the compliment. It was hardly deserved."
She jumped slightly when he brushed his gloved fingertips along her cheek before gently turning her head back to face him.
"You should have more faith in yourself, Princess." He trailed his thumb along the curve of her chin. "The compliment hardly did you justice."
Her heart did that awkward flip-flopping thing again, and she silently chided it. Why was he having this effect on her? How could she allow him to have this effect on her? Why was his voice, which she always remembered to be deep, and slightly rougish, suddenly sounding more and more like velvet.
"Are you all right, Your Majesty?" she asked, hoping to preempt any other compliments that might be headed her way.
He tilted his head to look down at her. Again, she felt herself being swallowed in those eyes of endless blue.
"Yes. I am well," he said at last. "Why do you ask, Princess?"
She shook herself free of his gaze. "It's just that, your voice…it sounds…strange somehow."
He remained still for a long moment. "Strange?" he asked, curiosity evident in his voice.
An embarassed blush crept up to her cheeks, and she valiantly fought the urge to look away. "I didn't mean it like that, Your Majesty. I was just wondering if you have fully recovered from your cold."
His posture relaxed visibly. "Ah. That's all. Well, Princess, I thank you for asking, but, no, I have not fully recovered yet. But don't worry," he added quickly, "I'll be fine in a couple of days."
"Oh, that's good," she said, uncertain of how to proceed.
"But," he continued, extending a hand to her, "I am well enough to dance, and, I would be honored if you would join me."
The knot in her stomach tightened again, and, for a moment, she wanted to refuse, no matter how rude it would seem. But, as she looked up at him, his eyes caught hers again, and the chatter and music of the ballroom seemed to fade away into a numb silence.
Briefly, her mind drifted back to the previous evening when she stood in the starlit garden in Carmina Gaedelica when she had felt as though the world should have stood still.
She shook the thought away. How could she be comparing that moment which had been so right and so perfect to this moment, which she had spent so long dreading? Her heart sank. What would Guy think if he knew that she was comparing him, whom she had professed to care for, to the Emperor? It would likely break his heart.
"Princess?"
The Emperor's voice broke her train of thought, and she tried desperately to remember what he had just asked her.
"Is dancing disagreable to you?" he asked, concern tinging his voice.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. "No," she said quickly, "I would be glad to dance, Your Majesty."
The words were barely out of her mouth before he had swept her onto the dance floor, and they had slipped effortlessly into the proper timing for the music.
She looked up at him, a little surprised by the speed and grace of his movements. He certainly moved much faster than one might expect him to.
"Your Majesty is a talented dancer," she said, to break the silence between them.
He did not respond immediately, and, at first, she thought he had not heard her. But then, to her surprise, he swept her into a low dip that was completely out of place with the mood of the music.
He did not lean her back far enough so that she was uncomfortable, only enough so that she had to rely on him to support her. He leaned closer to her, so that his nose brushed against hers. Her breath hitched in her throat as she found that he was looking at her with those fathomless eyes of his.
"I appreciate the compliment, Princess," he crooned, setting her back on her feet "but there is no need for such formality between us, is there?"
"W-what do you mean?" she asked, unsettled.
"You've been wanting to say something, haven't you?"
She should have stared, looked surprised, anything, but instead, she looked away, knowing that it would confirm his suspicions. After all, it was true. She did have something to say; she just wasn't sure she could say it?
After all, how do you tell some one that, for the sake of your country, you would marry them if asked, but that, as an individual, you would be completely and utterly opposed to the union?
Surely there had to be some more tactful way to say it, but the only way she could think of was to remain silent.
Besides, he hadn't even asked her anything of the sort. Wasn't she, as Guy had said, being somewhat presumptuous? And if she was wrong, it would offend the Emperor even more than it would have if he had asked her.
But she should say something, shouldn't she—set the record straight from the outset? Tell him that she had no particular feelings for him, and that she was here only because of her duty to her country? That was the truth, wasn't it?
But even if it was—a fact of which she was no longer entirely certain—it seemed a far too cruel thing to say.
She tried to convince herself that that was why she could not say it—that she did not wish to hurt him. It was partly true, but it was something else that she could not name that shoved the words deep into the pit of her stomach where they died in a low sound.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice that the song they had been dancing to had ended until she stumbled slightly when they came to a sudden stop.
"Whatever it is, Princess," the Emperor said, his tone serious yet compassionate, "don't worry about it so much."
He smiled at her again and, to her surprise, she found herself smiling back at him.
"There we go," he said, his voice dropping to a low, almost seductive whisper, "a smile suits you much better."
The music started up again, preventing her from making any kind of verbal response. To her dismay, it was a slow song. Before she could protest, the Emperor had pulled her closer and had tightened his grip on her waist, preventing her from stepping back.
"Y-your Majesty!" she exclaimed, startled.
"Yes?" he whispered, his breath tickling her skin.
Her entire body went rigid, her jaw snapping shut with a jarring thud.
Why? Why was she reacting this way? Why was he—of all people—having this effect on her—especially when she claimed to—love—someone else?!
She had never, ever, felt anything for the Emperor before, so why now? Of all times!
It was a mistake. Something was wrong—there had to be! There was no other explanation for this—an explanation for why her heart was pounding the way it was, why when he looked at her with those eyes of his she could not look away, and why when he leaned forward as though he might kiss her, she did not object.
Involuntarily, she relaxed in his arms as his lips met hers. For a moment, she was too stunned to react.
No. No. No! This was wrong—terribly wrong. It shouldn't be like this. Guy's face flashed before her eyes. How could she do this to him?!
But—she realized with a gut-wrenching pang—she had already done worse to him. She had effectively forced him to reveal his feelings. She had selfishly encouraged those feelings, knowing that she could not be with him. Worst of all, she had told him she loved him when she knew that she would likely marry someone else.
Until now, she had not thought what it would be like for him if—no when she married the Emperor. It wouldn't only be that she would be marry someone else but that he would likely see her everyday after she was married. He would have to see her marry the Emperor. He would undoubtedly, at some point, see the Emperor kiss her. In the years that followed, he would hear her children call another man father.
He would have to live with all that, and there would be nothing she could do to ease the pain that she had inflicted. And, if he loved her as much as he claimed to, she could only imagine how truly terrible that pain would be.
The thought of it alone made her blood run cold. He would suffer, and it would be her fault.
Against her will, her shoulders began to shake and hot tears stung her eyes.
It was too late. He was already suffering. She had messed things up from the very beginning.
The Emperor pulled back, sensing her distress and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Princess," he began, apologetic, "I—shouldn't have done such a thing."
She could not respond. The tears that she had tried to repress now spilled freely down her cheeks.
He stepped closer. "Princess, I—"
He reached up to wipe away a tear that had trailed down her her cheek, but she slapped away his hand. Even through the mask she could see his eyes widen in shock—and hurt?
Those eyes, the same color as Guy's, filled with hurt? It was far too much for her to bear.
She turned away, covering her face in her hands. "Please, Your Majesty, just—leave me be."
She stepped away from him, in the direction of the door, when he took hold of her wrist.
"Please, Princess. Just…wait."
"Let me go," she said in as commanding a tone as she could possibly muster.
"Never."
She tensed. The sheer conviction in his voice had startled her. "W-what?"
He stepped closer. " I will never let you go."
It was the sincerity that hurt the most. How could he say—let alone mean something like that? For someone like her?
"Find someone else," she said to the floor. "There are plenty of women here who would be glad to take me place." She tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.
"They've probably been dying to dance with you all night."
He shook his head. "Never."
She flinched. That word again.
He hesitated for a moment, as though debating something, then said in a quiet voice, "I do not wish to dance with anyone but you."
Those words. The same ones he had said.
No. No. No no no!
"STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT!"
Before she was aware of what she had done, her hand shot out and connected squarely with the side of his face. The blow, which had caught him off guard, displaced his mask, and he turned away quickly, hiding his face in his hands.
She took off before he could right it, and vanished through the large double doors at the end of the room. The doors slammed shut behind her, cutting her name off into a fractured syllable.
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He watched in despair as she vanished through the doors, and his strangled shout died away into silence. He started after her almost immediately and made it through the door just in time to watch her vanish up the staircase.
He leaned against a nearby wall and buried his face his hands. It was probably best to just leave her be now. It was probably what he should have done in the first place.
Disgust filled him as he looked down at his hands. How could he do such a thing to her—her of all people?! He had sworn that he would not let this happen—that he would give her as much time as she needed to make her decision. How things must look to her—he could only imagine.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. He did not need to look to know who it was.
"On a scale of one to ten," Jade drawled, "I'd rate that performance a negative eight, Your Majesty."
"Oh shove it Jade!" he scowled, reaching for mask and pulling it away along with the long, blonde wig he was wearing.
Jade shrugged innocently. "Oh come now," he chided, "is that any way to talk to your oldest friend, Gailardia?"
The blond swordsman tossed aside the mask and wig with a furious grunt. "Don't you dare, Jade! I don't need this right now!"
"Apparently you do," Jade said, his voice firm. "Because you seem to have forgotten exactly what you're supposed to be doing here."
Guy whirled around, slamming his fist into the wall with such force that he thought his hand would break. "And what exactly am I supposed to be doing?!"
"Not driving the Princess into a hysterical rage," Jade said, seemingly unfazed by the swordsman's temper.
Guy's face fell, and he slumped weakly against the wall.
"You're supposed to court her for His Majesty," Jade continued, "not make her want to kill him."
"I—I can't do this anymore," Guy said quietly after a moment.
"You have to. There's no backing out now."
"I know that. But I can't. "
"You will. That's all there is to it."
"It's not right to be deceiving her like this!"
Jade sighed. "It's not a deception. She believes the Emperor is courting her."
"But he's not!"
"She believes she will marry him."
Guy froze. "And in the end, she will."
"And that," Jade said with a pointed glare, "is all that matters. Right?"
The swordsman could not find voice to speak. Instead, he just nodded mutely.
Jade, seemingly satisfied with Guy's compliance turned on his heel and headed back towards the ballroom. "Good. Now, just remember that you were the one who agreed to do this, and everything should be…fine."
The Colonel's footsteps vanished through the double doors, and, the swordsman found himself alone in the empty, silent hallway.
Fine? Right. Like things could ever be right again. How could he have agreed to such a thing? When the Emperor had approached him and asked him to court the Princess for him, he should have refused. But her words from the previous evening had remained etched in his mind.
Then, she had seemed to think that marrying the Emperor was the best thing for her country, and he could not bring himself to openly disagree. After all, he had made her decision all the more difficult by saying what should never have been said. It was only right that he tried to mitigate the damage done. He had sworn he would help her along no matter how much it hurt him. She shouldn't have to suffer for his mistakes.
This seemed like the perfect way to help her. But again, he failed to account for his own weaknesses. Once again, she was suffering because of his carelessness.
He had sworn to help her. He had sworn not to interfere. But still!
He clenched his throbbing hand tighter, letting the pain wash over him and clear his mind.
"But still," he said to himself. "I can't let her go. Not now. Not like this."
He looked over to the corner where the mask and wig lay in a crumpled mass. Jade was right about one thing: he couldn't back out of his promise to the Emperor. But, that didn't say anything about going around it.
Pulling the gaudy cape from his shoulders, he gathered up the mask and wig and wrapped them all up into a bundle. During the night, he had no choice but to play the role of the Emperor, but, during the day, he could court her himself. If, by the end of the three days he could convince her to refuse the "Emperor's" offer of marriage, then he would ask for her hand himself.
It was a strange and rather roundabout way of doing things. If Anise were to hear of this, she would likely suggest that he just ruin the Emperor's chances of a successful courtship by turning the Princess against him, but, in his mind, she deserved better than that.
He trusted her to make the decision that was best for herself—even if it was not the best one for him. He would not take from her that choice no matter how much he worried that she might choose the Emperor over him.
It would be her choice. That was the way things should be. She would make the final decision, but he would do his damndest to show her that he was the better choice. He owed her that.
Glancing out the window, he judged it to be about three hours till sunrise. He had only slightly longer than that to figure out just how to win her back. Really, however, he had little idea of how to do such a thing, but he did know someone who might. Several "someones" in fact. Now. If only they could get here in time.
Luke and Tear would be able to help him, and Anise could probably contact them easily. He needed to get a message to Daath within the day. But how?
He pondered this as he headed towards the docks. A ship would probably be the best option at this point. If the high-speed clipper circled east around the Rugnican continent then headed southeast, passing between Padamiya and Radessia, it could reach Sheridan within half-a-day. But it would take a sizeable amount of Gald to commandeer that ship—especially something as menial as delivering a message, but it would have to be done.
As he ran along the docks to where he had disemarked from the clipper two days ago, a strange vessel caught his eye. It was long, sleek, and far too small to be a ship. It wasn't large enough to be the clipper either. In fact, it seemed far too flat to be a ship. He approached it to try to get a better look, but as he did so, a shout rang out through the still night air.
"Hey! Be careful!"
He turned, surprised at the sudden noise. A woman in a pilot's uniform came running towards him from the direction of the town.
His heart stopped for a moment. This was too good to be true.
"Noelle?" he called cautiously, "is that you?"
She skidded to a halt midstep, pausing momentarily before approaching further. "Guy? Is that you?"
"Oh thank Lorelei! I am so glad to see you!"
She smiled. "It's good to see you too."
"Listen," he said, trying to controlt he frantic edge in his voice, "I hate to ask you this. I mean, you probably have a million other things to be doing right now, but I need your help."
"Anything for an old friend," she said, cheerful, as always. "That's what I told Luke but he kept insisting on paying his passage."
Guy had just about launched into an explanation of his situation, but he halted in the middle of the first word. "Did you say 'Luke'?" he asked, incredulous. "As in Luke fon Fabre?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I just flew him, Tear, and Anise in from Daath this evening. They were supposed to leave this morning—you know, to make here in time for the party—but Anise got held up in a last minute meeting of some sort. We all agreed to wait for her, so we ended up getting here late."
He stared at her blankly for a moment. Had she really just said that Luke, Tear and Anise were here in Grand Chokmah?
"Still, I'll do what I can to help you," she continued. "Just what was it you needed?"
"Noelle," he said at last, "you are a godsend!"
"Really?" she asked, somewhat surprised. "I try my best to be helpful."
"Thanks to you, everything may just work out."
"What may work out?"
He smiled. "I can't say right now, but, tell you what. You don't have to stay here with the Albiore."
She shook her head. "I can't just abandon my ship. It's my pride and joy."
"You don't have to," he smiled proudly. "Just fly over east of the city. My estate's out there. I made sure to design it with a special landing area for the Albiore just in case I could ever get my hands on it." His eyes glazed over momentarily. "Anyway, you can stay at the estate. Just tell whomever greets you that you brough Fontech. They'll understand."
She smiled. "Thanks, I think I'll do that. Just remember, you promised to explain tomorrow."
He nodded, frowning slightly. "Yeah, I have to explain to Luke, Tear, and possibly Anise tomorrow too."
Noelle studied him for a moment. "It's about her," she said at last.
"What?" he asked, a little startled.
"The Princess," she continued. "Remember, you told me after we all reunited in Belkend after the Flightstone was stolen."
He vaguely recalled having spoken to her about something then.
She walked past him and headed for the Albiore. "Anyway, we can talk more tomorrow. I'll be glad to help you. After all," she smiled, "anything for an old friend and knight chasing his princess."
Before he could react, she had climbed into the cockpit and had started up the Albiore. It lifted off and vanished to the east where the last stars of the evening were fading into the dark sky.
Two days. He had only two days. He was not certain it would be enough, but it would have to be. With everyone's help, it just might be enough. He could only hope so.
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Author's Note:
This time, I have two announcements. First, the rating of this story might go up in later chapters because of a slightly limish scene that is trying to work its way into the plot. I'm not quite sure if I will include it yet, though. It depends on how the rest of the story goes and if I feel it is really necessary for the plot.
Secondly, I have begun planning an Interlude fic and a Sequel fic for this story. (Even more reason for me to finish this!). The Interlude fic is a little LukexTear short that managed to work its way in. And the sequel…well, for now, that's a secret, well, kinda…
All in all, thanks for your support. See you next chapter!