Author's Notes: I know, I know! It's been months. Hopefully it was worth the wait, and hopefully it won't take me so long to write the next chapter. Enjoy!
Summary: After living in seclusion for nearly three years, the only thing that Zelgadis wants is to continue his life in such solitude. But the nightmares that have been plaguing him for months became too painful to ignore, and he finds himself traveling the familiar path to Seyruun once again...
Chapter Five
'guardian'
People can no longer cover their eyes
If this disturbs you, then walk away.
Disturbed
- -
He didn't like how the wolf was glaring at him. It had no concern for the rain that streamed down its thick black fur, didn't mind the puddles that its paws were soaking in. It just stared at him, cold and motionless, as if it knew what he had just done. He hated how a mere animal could probe him so much with its gaze alone.
"Hey, mister…"
Hidden behind a small bakery shop where he had watched the scene unfold, Kreoss stared down at the little boy that was tugging on his sleeve.
"Mister, did Pa and I do a good job?"
"Yes," he grinned slowly, knelt down in front of the boy. He held out a small bag of gold coins, which the boy eagerly accepted. "You were wonderful, Tilud. Thank you."
The boy smiled and ran happily after his father. But when Kreoss looked back over his shoulder, he frowned.
The wolf was gone.
- -
Her bleary mind was sinking into delirious depths, where her body felt weak and sore, her eyes blank and tired, her skin icy cold while inside she was fevered with Cepheid's sizzling power. She wanted to hold her head high, be proud of her accomplishment of saving a man's life, but was too drained to even do that, too exhausted to even walk on her own. And that, especially, stung her pride the most as she grudgingly allowed Zelgadis to hold her up while they trekked back to the castle in their pensive silence. This was a man who hadn't been there to support her in the past; how could she be consenting to it now? How could her body, already burdened with the fatigue of magic depletion, betray her even more by sinking to such a level of weakness that she needed to rely on his strength to simply stand?
But he lent her that strength until the very end of their path, his arm fastened around her waist even as they reached the safe shelter of her home. She was soaked and shivering, teeth clattering and shoulders shaking, with one arm looped around his neck just so she could remain vertical. Her free hand was pressed against her stomach where a clawing pain was becoming more and more insistent, but she bitterly choked back any rising whimpers. The self-loathing of her sudden condition was hard enough to cope with; she couldn't bear to be targeted by his disapproval as well.
Meanwhile her companion was just as drenched as she was, even more so without the protection of a cloak. And yet he maintained a cool and collected expression, seemingly unaffected by the entire experience. She didn't know whether to be awed by his composure or resentful of it, but the sting in her belly persuaded her to lean towards the latter.
He looked down at her paled face and drooping eyelids, let her rest against him for a moment when they reached the bottom of the staircase. "Do you want to go to your room?" he murmured to her, lips close enough to her ear so that his breath caressed her neck and sent intimate chills down her spine.
His posture may have been straight and his demeanor calm, but his voice held a pitch of tenderness that was persistent in warming and soothing her, left her heart aching with memories of the past. She nodded weakly against his shoulder, head lolling heavily with the effort, and he quietly eased her up the stairs, the short train of her gown dragging a trail of dirty rainwater behind them. Every stride he took was caring and gentle as he hoisted her up each step and navigated her through the chain of halls that led to the west wing. The great oak doors stood imposingly tall at the end of the corridor, her name elegantly carved into their polished surfaces, and he opened one for her and led her inside, letting it shut quietly behind them.
She slipped out from under his grasp without sparing him a glance, knowing her movements were still cautiously examined by his perusing stare. She could feel his eyes burning into her back, candidly watching her every step and motion, and a sudden feeling of shyness gripped her and she hastened her way to the closet. She hated how he could still have that effect on her, how even though she was soaked and shivering and miserable, her skin still sparked under his intense and watchful gaze, craving for more.
Even after she had left his side and he let his arm drop, his muscles still tensed and coiled in contraction, ready to react in case she fell again. He observed her hunched figure, was alert to her shaky footsteps and swaggering form, and had to swallow down the anxiety lumping in his throat. His every nerve seemed fused with worry as he watched her struggle through her steps to the other side of the room, but still he held his ground.
They may have lost whatever bond of friendship that had been developed during their travels, but there were certain qualities about Amelia that he would always be able to recognize and dissect. Her self-righteous attitude and sweet naivety were only her surface trademarks – though targeted quite often by their friends for the purpose of a joke – but it was her strong resolve that had earned a small measure of his respect from the very beginning. She had been fourteen with the willpower of a seasoned war general.
Now, he could see that she was using it to ward him off. She had such an air of determination to make it by herself, forcing her body through the painful movements of crossing her bedroom alone, and he knew it was because she didn't want his help. It was enough to make him seethe in irritation – from her stubbornness, and also his uselessness.
He exhaled slowly, an effort to cleanse himself of the dizzying annoyance. Zelgadis had his boundaries, had built certain lines long ago that he would never cross. He could feel concern for someone, didn't have qualms with wanting to reach out to a friend in need, but anything beyond that would be unacceptable. He had clearly done enough, a theory that she was proving right by fighting her frailty to walk on her own.
But Gods, what she had done was amazing.
He wearily rubbed the back of his neck, finally able to ease away some of the tension. "Will you be okay here?" he called out to her, forcing nonchalance into his voice.
Safely tucked away in her closet and away from his prying eyes, Amelia leaned against the wall, head bowed and hand grabbing at her stomach. Her body was aching, knees quaking and arms so heavy that she could barely raise them, and her stomach still had that throbbing twinge that now had her hissing out loud. She needed to get out of her wet clothes and into a hot bath and then maybe consider a nap. Preferably one that would last a decade.
"I'm fine now. Thank you, Zelgadis-san."
"Alright…" his voice trailed off, his hesitance apparent, and she suddenly remembered that she had something he probably wanted back.
"Oh, your cloak…" She gently fingered the trim of it, her heart twisting with emotion. It was a surprise when she had felt it drop onto her shoulders earlier as the harsh rain pelted down on her skin mercilessly. Although it shouldn't have shocked her that much; he had done sweet things for her in the past. Such as saving her life.
He heard her shuffling around and was quick to interrupt her. "I can get it later."
She gingerly slipped the thick material off of her shoulders, folded it over one arm as she turned to the doorway with a grave sigh. He only did what he had to do, and that was how things had always been. She learned long ago not to cling to his gestures, the empty signals that he'd send her without realizing how they could be interpreted by a love struck girl. And in that regard, at least, he was more naïve than even she.
She wanted to smile at that ironic thought, but let it pass. The kind of wisdom and awareness that Zelgadis possessed was still something to be envious of. If she had had that, then maybe she wouldn't have found herself in a grave on one horrifying night. Maybe she would have seen him coming sooner, could have prepared herself and fought him off…
No.
There was no use in mulling over a past tragedy, and Amelia did so hate to be the victim. She was a fighter, a champion; not a damsel in distress. And her health needed her attention now. She gingerly held his cloak out before her, reached out her hand to lovingly smooth away any dirt or wrinkles. "There's no need for that, Zelgadis-san, I have it…right…"
The end of her sentence was drawn out in scared confusion as she stared dubiously at her hand. "Here…"
Oh…
"Amelia?" Zelgadis took a step forward. "What is it?"
Thick and dark, it shone ominously beneath the sparse daylight that made its way into her closet. A metallic odor tugged at her nostrils, reeking from the substance that coated her palm and squelched between her fingers, its ruby red color a sickly contrast against her creamy white skin. "Nothing," she attempted to respond evenly, though her heart raced with alarm and dread. She slowly trailed her eyes down the length of her arm and down to her belly. "Everything is fine."
He cautiously took a couple more steps. "No it's not. I can hear it in your voice."
She heard the nearing of his footfalls, tried to slow her breathing as she took in the sight of her midsection splotched with ample amounts of blood – her blood – but she knew she wouldn't be able to retain whatever calmness she had mustered for him. She was panicking and she knew it – was aware of the insanely fast heartbeat, trembling hands, and near-crippling nausea. She was just moments away from an anxiety attack, and she had to get rid of him, fast.
"Come on, I'm just tired," she called back to him, poking her head out of the closet. "And I'm…embarrassingly indecent right now, Zelgadis-san, so please don't come any closer. But here's your cloak." She tossed it onto the floor several feet away from him, and retreated back inside. "Um, I'll check in with you later, okay?" Please leave, please leave.
He walked over to his cloak and picked it up, holding his gaze to the closet's doorway. He had a strange feeling that tickled the back of his mind, an unwelcome feeling of unease that kept him rooted in place. "You're sure?" He didn't know what he expected her to say, didn't understand why he felt that something was just wrong, but still he waited uncertainly for her answer.
"Yes, I just need to change and," she swallowed against her rattling nerves, "and take a bath. I'll talk to you later."
"Okay…" He backed away towards the exit in spite of his screaming instincts. "I'll come by in a bit." He wasn't asking for her permission to do so. She seemed to think nothing of it though as she answered in the affirmative, and with a shrug, he let himself out.
In her closet, Amelia collapsed.
Cepheid, help me.
- -
He had almost made it to the east wing, intent on drawing a bath of his own and resting for a while, when he was approached by none other than the general of Seyruun's army.
In no way was Zelgadis a player for the other team, but he couldn't help but size the man up the first time he saw him that afternoon. The man, Trevor-san as Amelia had referred to him oh-so-caringly, was a piece of work himself, appearing to be in his late thirties or early forties. He had recognized the strong physique of a trained swordsman and the dexterous grace of an experienced martial arts practitioner, saw the medals that graced his uniform and knew of his status before Amelia had spoken his name.
She had said it with such trust. She used to say his name like that.
He shook his head. Despite the man's accomplishments that Zelgadis would normally respect, he'd always had a problem with soldiers. They often had this scowl of disgust whenever they looked at him, which at first he gave credit due to his chimeric appearance, but he continued to receive them after he had been cured as well. Even the guards in Luo's small town had this particular sneer reserved just for him, quite similar to the one he was receiving now from the man approaching him.
Luo had told him it was because they could sense his 'power and potential' and felt threatened by it.
Wise man, that Luo.
"Greywords-san." The general's face was a blank mask, eyes indifferent as he spoke with just the slightest hint of annoyance in his deep, commanding voice. "You will come with me to the throne room."
"Really." Zelgadis coldly stared back at him. "Actually, I'll be going to my room. Please excuse me, General." He moved past him easily, the other man making no gesture to stop his retreat. He only spoke, trusting the authority alone in his tone.
"His highness requests your audience." Zelgadis slowed to a stop at that peculiar statement. "You will come, Greywords-san."
He turned around, took in the general's smug expression and mirthful eyes, and he wanted to color that face black and blue with his fist. "Phil? What does he want with me?" And why did he send you?
Trevor's lip curled for a fraction of a second. "His highness wishes to discuss a personal matter with you." He narrowed his eyes, lost some of the formality in his speech. "You ran after Amelia-dono in the rain and brought her back to her room like some waterlogged ragdoll. You expected her father to not have anything to say?"
Damn it. The prick had a point, one that Zelgadis would normally discard without care, but this was Prince Philionel's request. Overbearing as he was, Seyruun's sovereign was still a kind man and respectable leader. And he was Amelia's father. Her very, very over-protective father. Actually, it was a wonder why Zelgadis hadn't been summoned before this day.
He crossed his arms over his chest, nodded to the hallway ahead of them while staring straight into the general's eye. "What are you waiting for? Lead the way then."
"Glad you see it from my perspective."
- -
He didn't understand the sudden bout of nerves that wavered through him as they came to the grand archway, the majestic gold and marble entrance to the throne room curving high above his head and beckoning him forward. He saw the proverbial red carpet travel along the pristine floor, almost like the tongue of some vicious beast trying to swallow him whole, and it led all the way up to a raised platform with two thrones, one occupied by the colossal Crown Prince.
He was waiting patiently, perched high on his throne, dressed in his regal snow white garments and a cape that Zelgadis could probably pitch a tent with. A thick broadsword was belted to his waist and rested against his leg, carefully encased in a sheath of finest leather. His hair, both facial and otherwise, was unruly as usual, adding to the image that most people found fearful and intimidating.
Zelgadis did not feel intimidated, but as many times as he had encountered Seyruun's leader, they had never met in the throne room. It all seemed so official and it made him uneasy.
Trevor led him forward, stopping before the platform and gave the prince a formal salute. "Your highness, Greywords-san has arrived."
"Thank you, Trevor. Please standby." He saluted again and took his post off somewhere to the right to watch the scene from afar.
Zelgadis wasn't sure what to expect, but when Phil turned to him and smiled, he felt slightly more relaxed.
Whoa. Never thought that'd be possible.
"Zelgadis-san, it's a pleasure to see you again," Phil bowed his head in greeting. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to arrange this meeting sooner."
He felt awfully confused in this situation. Was he supposed to kneel or something? Show his respect to the prince? He settled for an awkward nod in return, but then went a little deeper into a more formal bow. He could practically feel the scorn emanating from the general nearby at his horrid manners.
He straightened and smirked. "I did come unannounced. I wasn't exactly expecting a parade."
He regretted saying that when Phil responded with his own quip. "You know my daughter probably would have thrown you one," he grinned, drummed his fingers against the velvety armrest of his plush throne.
Zelgadis tried to remain impassive. "It would not have been necessary. I'm no fan of that much attention." His statement held a double meaning without him intending to make it so, but Phil didn't pick up on anything.
"Yes, yes, of course. My daughter is quite the exuberant one." His tone turned very serious then, and his face succumbed to the most solemn of expressions as he stared down at the ex-chimera. "Or rather she used to be, Zelgadis-san."
"Er…" What was this about?
"She's in trouble, isn't she?" the prince asked forlornly.
He didn't see that coming. He felt his shoulders jump in surprise, eyebrows shooting up when he saw Phil heave a sorrowful sigh and smooth his hands over his face in a gesture meant to alleviate stress. Then the prince looked back up at him with the most tired expression that he had ever seen on the man, creases of worry lining his face and eyes that drooped with sad acknowledgment.
"I'm no fool. I know that's why you're here."
Zel spoke with caution. "Nothing is certain. I don't have anything to go on." He moved his gaze to the illustrious paintings that gracefully decorated the walls, some that were six times his height, and found it easier to speak without maintaining eye contact. "I had dreams. Nightmares. I didn't think much of it at first, but then the Sage that was housing me revealed that he was receiving them as well. He called them visions. He told me to come back here."
"So it was not your choice to come…"
He realized how bad it sounded when phrased that way, but it was also wrong. He would not have admitted that nearly three weeks ago when he had started his journey, but now he felt confident of his motives when he returned his stare back to the prince's drawn features. "I would never let anything happen to your daughter if I could help it." It was a bold comment to make, but an obvious one that wasn't a secret. He had given that up long ago when he took a near-fatal blow from Gaav's sword. "Though yes, Luo did give me the proof that I was subconsciously looking for."
Phil perked up a little at that, gave him a wan smile. "That's very good to hear, Zelgadis-san. However, I'm not sure how safe she will be with you." He saw the shock on the man's face and shook his head. "Don't misunderstand me, I am very appreciative of everything you all have done to save this world, but that is a burden much too heavy for my young daughter to bear over and over again. She has been through too much." He grimaced, clutched his armrest in great distress.
Not safe with you…
Zelgadis took a step back, everything falling into place now, the reason as to why Phil had called for him in the first place blaring in his mind as it dawned on him. "You…you want me to leave." He hadn't foreseen the possibility of this happening, that even though Amelia would allow him to stick around, her father might not. He cursed silently in his head for not considering it. Prince Phil loved his daughter more than anything else in the world and would do anything possible to shield her from harm.
He just so happened to think that the harm was Zelgadis.
Thick silence stretched between them for many moments, Zel quickly returning to his emotionless state of stone, mind racing through what actions he should take to slip out of the castle as soon as possible, and maybe leave a letter or something for Lina, explaining the situation. Phil retained his expression of gravity as he watched the ex-chimera stumble around in his thoughts, his hand caressing the hilt of his sword as he, himself, appeared to be in deep pondering.
Zelgadis had just made the decision to write a note for Lina when, very unexpectedly, he heard laughter booming throughout the room, ricocheting from every wall and gripping his heart with its deep bass. Completely bewildered, he gawked at the prince that was now standing on the platform, just in front of the step that led down to the lower floor, with his head thrown back as he guffawed with all his might.
Tears were practically leaking out of the hulk's eyes as he fought to catch his breath. "Oh, my dear boy, you should have seen your face!" Bent over now, he slapped his knee in good humor. "Oh-ho, I've still got it!"
Zel's eye twitched. "Excuse me?"
"Silly man, you should know better than to think I would kick you out!" Phil unceremoniously wiped the tears from his eyes, his face red with lack of oxygen. He took the step down to the ground level and attempted to pull his mannerisms back into a more serious, refined state. "While I still hold true to my concerns, it would be quite unwise of me to send away the one person who can protect my daughter the best."
Zelgadis glanced around him candidly, not knowing at all what to expect anymore. "Forgive me sir, but where are you going with this now?"
"Yes, yes, I am getting to that, impatient one. Now just kneel before me."
"Kneel!?"
"We are wasting time, Zelgadis-san! Hurry!"
"Er…" Very hesitantly, he lowered himself down to one knee, sitting back on his heel as he stared at the prince's immaculate white boots. "Really now, what is this all about?"
"Ahem," Phil cleared his throat, and Zel heard the metallic clink of a sword being drawn from its sheath.
His eyes almost popped out. "Am I being beheaded!?"
"Silence! This is a very important ritual, Zelgadis-san, it will not harm you."
"O…kay…"
He felt the cool metal of the prince's broadsword fall against his shoulder – on its flat side, thankfully. In the back of his mind, he marveled at how it was wielded. It was a thick and heavy weapon, meant for two-handed use, and yet Philionel brandished it in just one beefy hand with ease.
His voice was, for once, calm and low as he stared down at the kneeling man before him. "Young man, this sword has been in my family for centuries, used to bestow new ranks amongst our men and promote those who are worthy to a higher standing in the eyes of the royalty."
O…kay…
"My daughter, Princess Amelia Wil Tesla Seyruun, guided by the holy hand of Cepheid, is in need of such a man on this plane to watch over her and protect her from the evil that this demon seeks to wreak upon her."
Now just wait a minute, here…
"Zelgadis Greywords, I hereby instate you as her watcher."
Oh, do you?
"With the general of the Seyruun army here as a witness to this ceremony, your mission, which I am assuming that you will accept, is to protect my daughter, Princess Amelia Wil Tesla Seyruun, from all harm that comes her way, from all malicious intentions that are focused upon her, and from any inner distress that could cause her mind to slip into any kind of terrain of misery."
Is that all?
Zelgadis kept his jaw clenched throughout the 'ritual', remained still as the sword's blade moved from shoulder to shoulder lest he lose an ear, and waited for Prince Phil to finish a chant in some ancient holy language before being spoken to again.
"Zelgadis Greywords, you are now bound by duty to the royalty of the Seyruun bloodline until your task has been carried out. As my daughter's guardian, I expect you to succeed in said task. Failure is not an option."
Silence.
"Well don't just sit there, my boy! Stand up and talk to me," Phil slapped him on the shoulder in jest. Zel nearly fell over from the impact.
He rubbed his shoulder, stared up at the hulk warily. "Sir…what the hell was that all about?"
"What's that, now? You said you would never let anything happen to Amelia," Phil grinned. "So this should not be any issue whatsoever. I have to do my part, you know, without getting…too involved. This was the best I could do without overstepping my boundaries as a father."
"By performing some kind of knighting ritual…?" He gingerly got to his feet.
"Well, yes, if that's what you'd like to call it. No matter, it's all said and done now. You are officially bound to her, and any acts of disobedience will be dealt with in a criminal court under the charges of treason." The roaring laughter resumed once more and Zelgadis started to back away slowly, glancing furtively at the exit behind his shoulder and praying he could just slip out without further progress in the conversation. He had enough to think about.
Phil caught the gesture and waved him away. "That's alright now, go on. I can imagine that there is much for you to tell her."
"I suppose there is," Zelgadis agreed, shuffling closer to the magnificent archway. "Er…thanks for the…honor?" How utterly awkward the situation was becoming.
"Thanks are not needed. You may take your leave now, Zelgadis-san."
"Right." With a final bow, he turned around and left.
From his post, Trevor strode forward to stand beside the prince. "Your highness, are you sure this was a wise move?"
Philionel stared hard at where the young man had walked out with an expression of calculated certainty and gave the general a firm nod. "There's no doubt in my mind. I could see it in his eyes, he was telling the truth when he said he would never let anything happen to my Amelia. He wants to protect her."
He took a few steps forward, lifted his gaze to the domed ceiling where a giant mural of Cepheid took residence and smiled ironically. "The question is, will she let him?"
- -
He was walking away from the throne room when he realized he still held his cloak in his hand, balled up and gripped in a tight fist. He stared down dubiously at the crumpled article, remembered the person that it had protected earlier in the day.
Protect.
…Guardian?
The word was spinning through his head, gave him a feeling of importance that both thrilled and frightened him. He didn't know anything about being a bodyguard or protecting people. He suspected that he was pretty awful at it, considering the pain and hurt feelings he had inflicted upon others in the past. Well, he certainly didn't want any harm to come to Amelia and was prepared to fight off whatever evil force was after her. She was his friend; he couldn't imagine doing anything less.
But a guardian to a princess? It was such a prestigious title that he didn't deserve, nor was he sure he wanted it. When had he ever shown such inclinations? What made Phil put his trust in him, of all people?
Scenes flashed through his head in a rapid, dizzying montage. Pushing Amelia away from an enormous spider; shadowing her in the castle when her father had been presumed dead; holding her while she nearly bled to death after Saygram's attack and intercepting Gaav's vicious strike soon after; carrying her through the winding tunnels beneath Sairaag after enduring a painful blow to her head.
He came to a sudden halt, an incredulous look surfacing on his face.
I was doing it the whole time. I've always protected her.
What did it all mean?
It didn't have to mean anything, he insisted and continued walking. Lina was the most independent, foul tempered, irrational and pigheaded woman he had ever met in his entire life, and yet she had no qualms with Gourry referring to himself as her bodyguard. If Lina allowed it without feeling any embarrassment, stubborn as she was, then surely he could come to grips with his position himself.
Plus, he had kind of gotten tricked into it.
Thanks, Phil.
He suppressed an annoyed groan and moved to un-crumple his cloak so he could fold it over his arm. It was still damp and he could feel his fingertips wrinkling from the moisture. He still couldn't get used to the annoying syndrome; he had never had to worry about pruny fingers before when his skin was rock.
He flapped it open from the compacted ball it had been bunched up in, holding it up before him, and then promptly stopped when he saw it.
His face twisted into a look of horror and shock. There were streaks and blotches of it, dotting the lining of his cloak in red-brown color. He had seen enough of it in his lifetime to determine what the substance was. Blood.
Amelia's blood. It had to be. The cloak was clean when he had draped it over her trembling form.
But it was also impossible. He had been there the whole time, watching and speculating. Aside from the ensuing fatigue, nothing had happened on their way back to the castle.
His mind then raced through the events that took place in her chambers. She had stowed herself away inside of her closet, tired but acting normally.
'I'm fine now. Thank you, Zelgadis-san.'
And then she had offered to give him his cloak back. That was when her mood had changed; she was scared, and he had picked up on it.
'Come on, I'm just tired. And I'm…embarrassingly indecent right now, Zelgadis-san, so please don't come any closer. But here's your cloak.'
So, the panic that he had imagined in her voice was real. She must have seen her own injury and threw his cloak out to get rid of him.
Well, it certainly wasn't going to be that easy.
Without another moment of thought, he took off for the west wing once more.
- -
He didn't bother knocking. When he flung open her door and rushed inside, the first thing he heard was muffled whimpering coming from her bathroom. He slammed the door shut behind him and charged forward with panicked strides.
"Amelia!" His voice was frantic. He hated it, even though he had shouted her name many times before in that exact same worried tone. And somehow, he knew that this time wouldn't be the last. He would always be afraid for her.
It was officially his duty now.
All at once, the crying and whimpering stopped. And then very timidly, "Zelgadis…san?"
"Amelia…" He reached her bathroom, the door already open to reveal the mess that lay beyond. His hands gripped the doorframe on either side of him as his eyes, wide and unflinching, took in the agonizing scene spread before him, his heart nearly in his throat. He pursed his lips together in an effort to control his outrage as he noted every spec of pain that graced the lush room.
She scrambled away from him on the hard wood floor, pressed her back up against the wall opposite him while attempting to hide her face behind a curtain of ebony hair. She pressed a bloodied towel against her abdomen, her hand shaking violently as she hunched her body over her folded legs.
She was clothed in different attire than when he had left her. A loose white tee-shirt was now bunched up around her midsection just below her breasts, wrinkled and dotted with crimson from her stomach injury, and she wore a pair of black linen knee-length leggings. Her luxuriously huge bathtub was filled with soapy red-brown water, and he saw her pale green dress floating in it as the hot water worked its way through the stains.
How she had managed to change in her condition was beyond him, but the fact that she had made it a priority infuriated him. He pushed away from the doorframe and went into the bathroom, flared his nostrils as he stepped over the several bloodstained rags that littered the floor.
His hands were shaking as he kneeled in front of her, searching for her eyes that desperately tried to evade him.
This…this has got to stop, he thought darkly. Why did she send me away?
Foolish girl.
He rested his palm over her soiled hand, nearly growled when she clutched tighter onto the towel. "Move," his low voice eerily rumbled.
Just that one intense command was enough to snap her head forward to meet his grim features. Free from the screen that her hair had provided, her eyes flaunted with powerful emotion. They no longer held the cool, guarded distaste that she had been serving him thus far; they were shimmering with tears now, shining brightly with pain and desperation, almost pleadingly so as she stared hard into his own. Her chest was heaving with retained sobs that she refused to let slip through her parted lips.
"It won't stop bleeding," she whispered to him and shook her head ever so slightly. "I tried to heal it, but I was still too weak."
"Move your hand, Amelia."
She helplessly stared into his cold and unwavering gaze. His voice was so even. Controlled. She knew what it meant, that it was a carefully constructed mask for his anger. She had seen him control his fury many times in that form. But she had never been on the receiving end of it, and it scared her.
"Move. It. Now."
She cringed, slowly slid her hand away and watched his eyes drop down to her belly. She tried to ignore the fire in those aquamarine depths, pretended that his muscles weren't tensed in rage and his jaw wasn't clenched in yet another effort to push down his black feelings.
She almost gasped when his hands touched the bare skin of her stomach, tender and gentle as they stroked her skin smoothly in spite of how rigid his posture was. A recovery spell was already on his lips, his fingertips glowing with a calming white that flowed into her wound and warmed her belly. Her eyes never left his face as he studied her injury with a passion that shot excitement through her. Or maybe it was his hands gliding across her skin that gave her the feeling, she couldn't be sure.
The spell did nothing to return her fading strength, but she could feel the wound closing, the pain beginning to fall away from his soothing ministrations. But she knew she couldn't allow herself to get too relaxed. He would have questions, and she wouldn't be able to keep the story from him any longer. Already she could see the confusion working its way into his furrowed brow at the now closed, but still visible scar.
"It's not going to heal all the way," she told him gently. He glanced up at her, eyes marked with question. She slowly tugged her shirt down over her belly, a light blush accenting her cheeks. "I've tried."
He pulled his hands away, surprised at his reluctance to do so. "What are you talking about?"
"I still haven't figured out why." She was hugging her arms to her chest now, staring at him through a thin layer of tears. His voice was still so oddly neutral. "A wandering swordsman visited our land once. He had a strange scar on his cheek…he told me that sometimes, a scar can't fade if it was caused by someone who was filled with extreme hatred."
Why was she telling him this? "I don't care about any wanderers, Amelia. Are you saying that this was an old injury?"
Her bottom lip quivered and she nodded, a few tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Her whole body felt so utterly heavy. It had gone through both magical and physical abuse within the last three hours, and she was buckling under the burden of it. But she couldn't collapse now, not with his voice still so detached.
The tables had turned, and she couldn't stand it.
Zelgadis shook his head in confusion. "I saw it just now, Amelia. It was a fresh wound, open and bleeding pretty damn heavily." And you knew about it when you sent me away.
"It's never done that before," she protested weakly. She bit her lip. "How did you even know about it?"
He pointed to his cloak, which lay in a heap by the doorway. "Your blood was on it."
"Oh."
"Oh?" Finally, he let some of his anger seep into his voice. "You were bleeding all over the place, Amelia! And you…you told me to leave. Why?" He glared at her and she shrunk away. "Whatever resentment you have towards me, however deep this grudge of yours really runs, we need to figure it out and deal with it."
He saw more tears trickle down her flushed cheeks, her shoulders slumped over and her eyelids drooping with both sorrow and weariness. She looked exhausted, and he suddenly felt a touch of guilt. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "But not now."
She looked up at him. "What? Don't you want to know what happened?"
"Yes. But right now, I care more about your health. You need rest. Come on." He stood and offered her his hand.
It was like a repeat of the scene that had occurred just hours earlier out in the pouring and unforgiving rain. She hesitantly took his hand and he pulled her up, but her knees immediately gave out on her, threatened to drag her back down to the floor. And of course, he caught her again.
But he scooped her up in his arms this time without wasting another thought or moment, and no words were said between them as he carried her out of the bathroom and over to her bed. He gently laid her down on the downy white comforter, resting her head against a fluffy pillow. "When you wake up, you'll tell me everything. Okay?" he firmly told her, gazing down at her worn features.
"Okay," she whispered back to him.
"And I'll tell you everything, too," he quietly added as an afterthought. After all, he still hadn't explained his own reasons for being there. He reached over to a burgundy throw blanket that lay folded at the foot of her bed and pulled it up around her body, tucking it around her small form at either side.
Sleep was already beckoning to her enticingly, and she stifled a yawn. "The doors, Zelgadis-san," she murmured sleepily. "They need to be open."
It took him a second to realize which set of doors she was referring to, and he nodded, still bent over her. "I'll take care of it," he assured her.
It seemed like that was the last thing she needed to get off her chest, because she let her eyes drift closed after that, succumbing to the soothing comfort of a deep sleep.
Disclaimer: I do not own Slayers. And yes, there was a Rurouni Kenshin reference. Couldn't help myself.