21
Choice
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Gertrude.
That was the name Marge had given to her daughter, a baby girl with hair the color of sun-warmed honey, and eyes the shade of rich, dark tea. She was a tiny thing, barely four months old, and she was the light of Marge's life.
"Hugo's mother was named Gertrude, as well," Marge had explained to Diana once. "I never knew her well before she passed, but... I thought it was as good of an honor as I could hope to offer him."
Diana had nodded and offered a warm smile, though it was hard for either of them to suppress the sadness in it. Even after all these months, they never did manage to find Hugo. None of the refugees had openly referred to him as "deceased," but all knew better than to hope for a miracle. One day, perhaps, Ur's soldiery would venture into the woods where he'd disappeared. Perhaps, they'd find his remains. And, perhaps, what remained of Halem's little community would be able to properly grieve and move forward.
Diana wiped her brow and looked to the child in the cradle, wrapped tightly in a blanket of white linen. Gertie's eyes were closed, and she did nothing but breathe softly, a faint, barely perceptible sigh escaping from between her lips.
"You're certain?"
"Yes," said Diana, nodding. "It's just a cold, Marge. All you need to do is keep an eye on her, and wash her face every few hours. In a few days' time, it'll pass."
Marge nodded and smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She looked back to the babe, and gently stroked her fine curls with one finger. Gertie stirred slightly, but made no other sound.
Diana moved towards her, and clasped Marge's hand in both of her own. "If you like, I can talk to my grandfather, and see if he can't get a hold of something to help her decongest. But she'll be okay, Marge," she said, squeezing her hand. "I promise you, she will."
Marge laughed softly and squeezed back after a moment, then pulled away, her smile now becoming a genuine one. "I know," she replied. "I just... I'm not sure I can thank you enough, Diana."
"Don't worry about it. I'm happy to help. It means a lot to me, too," she said, shaking her head with a grin. "Be well, both of you. If you need any more help, you know where to find us."
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She had never set foot inside a city before coming to Ur. Certainly, when she was much younger, she and her family had visited great towns in the north, such as Averoigne and Lahnstein. But that was all they were; towns. Big towns, certainly, with tall, defensible walls and impressive buildings, and bustling markets, but still... they weren’t cities.
Cities meant people, and crowds, and noise. Cities meant a thousand different smells, and sights and sounds that overwhelmed one's sense of balance.
Ur boasted all that and more. Inns, theaters, plazas, the grand cathedral of Du Lac, the busy marketplaces and bazaars, and the countless, winding streets and alleys. All of it bustled with activity and life, and a cacophony of voices, music, and the clatter of weapons and armor. The streets were packed with pedestrians—Gods, so many Men and Elves and Dwarves! All of them from a dozen different lands!—And the air was thick with the scents of cooking and smoke and perfume.
And standing above it all, the palace itself stood, its many towers rising up to meet the sky. Every part of it awed and humbled her. Even the smallest of details impressed her. Like the way the sunlight shone through the stained glass windows of the temples, casting a rainbow of colors across the floor. Or how the banners, hanging from the rafters, fluttered lazily in the breeze.
And yet, from the tiny slum that was the Schmutzplatz, the rest of Ur seemed oddly distant. As though it belonged to another world entirely. To Diana, it felt as though the two places existed at opposite ends of a vast, empty plain, separated by a wall of clouds.
The cramped, twisting lanes of the slum looked like a warren of tunnels. Some of them had been paved, but most of the roads remained dirt and gravel, and the alleyways were choked and filled to the brim. There were no street lamps, and the only light during the nights came from the torches and lanterns of the fellow refugees who called the place home.
"Oh! Diana!" Robert called to her, waving an arm. The other hung from a sling, still not quite healed from his wounds. "Hey! Have you got a moment?"
"Aye, sure," she replied, smiling and nodded. "Need help with something, Rob?"
Nodding, he gestured to a narrow walkway between the many houses. They were built close together, side-by-side, and the space was barely wide enough for a handful of people to pass. With the mess of boards and planks that now took up the space, she highly doubted even a rat could squeeze through.
She frowned, cocking a brow at Robert. "And this is...?"
He grinned, looking almost bashful. "Y'see, Lutz and his wife have been goin' on about how they're wanting to start doing a bit of carpentry again—Making chairs and tables, and whatnot to sell. So, I thought I'd get them lumber and nails and such, and maybe they'd cut me in."
"...Where the hell'd you even find all of this?"
"Nowhere special." Robert waved a hand, as if to dismiss the question. "Just some old furniture and carts I found lying about an alley. You'd be amazed how much shit gets tossed out for now reason, aye?"
Diana smiled at him, cocking a brow. "And you really think any carpenter's gonna pay you for old, rotten wood you scavenged from the slums?"
Robert paused, blinking owlishly at her, like he was trying to think the entire idea over in his head. Finally, he nodded shallowly and said, "Well, yes. I'm hoping they might."
"Hah, right! In your dreams," Diana laughed. Still, she knelt down and took a handful of stacked planks over her shoulders. "Let's see if they won't laugh you out, then. And mind that you don't push yourself, Rob."
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Just as she'd expected, Lutz had taken one long, disbelieving look at the junk Rob and Diana had brought to him. He'd then told them in very polite, but not uncertain terms, to piss off. And though he'd been dejected, Robert had bounced back with a grin, thanked Diana, and ran off to dream up his next venture.
She tried to put aside the image of their attempt at haggling. It was near evening now, she realized, and almost immediately yawned, as if her body were informing her of her own exhaustion.
Yet, even as she turned to make her way back, a small form darted from an alley, practically materializing from its shadows, and slammed against her legs with a yelp.
The girl, Marceline, looked up, panting hard. Two more children, a boy and another girl, rounded the corner hot on her heels, both out of breath as well. They all stood there, staring at Diana, eyes wide and frightened.
"Erm... Hi?" she greeted, confused.
And immediately, the three of them began babbling at once. The words came tumbling from the mouths of the kids, and were accompanied by frantic gestures, pointing, and gesticulations, as if they were in a competition with each other to tell the story. It was a confusing and disjointed tale, one that left a strange sort of echo in her ears.
"H-hey, hold on..."
"It was huge!" said Gustav, the barber's son. "It had these big teeth, it did, and... and a lot of claws, and, like, fur!"
"What? I—"
Marcy, the poor thing, looked ready to burst into tears. "I saw it!" she cried! "It moved like a snake, but it had fur, too, and a tail and—"
"Guys, I'm not—"
"I think it could fly! Like a bird, I mean, but without wings or—"
Before Velma could continue with her own recount, Diana brought her fingers to her lips, and blew a shrill whistle that finally silenced their chatter. Immediately, the three children stopped, looking up at her, startled. "Sorry," Diana said, smiling. "Well, I'm not really sure that I understand what's going on, but I'll tell you what—I'm kind of a pro at kicking monster a... erm, butt. So, you just show me where it is, and I'll send it packing. Sound good?"
“Yes!” Gustav said, the three of them nodding vigorously, before leading her to an alleyway a little ways down the street.
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"Huh. So much for a giant, flying snake monster."
The fearsome beast in question had turned out to be nothing more than a rather fat mink, its fur covered by grime and mud. Likely, it had gorged itself on rubbish, and was now trying to find somewhere to sleep.
Thoroughly unimpressed, Diana scared the animal away with a well-aimed rock to its rump, and watched as it scampered off somewhere else. The children, meanwhile, stared at her in awe, as if she'd slain some great, legendary creature.
Despite herself, she couldn't help but smile at that. "Right. You guys did a fantastic job," she told them, patting their heads. "But I think it's about time you heroes head back home, don't you?"
They agreed at once, and ran off back to the slum, talking excitedly amongst themselves. Diana shook her head, still grinning, and followed after them.
Not long afterwards, she was waved over by Amelie, whose body was still weak from illness that had struck her months prior.
"I hate to trouble you, love," she told Diana, her pale skin creasing as she gave a weak smile. "I was meaning to bring Martina her yarns from the market, but..."
Diana put a hand to her shoulder, and squeezed gently. “It’s no trouble at all, Ame. I’m happy to help.”
Not long afterwards, Walter had needed a hand fixing a loose hinge at the slum's gate.
Johann, who had started a business brewing ales and lagers for off-duty guardsmen, had managed to get his wagon stuck in a rather deep patch of mud. It had taken Diana, along with several others, to haul him out. Edith, who organized the night watch, had wanted to restock on lantern oil. Friedrich had misplaced his scriptures and needed help finding them, while Gino needed his sons to be found, so that might fix the roofs that had been damaged in the storm a few days prior. The barber needed this, the ratcatcher had taken a nasty fall and needed that, while the baker was having a problem with his bum leg, and so on and such and such and this and that and...
Diana would stop and listen to her friends and neighbors, and do what she could to help out. "Of course," she smiled every time. "I'm happy to help." Even if it was something as simple as offering a word of encouragement, or a helping hand.
Every effort was worth it.
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She heaved a sigh as she stepped through the threshold of her home, shutting the door behind her. "Sorry I'm late," Diana called out, stretching her arms overhead. She felt her muscles crack and pop, and winced, rubbing her neck. Her legs were sore too, and her feet ached. Her boots left thick mud streaks across the floor as she walked, and she kicked them off and tossed them aside. She'd definitely have to wipe that later—It wouldn't do to leave the floor dirty for any patients to trip over.
"Paw? Are you here?"
"I am," her grandfather's voice came, echoing down the hallway.
The home that the two of them shared was more akin to a large shack than a house. Built low and wide, with a sloping roof, it was a squat building made of wood and brick and stone, built into the side of a hill. The interior was spacious, easily dwarfing the small, cramped structures in the rest of the slum. Yet, residing in the Schmutzplatz' largest abode was a responsibility, rather an a luxury.
The vast majority of the space served as a makeshift infirmary, with several rows of cots lining the walls, and a series of tables, benches, and chairs scattered throughout. Cabinets and shelving units lined the walls, holding all manner of medical equipment and supplies. It wasn't disorganized by any means, however—Her grandfather took too much pride in his work to allow that.
Diana paused and blinked as she stepped further inside, finding the vast space empty, save for her grandfather. "Odd," she said, looking to him. "I'd have thought there'd be... Well, at least one person around."
Her grandfather shrugged, leaning against one of the tables. "Everyone's gone off for now. Short of someone going into labor or catching on fire in the middle of the night, I don't think we'll see any more patients 'till the morning." He pushed off the table, and gave her a wan smile. "After all, it's already past midnight. But you already knew that, of course."
"Right," Diana laughed, walking over to a basin of water and splashing some on her face. "I, uh, absolutely knew that. Didn't slip my mind in the slightest."
He shook his head, sighing. "At any rate, I don't suppose you had a chance to get supper?" At her shake of the head, he gestured for her to sit, then went to fetch a bowl for her. The meal was a simple one, consisting of two pieces of flatbread and a rich, thick soup.
Diana made an exaggerated grimace, and groaned at the sight. "Lentil? Again?" she grumbled, playfully wrinkling her nose.
"Lentil," replied Lewis, smiling. "Again. It's good for the soul, I hear."
"Certainly isn't good for the taste buds, though, is it?" Even as she spoke, Diana stirred the broth, watching the tiny specks dance in the liquid, and dipped the bread in, tearing it in half. She chewed, swallowed, and closed her eyes, savoring the flavor. "Mm. Not bad. Still, I can do without this stuff. Hate legumes."
Lewis chuckled. "Well, it's a staple, after all. You'd be hard-pressed to find a poor family who doesn't have lentils in damn near every meal."
"Right. Once we start earning proper wages, I'm not touching it again."
She finished quickly, and set the bowl aside. She leaned back, stretching her legs out, and glanced up, meeting her grandfather's gaze.
"Long day, huh?" he asked.
"You could say that, yeah."
"Did you do something silly? Jump into the moat to save another drowning fool?"
Diana laughed. "Nah, nothing quite that fancy, though I did help carry a couple of blocks of stone across the bridge this morning."
He raised a brow at that. "That right? What for?"
"...The bridge is being repaired again. Which I actually mentioned yesterday, if you'll recall."
Her grandfather smiled. "Ah, so you did."
They sat in silence for a moment, before Lewis let out a long sigh. "You know..." he began slowly, "This is probably gonna sound real rich coming from me, but... There really is no need to push yourself too much."
"I know, Paw," she replied, a small smile on her lips.
“You’re a good lass, sunshine," her grandfather said, giving a nod. "And I mean that. But, well, sometimes you gotta let yourself rest, too. We've got plenty of people here with us, and everyone's willing to pitch in. Schmutzplatz’ not gonna burst into flames the moment you take a break, you know?"
Diana nodded, and shrugged. "I suppose. But it still feels... too different, you know? Since Halem, everything's changed way too suddenly. So, I guess this is the best way I can get by. Just keep pushing forward, and help the others along."
"Hah, yeah. I know the feeling." He reached forward, and took her hand in his own. "Still, just remember what I told you; All you can do is the best you can." He squeezed her fingers gently, then released her hand.
A knock came at the door, and her grandfather stood with a groan. "Dammit," he muttered to no one in particular, rubbing the back of his neck. "At this hour? Gods, even doctors need to sleep, too."
Diana rose and followed him, walking down the hallway, to the infirmary's entrance. As he pulled the door open, a cool breeze blew through her hair, carrying a hint of rain that would soon fall upon the city. The sky was a dark, greyish blue, the clouds heavy, threatening to dump a fresh deluge of water on the streets. Diana blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and finally focused on the visitor standing at the door.
She doesn't belong here, was the first thought that came to mind.
The woman in front of her was quite clearly a warrior, clad in a white and blue uniform, and sporting a long sword at her hip. Her skin was dark, contrasting with the gray hue of her blue eyes. Her black hair was cut in a short bob that just barely reached her chin, and framed her sharp, even handsome face. She looked like the sort of person who could fit in among a battalion of knights or a gathering of nobles—Which was to say, she looked exactly like the sort of person who should have no business visiting a slum's surgeon at midnight.
"...Good evening," her grandfather finally greeted her, recovering from his own momentary surprise. "Can I help you?"
The woman—the soldier—smiled, and inclined her head. "Good evening. Please, pardon my intruding so late at night." She spoke with a peculiar accent, her words nasally, yet flowing smoothly in a pleasing cadence. "I am looking for Herr Lewis of Halem, the physician of this district. Would that be yourself?"
"I am," he replied, returning the bow.
Diana bowed as well. "I am Diana, his granddaughter."
"Well met," replied the knight. "I am Mercedes Moulins, of the Order of Saint Iris."
Her grandfather stepped aside, gesturing with a hand for her to enter. "Come in. I'm afraid I wasn't expecting any visitors, but I can brew up some tea, if you'd like."
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"Please, there's no need to trouble yourself," said Sir Mercedes, stepping inside. Her boots clacked loudly upon the wooden floorboards, and she glanced around, taking it all in as she sat. "Again, I must apologize for intruding upon you at such an ungodly hour."
He shrugged at that. "We were still up anyway, so it's no trouble, really." He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a kettle. He set it on top of a small stove, and lit a fire beneath.
Diana glanced between the two of them, silent for the time being.
"I'm not actually here in my official capacity," Sir Mercedes said, once he'd finished and set mugs down. "More than anything, this is something of a personal endeavor."
He nodded for her to continue.
"I understand that a month ago, during the invasion, you saved the lives of several people. Soldiers, civilians, children. You've become quite well known for this, in fact."
The old man offered her a wry smile. "Well, I am a surgeon. It's what I do, try to help anyone I can." He paused, then, and met the knight’s eyes as though he were looking for something in them. "I attended to many patients that day. I'll admit, at some point, it all sort of blended together, so I can't really recall their faces very well. Is it safe to assume that you were one of them?"
Sir Mercedes shook her head. "No, not myself personally. Though, a good friend of mine did find herself in your care. You might not remember her, but I can assure you that it's only thanks to you that she is alive today."
"Ah," he replied. "Then... you're here to deliver her thanks?"
She nodded. "And to extend an offer to repay the debt."
Diana blinked at that. Then, the realization struck her like a hammer to the chest. "...You want to hire him?" She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud until her grandfather and Mercedes turned to face her.
"That would be correct," Mercedes confirmed. "I wouldn't dream of taking you away from Ur—It's plain to see that this place is your home, and you care for your friends and family here," she said, gesturing out a window, towards the slum outside. "Though the Order is based on Feoh, we hold a presence within this city as well. I would recommend you to one of the temples, sir, and I’ve no doubt that they'll readily accept you. The church will no doubt be able to provide you with a stipend and a comfortable position."
Diana felt a warmth swell within her chest, and she found herself smiling. This is it, she realized. After all the months of strife and suffering, there was finally a chance to make everything right. A chance for her and her grandfather… No. A chance for everyone to get back on their feet. They could use the extra payment to provide for the rest of the refugees, and in time, they could thrive.
And maybe his skills as a physician would be enough to earn the notice of someone important in Ur, just as they'd earned the notice of Sir Mercedes. Perhaps he could gain the patronage of a bishop, or a wealthy merchant, or even a baron. Surely then, he could bring the Schmutzplatz’s plight to their attention.
And maybe—just maybe—he could petition such a person for help in taking back their home.
The image formed in her mind: Hundreds of knights and soldiers, all riding in unison to the north, to drive back whatever aberrants might still be lurking in Halem.
The old man let out a low sigh. Then, he stood up from his seat, and bowed deeply before Sir Mercedes, bringing his chest almost parallel to the floor. "You are very kind, gracious madam. Thank you," he said. "But... I'm afraid I'll need some time before I can make my decision."
Diana snapped her head to face him, so quickly that she nearly knocked over her chair.
Sir Mercedes, too, looked at him, a frown creasing her brow. Her lips parted, as if to ask a question. Then, she nodded and rose. "I understand. Well then, I and a contingent of the Order are currently residing in our chapterhouse, at the Palast district. Whenever you're ready to decide, I hope you won't hesitate to contact me." She smiled, then, and added. "If nothing else, I'm certain that my friend will be more than delighted to thank you in person."
He nodded, and Diana walked the knight towards the door, bidding her a good night. As it closed behind her, Diana turned to her grandfather, and asked, "You're going to refuse her, aren't you?" Her words came out shaky and uncertain, far from the accusatory tone she'd intended.
"I don’t know." He didn't meet her eyes. "...I think I'll just go to sleep now. Tomorrow's probably gonna be another—"
"Why?" she asked, clamping a hand onto his wrist. "Paw, this is... Do you have any idea how incredible that is? She wants to help us! To give you a job! We can rebuild this place!”
We can go back home, she neglected to add.
Her grandfather finally lifted his gaze. His features were set in stone. "I know. But that's not my place. This city... This world... They're just too big for me." He took her hand in both of his, and gently pried it off of him. "Good night, Diana. Sleep well."
She watched him enter his room and shut the door behind him.
She didn't sleep well that night. She didn't sleep at all. Diana's every thought was consumed by Mercedes Moulins and her fellow knights of Saint Iris.
When the morning came, she had made a decision of her own.
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The antehall stretched on and on, a long tunnel of polished marble that seemed to go on forever. It was a tall, wide space, and the ceiling arched high above. Down its entire length ran a series of alcoves that looked as though they might have once housed statues, lining both the left and right walls. They were empty now, the statues either long gone or never placed at all, leaving only dull recesses.
There were many more paths along the main corridor. Some led to smaller rooms, some to vast chambers, and a few to dead ends. There were some that led off into tiny, cramped tunnels as well. Even with the month we'd spent here, we hadn't had nearly enough time to explore the entirety of the Black Citadel and its twisting halls.
There was a steady procession moving along with us, their footsteps echoing as they walked, the sound carrying along the length of the hall. They moved with purpose, but without urgency, their strides slow enough that they could converse easily, though I didn’t have much of a chance to pay attention to any of them. Though Keane walked beside me, he more or less dictated the pace the two of us had, hanging back from the rest of the crowd. Whenever I tried to strike up a conversation with him, his responses were curt and vague, so I gave up, fell silent, and kept on walking.
I glanced over at the other end of the corridor. Tall and wide doors, made in the same black material as the rest of the Citadel, stood open, revealing the chamber we were all heading towards. Beyond that, I could see forms of hundreds of mercenaries milling about, waiting for whatever it was that would happen next.
Keane's hand clamped on to my shoulder suddenly, stopping me in my tracks.
"Keane?" I asked, turning around to face him.
He was looking vaguely in my direction, but his green eyes flicked away every so often, like his gaze couldn't quite manage to stay locked on to my face. It had never really occurred to me, up until then, just how poor his vision must have been without his spectacles. Still, he kept them hanging at his collar, rather than put them on. Keane remained silent as the rest of the Hounds walked forward into the chamber, spreading out to talk with the rest of the mercenaries, or to find somewhere to sit down. He kept the grip on my shoulder the entire time, not painfully tight, but not ready to let go of me just yet.
"Keane," I said again. "What's up? Is everything alright?"
He didn't answer for a moment, taking half a step back and to the side, before coming to a stop. His grip loosened, then fell away from my shoulder completely. When he spoke, his face was expressionless. "I've got another weird question for you—A hypothetical. Indulge me."
My brows furrowed, and I stared back at him. I kept my voice equally low. We were pretty much alone in the antehall now, with no one around to hear us, but I couldn't help but match his volume. "Sure, go ahead."
His gaze shifted, and he looked past me, towards the others. "Let's say... Let's say you're standing in the middle of a street, and a horse carrying a wagon behind it gets spooked, and starts running wild. Straight towards you, and two other people. The man to your left is blind, and has no idea what's going on. The man to your right can see perfectly well, but he doesn't move at all. You can push one of them out of the way. Which one do you choose?"
Frowning, I stared back at him, trying to make sense of the situation.
"It's not a trick," he said, answering my unspoken question. "It's a real choice."
"Keane... What does this have to do with anything?"
"I know it seems stupid,” he said. “I just... I need to know how you'd react. So, the street? Which one do you push?"
I hesitated again, processing the scenario in my head. Finally, I shook my head. "I... I don't know," I admitted.
"No? Why not?"
"Because..."
Because that was an impossible choice. Sure, the blind man man was helpless—It only made sense to want to save him from something he had no control over. Meanwhile, the other was aware of the danger, and yet didn’t move at all, either by choice, or paralyzed like a surprised deer.
But... that didn't make it right to just let him die, either. Even if that man should be able to help himself, he didn't have to die. There was no right answer, no good conclusion to that story. No matter what choice I made, someone was going to die for no reason other than that I chose them to die so that the other could live.
Keane sighed. "Fine, okay. You don't make a choice, and both men die, then," he said.
"What?" I asked with a start, recoiling back from him a little.
"What else is gonna happen? You're so concerned with trying to find an impossible solution, that you just stand there and let it play out."
I felt my cheeks heat up and opened my mouth to argue, but stopped myself. I couldn’t refute that. If the situation was as he'd described, I wouldn't be able to save both lives. One, or neither. That was all there was to it.
"...There is another way, though," I said without thinking, as I the possibility dawned in my mind.
Keane's brows furrowed. "...there is?"
I nodded slowly, offering him a faint smile. “Yeah. Me. If I’ve got enough time to push someone away, I’ve got enough time to go forward, and take the hit myself. If I can slow it down enough, the other two should be safe."
He didn't respond for several long seconds, his expression blank and unreadable. “...You could,” he finally admitted. “Maybe you could. Then the horse would trample you, and the wagon would run right over you. And you’d be dead,” he said, coming forward and jabbing a finger into my chest to emphasize his point.
I mirrored his frown. "Maybe... But they'd live, wouldn't they?"
“Or, the horse could keep going regardless, and kill the other two men. You’d have died for nothing." He looked me straight in the eye, hard as stone. This time, they didn't shift away. "Would you still take that gamble?"
I grimaced, looking away.
“...You would, wouldn’t you?” Keane said, voicing the answer when I couldn't. “Gods, of course you would.”
He wasn’t wrong. I'd done just that, time and time again. At Halem, for Young Edd, for Diana and her friends. Here in Garan, for Edwin, and really, for everyone at large.
Why was that choice so easy for me to make, unlike anyone else? There wasn't any rhyme or reason to it—I didn’t want to throw my life away, but if I could save lives… Then, I’d end up taking that risk, every single time.
Keane took a step back from me, looking away. "I don't get it," he said with a shake of his head. His voice was low, barely more than a mutter. "Sorry. I told you it'd be a strange question." He then nodded ahead, towards the chamber where the others were gathered. "Better go on ahead. Don't keep them waiting."
"You're not coming?"
"No. Not yet, at least. I'm needed somewhere else," said Keane.
I stepped in front of him as he made to move away, holding out a hand. "Keane, seriously," I said. "Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine. Go on," he urged. His voice was firm, and he moved to walk past me.
Still, I called out after him one last time. "Hey. You're standing in the middle of a street, and a horse gets spooked," I repeated to him. "What about you, Keane? Who would you save?"
I almost expected him to ignore the question, but Keane stopped short, as if pondering his answer, then looked at me over his shoulder. He looked almost sheepish, though his smile was tight, without humor.
I’m not sure why, but I got the impression that, maybe, he wanted to say something else—Anything else. Perhaps some glum remark, or a shrug and good-natured laugh. But instead, Keane's response was: “I can’t say.”
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Feoh was not Ur. As far and few in between as the differences between the two noble kingdoms might be, they were, at their core, still distinct. Feoh, the bold icon of chivalry, the protector of honour, the sword of justice. Ur, the invincible shield, the guardian of virtue, the heart and soul of culture.
Ur was not Feoh. Yet, despite their distinctions, they were sister kingdoms. They shared blood, history, and commonality. In many ways, they were one nation. To Prim, Feoh was home just as much as Ur was.
Mere weeks had passed since the Legion's final assault, and yet it felt like a lifetime ago. They had mourned for the Alliance's fallen, honored and celebrated their memories, but even so the march of days carried them further and further away from sorrow. Still, they remembered. Even if the sharpest pain had dulled, the traces of their losses would linger, if only slightly, forever in the minds of those who had lived to see their morrow.
There were celebrations now, quiet as they might be, in every corner of the fortress city of Feoh. There were feasts and dances, and the celebration of new life, as well. New life born from the ashes of old.
Prim found herself staring out onto those colorful streets and boulevards below, her gaze drawn by the bright colors of banners waving in the breeze. From her seat at a windowsill, she could see the entirety of the city, and beyond. In that quiet corridor, within Feoh's royal palace, she had a chance to be away from her attendants and guards and ladies-in-waiting. It was her first true opportunity to be alone in months.
She was not a solitary person, yet moments like these were so rare and fleeting, she couldn't help but want to luxuriate in it.
It's a shame, she thought, idly leafing through one of the many books she'd brought with her, that I'm not back in Geofu.
In both Feoh and Ur she was well known, and without fail, all would recognize her wherever she went. In the Holy City, the princess Prim Fiorire would not be as immediately recognizable. Unencumbered, unsupervised, without her tail of chaperones and servants, she would be just another young woman of the nobility, one among many. In the bustling metropolis of Geofu, she would be noticed, yes, but not in the same way. Penelope Bianchi, daughter of some rich merchant or minor viscount. Not Prim, not the princess. Nobody of note.
It was a silly thought, a childish wish. But it had been fun, that day.
Someone knocked at her door. Likely, that would be one of her ladies-in-waiting, either Heidi or Phie, come to ask if she wished to change for dinner.
"Come," she said.
The one who stepped through the door was neither of her attendants. Rather, she was a young woman just a few years her senior. She had no armor today, but still kept a straight arming sword at her hip. For once, she wore her blonde hair up, wrapped around the top of her head in a bun, thin braids trailing down her back. Though, even if left unbound, it wouldn't quite reach the length of Prim's own. She wore a simple dress of dark blue, which complimented her purple eyes, and left her arms bare.
In some ways, it made her look older. In some ways, it made her seem all the more beautiful.
"Cousin," Prim said by way of greeting, rising from her seat by the window.
"Cousin," Alicia Arcturus replied with a smile. "I couldn't find you anywhere. I almost didn't expect to find you here either."
"I came to enjoy the view," Prim said, gesturing to the window. "It has been a while since I've last been in Feoh. I had forgotten how lovely it is."
Alicia gave a small nod, and moved to stand beside Prim. Together, they silently gazed out the window. The city spread out before them, the walls and towers of the castle of Feoh glittering in the sun. In the distance, they could see the rolling hills of the countryside, the fields dotted with farms and settlements. Beyond that, tall mountains stretched on and on, disappearing into the horizon. And somewhere, beyond those mountains...
"You seem thoughtful," Alicia finally said. "It's not much like you to be quiet like this. Is something wrong, Prim?"
Prim paused and considered the question. It wasn't like her, certainly, to be so introspective. Idly, she turned to glance at Alicia. Her cousin stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her head cocked to one side.
Still, when she responded, she did so with a smile. "It's nothing serious," Prim said. "I've just... I've been thinking about a metaphor I gave to someone."
Alicia furrowed her brow at that. "A... Pardon me?"
Prim couldn't stop the soft laugh that escaped her lips. She shook her head, stepping away from the window. "Nothing important," she said again. "Just clumsy wording on my part."
Alicia took a moment to consider that, then nodded. "If you say so..."
They shared another laugh at that, and once again, Prim found her eyes drawn back to the window. Back to the mountains beyond.
She didn’t know—In truth, no one could have had any way of knowing—that in nine days’ time, four battered and tired men would arrive from the north, just before dawn broke.
One of them would succumb to his infected wounds. He would die smiling, though, satisfied to have glimpsed his home one last time before the end.
His three compatriots would survive, and they would demand audience with the city’s watchmen, its magistrates, its soldiery, and even its royalty. And they would tell their tale. And the world would change.