[This marks the concurrence of DeServe and What You Are In The Dark.]
![[Image: kri4VXn.png]](http://i.imgur.com/kri4VXn.png)
The distinction between loyalty and faith is a fine one indeed.
As North reflected on this, he also realized--rather too late--that Final Prayer made a poor refuge for one dedicated entirely to the former, with none of the latter. And yet he had somehow been led here, walking aimlessly through Eastern Thanalan, passing Drybone with nary a shudder or a glance. The last time he traveled that road resulted in the inexplicable attempt on his life--an incident that, even after all that had happened, went unanswered and unclear. No culprit, no motive, no trace.
He had known from the very beginning that Taeros was little more than a momentary convenience; a shark onto which the remora latches. The man's crimes, both moral and literal, were as numerous as his adversary's. North had even been actively working against him--that had been his sole purpose in entering his employment in the first place. He had clearly been marked as a target from the start, and thus--Gideon set the wine bottle onto the dusty ground--he was not to be mourned.
But he had been a master, hadn't he?
He had ensured North knew his place. Above all, they both played their roles as best they could, and that, the butler had expected. But, over time--and yes, especially there at the end--it seemed as though he had truly valued not only North's life, not merely his well-being, but his happiness. He had apparently endeavored to keep North from those who sought to take him from Taeros's service, with all the suspicion due of one of his station. He had not treated North as more than a servant, but... that, he had given a strange dignity. A nobility. An understanding, North finally settled upon, that was almost painful in its long-missed familiarity.
When Master Taeros had, at the end, called out Gideon's name, bleeding blue and black, the valet had hesitated out of shock. The healing aether never came, and Taeros had fallen. But had the valet been obeying his instincts... or fighting them?
Whatever the motivation, he had not acted quickly enough, and now another master was gone.
He stared blankly into the etched stone before him, absently fumbling the golden maple pin out from within his jacket and rolling it between his fingers. Perhaps this was simply the natural way of things. One may only serve until they fail, and thus lose that right to serve. Two masters served, and two masters gone.
No. Something resounded in his head. One master served. And one master betrayed. His fist closed over the badge, and his head swam with sudden, overwhelming dizziness--thoughts churning with violent emotion and cold, detached appraisal. Preserving one loyalty does not pardon the betrayal of another. His face remained implacable as always, but a sudden bile rose up within him at the thought. Almost hastily, he took a long gulp from the bottle at his side, pushed more by impulse than true desire, and sagged as he returned it to its place on the ground. He sat silently among the gently humming fireflies, the open bottle at his side and his eyes on the ground. His eyes flickered to his silver grimoire, carelessly set on the dusty ground alongside him, then returned to the etched stone before him--staring blankly into it, hoping for some flicker of clarity, or even merely some relief. However (that same, cold part of him reminded), that was a luxury intended only for men of faith.
His shoulders rose and sank in a brief sigh, and he pocketed the badge. Lingering too long on such questions would be provably unhelpful, and--more to the point--beyond his station. He closed his eyes, listening to the hum of the fireflies... then paused, paying closer attention to the sound as they drifted somewhat further away. "...?"
The Miqo'te nearby took a few more steps, gradually more audible the closer he came. The ground was dry enough not to betray his footsteps, but he still walked with some measure of caution. Approaching, the young stranger spoke, noticing the valet's curiosity--his eyes obscured by a practical leather facemask. "Mister North...."
"Ah." Of course; a place for reflection like this would no doubt serve others, who would also value their solitude. He instinctively began gathering his things up, politely nodding behind him. "A thousand pardons, sir..."
"Please, no need for such apologies..." The rebuttal was pleasant, almost apologetic itself. Gideon watched the man dip into an apparent bow... then break almost seamlessly into a predatory lunge, vicious clawed gauntlets gleaming in the light of the fireflies.
The valet scrambled back in shock, the bottle spilling from his arms and staining the ground wine-red as he raised the book as a makeshift shield, desperately trying to block the sudden strike. "Wh-What--" The clawed stranger's strike hooked against the side of the book, and he immediately twisted his arm back, deftly trying to rip the tome from North's hands.
Something flashed in North's eyes, and he tilted the book just the slightest, letting the attacker simply rip open the front cover. One half of the book was all but shredded by the vicious claw, but the pages swiftly fell open to a random angular diagram. Concentrating his aether, he hissed darkly, letting the instant reaction of Bio course through his arms, into the book, and towards his assailant. "...Assassin."
The accusation, predictably, had no effect on the Miqo'te--however, he clearly recognized the sudden flow of aetheric energy. He quickly dropped to the ground, both hands stopping himself directly before impact. Twirling nimbly on the ground, his foot blurred through the air, arcing towards Gideon's jaw. Twisting desperately, the valet attempted to deflect the blow, but North was no martial artist--the strike connected, sending him sprawling flat on his back in the dirt, coughing in pain and breathless rage. "Ghnnh... is it you...?" His face bore a strange, wide-eyed smile as his head snapped up to face the assassin.
The momentum of the kick let the acrobatic Miqo'te twirl back up onto his feet--with not a word at North's senseless question; only replying with another lunge forward, claws out and angled towards the Hyur's neck. With barely any time to react, North twisted to the side, gasping--the razor claws tearing through his jacket and shoulder instead. Blood stained the pristine black of his formal jacket, and he breathed in soundless pain; fumbling with his free hand for the fallen bottle and swinging it towards the assassin's face in retaliation. With his free hand, the assassin lashed out to strike the wine bottle mid-swing, shattering the glass, sending shards and wine splaying across both North and the dry soil. "Ghh!" He recoiled, the shards of glass and wine provoking a brief, reflexive cringe. "Three YEARS, and--!" Seeing the Miqo'te bringing the claw down once more, he threw his head to the right, in a desperate attempt to protect himself--the claws raked across the left side of his face, slicing easily through his eye and cheek. He roared, in pain and anguish.
The assassin hissed quietly, clearly somewhat irritated at the valet's persistent survival. He paused for just a brief moment, then twisted the claw embedded in the Hyur's shoulder, ripping the flesh--more blood, soaking the black. Almost instantly, he brought the other claw back down, shearing through the air to the man's chest, but North wrenched himself to the side in a desperate spasm, further twisting the claws in his shoulder. The man's other claws pierced him, but grazed off his ribcage, avoiding fatal damage once more. He arched on the ground, a ragged whimper of pain escaping him--incongruously feeble for the depth of the wound.
"HALT!" Through the haze of pain and adrenaline, North heard the voice of Roen, of all people, cut through the fray. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a redhead figure in the uniform of the Blades charge towards the chaos, and the masked man's gaze rose to her for just a moment... before ripping both claws from North's body with a sickening sound of severance. He darted up from the crumpled valet, dashing towards the Blade as if in attack... then, at the last moment, he leapt and flipped over the Blade in an adroit flip, landing on his feet just behind her. Without another moment's hesitation, he bolted down the hill, out towards the plains. Roen seemed to hesitate, her gaze darting from the fleeing assassin to the valet, bleeding out on the ground.
"Gyaaghk--" North arched again, panting in pain, and fumbled for the remains of his book. A mangled roar of fury rose within him as his fingers closed in a claw over the page, crumpling the paper--his other hand blindly firing out Ruinous bolts, green tinges of Bio, sickly green Virus--anything requiring no more than a second's thought. Roen ducked the aetheric onslaught, hastily rushing to the side, but not a single spell connected--the masked man sprinted away, not looking back. "YOU FINISH... YOUR JOB!" North roared out, choking on more than just his words. "DON'T YOU... RUN... N-Nnghh..." As the assassin vanished from view, the bloodied servant devolved into wordless howling and gasping.
Roen's eyes followed the last crackling Ruin as it blurred down the path alongside her... but she rushed toward the fallen man instead, the assassin no longer in sight. She fell to her knees next to him. "Mister North!" Pulling off her turban to survey his wounds, she tried desperately to number the injuries. A gash in his shoulder... jaw badly bruised... both cloth and flesh shredded... one side of his face all but sheared through... "Gideon!" The valet did not respond, hands remaining where they were--clawing at paper and casting out in furious aetheric stabs at the air, though the spells no longer came.
She grabbed onto one wrist, as if to bring him to the present from wherever his mind was at. "Gideon!" She leaned forward, wide eyes going from his face to the growing crimson stain upon his shoulder. Then inevitably, it returned back to his... wounded eye and face. She grimaced.
Gideon writhed feebly, hand twisting in her grip. "M-Master, they're... here. Run, please... please..."
Seeing his distress, she pressed him down a bit more forcefully, her tone firm despite the alarm upon her expression. "Gideon. Stop. Let me heal you... You are..." She swallowed. "You are injured badly..."
North twisted his head from side to side, the frantic tears mingling with the fresh blood. "Master, you cannot stay!"
Hurriedly, she fumbled her gauntlet off, to lay her hand upon his... shoulder? Face? Eye? There was so much blood. She swallowed to steady herself. "Gideon. Please. Calm. I am going to stop the bleeding first..." She put a steady pressure upon his shoulder, glancing warily over her shoulder to where the assailant had disappeared. Facing Gideon, she frowned. "He ran. I am not letting you bleed to death."
"Master, they could return... at any moment! Think of... your parents! I promised them I would... I would look after..." North hissed out in pain, staring blindly up at the sky, the tears not stopping. After a moment, fully registering his words, Roen exhaled. She did not budge, holding him still as best she could as she summoned the aether onto his shoulder wound. Throughout, she remained silent, closing her eyes as the aether flooded his injuries. "Stop... stop, please..." Though he shook, jolting one way and then another, his movements gradually slowed--his hand falling to the ground, and the paper tearing with a slow rip as his other hand closed into a fist.
Seeing the flesh closing, Roen breathed out in relief. "Gideon... you did everything you could..." she murmured.
"I knew he would come back, Master... but he knew I'd be looking for poison this time, so he... he chose another means..." North muttered indistinctly, still panting with effort and pain.
Roen's expression saddened as she met Gideon's unseeing eye. "Do not blame yourself..." she said softly, moving to treat the wounds on his chest. The severity of the damage made her falter for one brief moment before the aether rose within her once more.
"They always come, master... wherever I go... they're always there, you can't escape them. No servants, only masters. Never servants, only masters." North whispered in horror, staring blindly skyward. "Him, her, her, him, her, him, her..." He shuddered, shaking uncontrollably. "I have to, I have..."
Her shoulders slumped, the treatment having drained her somewhat. She laid a hand upon the man's jawline, turning his face towards her. "Gideon," she said softly. "Please. Come back." The valet swallowed, hard, and went completely still. Her gaze darted from his jaw to the long gash ripped across his eye, face twisting in worry.
"...Miss Deneith." North opened his eyes, speaking with sudden, unshakable calm and composure, despite his wounds and the situation.
Roen Deneith finally released a long sigh, her shoulders slumping and relief washing over her face. "....Mister North." She curled a faint smile, although it was still tinged with worry. "Please hold still, let me at least... close these wounds. Your jaw and... your eye..."
"Very good, Miss. Please do as you see fit." The valet stared politely forward, his injured eye slightly rolling.
Surveying the damage, Roen winced. His jaw appeared to have suffered the least of the damage, but his eye... "We should get you to the infirmary."
North appeared unconcerned, speaking while gazing blankly ahead. "Pardon me, Miss, but would you possess any insight into the identity and purpose of that man?"
Roen Deneith glanced past him to where the assailant had disappeared. "He wore a mask. I did not recognize him."
He watched the fireflies, seemingly entranced. "Of course. Of course that would be the case. Thank you, Miss."
"We should get you to the infirmary, Mister North. You have been injured badly." Roen swallowed. "I mended what I could but..."
"The infirmary? My goodness, I AM in Drybone again, aren't I? You'd think I would have learned!" North burst out laughing, his good eye somewhat wider than usual.
Roen blinked, a bit incredulous. "Ah. But you have survived. Yet again."
"Yes, Miss, indeed! It is just my luck!" He laughed merrily, closing his eye with a broad smile... then grunted in quiet pain, hauling himself to his own feet.
She blinked again, looking to her hand, then back to Gideon. "I take it you did not recognize the attacker."
"No indeed, Miss. I'm afraid not. A bit of a waste, isn't it?"
She watched him cautiously, then picked up her gauntlets, redonning them as she rose as well. She gave him an odd look at the words. "What do you mean..?"
"I yet live, and I have not the means to find my assailant, nor keep it from happening again! I daresay nobody has gotten what they wished for tonight!" He shrugged good-naturedly, chuckling with uncharacteristic mirth.
Roen frowned instantly. "You are wrong. You live. At least that was my wish when I came upon the scene." Pausing, she stepped forward, lowering her voice. "This was the second time you were attacked. Perhaps we can find a pattern. A rhyme or reason..."
"I suppose if one wishes for constants to remain the same, Miss, then one can be thusly satisfied. But this... why, nothing really changed, did it? Nothing changes." North stared at the fireflies for a moment. At his words, Roen blinked again, her movements slower. Her gaze quietly fell to the ground. A moment of silence passed... before North turned to her, smiling politely. "...Miss, I believe it would be unwise to remain here for much longer."
Roen pressed her lips into a thin line, then nodded in agreement. "Aye. Let us at least get you to a more skilled healer than I."
"If it is needed, Miss. I daresay I feel... fine." He chuckled faintly, striding forward.
She regarded him again, her eyes narrowing. "I would feel better if you were checked. And your eye, Mister North..."
"Please, Miss. What do I have to worry about with one eye less? Certainly, if tonight is any evidence, I should have been making better use of them in the first place!" He laughed heartily again, making his way down the path without looking back at her. She watched him oddly, following silently behind him.
North sat on the bed, smiling blankly as he stared forward. They had even placed him in the same room as the last incident. Perhaps they were coming to recognize him.
Roen glanced around, standing by the bedside--clearly remembering similar circumstances. Seeing the healers bustling to and fro, she sighed, relaxing somewhat. She took an uncertain step forward, towards the wounded valet. "Please, let them help you in however way they can, Mister North."
"Of course! Familiar comforts indeed, Miss, familiar enough." North nodded vaguely.
She parted her lips as if to say something, then stopped. Instead, she lightly placed her hand upon his shoulder, her voice softening. "I am glad you are alright." She studied his face. "And even if nothing changes, does not mean we should stop trying," she murmured.
"Miss need not worry. I know precisely what I must do." He nodded, smiling--still staring into the middle distance.
"Nothing foolish... I hope?" Roen stared at him, unsure.
"Do I seem a fool, Miss Deneith?" North stared back at her. For a brief moment, his eyelid twitched.
She slowly shook her head. "Nay. Anything but." Her voice lowered.
"Then I shall leave you in peace." North smiled, the expression apparently fixed in place. "Now. I believe it is time I rested!"
She shook her head again, just slightly. "Do get your rest, Mister North."
"I shall endeavor to."
At last, she stepped back, but paused once more. "I will check on you soon." She smiled almost meekly at him, as if in reassurance.
North stared, smiling, at the wooden screen. "Thank you, Miss. Goodbye."
Roen paused at the doorway, giving the man another strange look, then made her way out of the infirmary, steps slow on the worn stone.
For a long while after, while the chirurgeons and healers attended to him, North remained staring blankly forward. He could not fail them--fail those who had stood alongside him--as he had failed his Masters. Though faith remained beyond his reach, now moreso than ever before, he would always have loyalty.
If his surest way of protecting them was to disappear, then so be it.
The distinction between loyalty and faith is a fine one indeed.
As North reflected on this, he also realized--rather too late--that Final Prayer made a poor refuge for one dedicated entirely to the former, with none of the latter. And yet he had somehow been led here, walking aimlessly through Eastern Thanalan, passing Drybone with nary a shudder or a glance. The last time he traveled that road resulted in the inexplicable attempt on his life--an incident that, even after all that had happened, went unanswered and unclear. No culprit, no motive, no trace.
He had known from the very beginning that Taeros was little more than a momentary convenience; a shark onto which the remora latches. The man's crimes, both moral and literal, were as numerous as his adversary's. North had even been actively working against him--that had been his sole purpose in entering his employment in the first place. He had clearly been marked as a target from the start, and thus--Gideon set the wine bottle onto the dusty ground--he was not to be mourned.
But he had been a master, hadn't he?
He had ensured North knew his place. Above all, they both played their roles as best they could, and that, the butler had expected. But, over time--and yes, especially there at the end--it seemed as though he had truly valued not only North's life, not merely his well-being, but his happiness. He had apparently endeavored to keep North from those who sought to take him from Taeros's service, with all the suspicion due of one of his station. He had not treated North as more than a servant, but... that, he had given a strange dignity. A nobility. An understanding, North finally settled upon, that was almost painful in its long-missed familiarity.
When Master Taeros had, at the end, called out Gideon's name, bleeding blue and black, the valet had hesitated out of shock. The healing aether never came, and Taeros had fallen. But had the valet been obeying his instincts... or fighting them?
Whatever the motivation, he had not acted quickly enough, and now another master was gone.
He stared blankly into the etched stone before him, absently fumbling the golden maple pin out from within his jacket and rolling it between his fingers. Perhaps this was simply the natural way of things. One may only serve until they fail, and thus lose that right to serve. Two masters served, and two masters gone.
No. Something resounded in his head. One master served. And one master betrayed. His fist closed over the badge, and his head swam with sudden, overwhelming dizziness--thoughts churning with violent emotion and cold, detached appraisal. Preserving one loyalty does not pardon the betrayal of another. His face remained implacable as always, but a sudden bile rose up within him at the thought. Almost hastily, he took a long gulp from the bottle at his side, pushed more by impulse than true desire, and sagged as he returned it to its place on the ground. He sat silently among the gently humming fireflies, the open bottle at his side and his eyes on the ground. His eyes flickered to his silver grimoire, carelessly set on the dusty ground alongside him, then returned to the etched stone before him--staring blankly into it, hoping for some flicker of clarity, or even merely some relief. However (that same, cold part of him reminded), that was a luxury intended only for men of faith.
His shoulders rose and sank in a brief sigh, and he pocketed the badge. Lingering too long on such questions would be provably unhelpful, and--more to the point--beyond his station. He closed his eyes, listening to the hum of the fireflies... then paused, paying closer attention to the sound as they drifted somewhat further away. "...?"
The Miqo'te nearby took a few more steps, gradually more audible the closer he came. The ground was dry enough not to betray his footsteps, but he still walked with some measure of caution. Approaching, the young stranger spoke, noticing the valet's curiosity--his eyes obscured by a practical leather facemask. "Mister North...."
"Ah." Of course; a place for reflection like this would no doubt serve others, who would also value their solitude. He instinctively began gathering his things up, politely nodding behind him. "A thousand pardons, sir..."
"Please, no need for such apologies..." The rebuttal was pleasant, almost apologetic itself. Gideon watched the man dip into an apparent bow... then break almost seamlessly into a predatory lunge, vicious clawed gauntlets gleaming in the light of the fireflies.
The valet scrambled back in shock, the bottle spilling from his arms and staining the ground wine-red as he raised the book as a makeshift shield, desperately trying to block the sudden strike. "Wh-What--" The clawed stranger's strike hooked against the side of the book, and he immediately twisted his arm back, deftly trying to rip the tome from North's hands.
Something flashed in North's eyes, and he tilted the book just the slightest, letting the attacker simply rip open the front cover. One half of the book was all but shredded by the vicious claw, but the pages swiftly fell open to a random angular diagram. Concentrating his aether, he hissed darkly, letting the instant reaction of Bio course through his arms, into the book, and towards his assailant. "...Assassin."
The accusation, predictably, had no effect on the Miqo'te--however, he clearly recognized the sudden flow of aetheric energy. He quickly dropped to the ground, both hands stopping himself directly before impact. Twirling nimbly on the ground, his foot blurred through the air, arcing towards Gideon's jaw. Twisting desperately, the valet attempted to deflect the blow, but North was no martial artist--the strike connected, sending him sprawling flat on his back in the dirt, coughing in pain and breathless rage. "Ghnnh... is it you...?" His face bore a strange, wide-eyed smile as his head snapped up to face the assassin.
The momentum of the kick let the acrobatic Miqo'te twirl back up onto his feet--with not a word at North's senseless question; only replying with another lunge forward, claws out and angled towards the Hyur's neck. With barely any time to react, North twisted to the side, gasping--the razor claws tearing through his jacket and shoulder instead. Blood stained the pristine black of his formal jacket, and he breathed in soundless pain; fumbling with his free hand for the fallen bottle and swinging it towards the assassin's face in retaliation. With his free hand, the assassin lashed out to strike the wine bottle mid-swing, shattering the glass, sending shards and wine splaying across both North and the dry soil. "Ghh!" He recoiled, the shards of glass and wine provoking a brief, reflexive cringe. "Three YEARS, and--!" Seeing the Miqo'te bringing the claw down once more, he threw his head to the right, in a desperate attempt to protect himself--the claws raked across the left side of his face, slicing easily through his eye and cheek. He roared, in pain and anguish.
The assassin hissed quietly, clearly somewhat irritated at the valet's persistent survival. He paused for just a brief moment, then twisted the claw embedded in the Hyur's shoulder, ripping the flesh--more blood, soaking the black. Almost instantly, he brought the other claw back down, shearing through the air to the man's chest, but North wrenched himself to the side in a desperate spasm, further twisting the claws in his shoulder. The man's other claws pierced him, but grazed off his ribcage, avoiding fatal damage once more. He arched on the ground, a ragged whimper of pain escaping him--incongruously feeble for the depth of the wound.
"HALT!" Through the haze of pain and adrenaline, North heard the voice of Roen, of all people, cut through the fray. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a redhead figure in the uniform of the Blades charge towards the chaos, and the masked man's gaze rose to her for just a moment... before ripping both claws from North's body with a sickening sound of severance. He darted up from the crumpled valet, dashing towards the Blade as if in attack... then, at the last moment, he leapt and flipped over the Blade in an adroit flip, landing on his feet just behind her. Without another moment's hesitation, he bolted down the hill, out towards the plains. Roen seemed to hesitate, her gaze darting from the fleeing assassin to the valet, bleeding out on the ground.
"Gyaaghk--" North arched again, panting in pain, and fumbled for the remains of his book. A mangled roar of fury rose within him as his fingers closed in a claw over the page, crumpling the paper--his other hand blindly firing out Ruinous bolts, green tinges of Bio, sickly green Virus--anything requiring no more than a second's thought. Roen ducked the aetheric onslaught, hastily rushing to the side, but not a single spell connected--the masked man sprinted away, not looking back. "YOU FINISH... YOUR JOB!" North roared out, choking on more than just his words. "DON'T YOU... RUN... N-Nnghh..." As the assassin vanished from view, the bloodied servant devolved into wordless howling and gasping.
Roen's eyes followed the last crackling Ruin as it blurred down the path alongside her... but she rushed toward the fallen man instead, the assassin no longer in sight. She fell to her knees next to him. "Mister North!" Pulling off her turban to survey his wounds, she tried desperately to number the injuries. A gash in his shoulder... jaw badly bruised... both cloth and flesh shredded... one side of his face all but sheared through... "Gideon!" The valet did not respond, hands remaining where they were--clawing at paper and casting out in furious aetheric stabs at the air, though the spells no longer came.
She grabbed onto one wrist, as if to bring him to the present from wherever his mind was at. "Gideon!" She leaned forward, wide eyes going from his face to the growing crimson stain upon his shoulder. Then inevitably, it returned back to his... wounded eye and face. She grimaced.
Gideon writhed feebly, hand twisting in her grip. "M-Master, they're... here. Run, please... please..."
Seeing his distress, she pressed him down a bit more forcefully, her tone firm despite the alarm upon her expression. "Gideon. Stop. Let me heal you... You are..." She swallowed. "You are injured badly..."
North twisted his head from side to side, the frantic tears mingling with the fresh blood. "Master, you cannot stay!"
Hurriedly, she fumbled her gauntlet off, to lay her hand upon his... shoulder? Face? Eye? There was so much blood. She swallowed to steady herself. "Gideon. Please. Calm. I am going to stop the bleeding first..." She put a steady pressure upon his shoulder, glancing warily over her shoulder to where the assailant had disappeared. Facing Gideon, she frowned. "He ran. I am not letting you bleed to death."
"Master, they could return... at any moment! Think of... your parents! I promised them I would... I would look after..." North hissed out in pain, staring blindly up at the sky, the tears not stopping. After a moment, fully registering his words, Roen exhaled. She did not budge, holding him still as best she could as she summoned the aether onto his shoulder wound. Throughout, she remained silent, closing her eyes as the aether flooded his injuries. "Stop... stop, please..." Though he shook, jolting one way and then another, his movements gradually slowed--his hand falling to the ground, and the paper tearing with a slow rip as his other hand closed into a fist.
Seeing the flesh closing, Roen breathed out in relief. "Gideon... you did everything you could..." she murmured.
"I knew he would come back, Master... but he knew I'd be looking for poison this time, so he... he chose another means..." North muttered indistinctly, still panting with effort and pain.
Roen's expression saddened as she met Gideon's unseeing eye. "Do not blame yourself..." she said softly, moving to treat the wounds on his chest. The severity of the damage made her falter for one brief moment before the aether rose within her once more.
"They always come, master... wherever I go... they're always there, you can't escape them. No servants, only masters. Never servants, only masters." North whispered in horror, staring blindly skyward. "Him, her, her, him, her, him, her..." He shuddered, shaking uncontrollably. "I have to, I have..."
Her shoulders slumped, the treatment having drained her somewhat. She laid a hand upon the man's jawline, turning his face towards her. "Gideon," she said softly. "Please. Come back." The valet swallowed, hard, and went completely still. Her gaze darted from his jaw to the long gash ripped across his eye, face twisting in worry.
"...Miss Deneith." North opened his eyes, speaking with sudden, unshakable calm and composure, despite his wounds and the situation.
Roen Deneith finally released a long sigh, her shoulders slumping and relief washing over her face. "....Mister North." She curled a faint smile, although it was still tinged with worry. "Please hold still, let me at least... close these wounds. Your jaw and... your eye..."
"Very good, Miss. Please do as you see fit." The valet stared politely forward, his injured eye slightly rolling.
Surveying the damage, Roen winced. His jaw appeared to have suffered the least of the damage, but his eye... "We should get you to the infirmary."
North appeared unconcerned, speaking while gazing blankly ahead. "Pardon me, Miss, but would you possess any insight into the identity and purpose of that man?"
Roen Deneith glanced past him to where the assailant had disappeared. "He wore a mask. I did not recognize him."
He watched the fireflies, seemingly entranced. "Of course. Of course that would be the case. Thank you, Miss."
"We should get you to the infirmary, Mister North. You have been injured badly." Roen swallowed. "I mended what I could but..."
"The infirmary? My goodness, I AM in Drybone again, aren't I? You'd think I would have learned!" North burst out laughing, his good eye somewhat wider than usual.
Roen blinked, a bit incredulous. "Ah. But you have survived. Yet again."
"Yes, Miss, indeed! It is just my luck!" He laughed merrily, closing his eye with a broad smile... then grunted in quiet pain, hauling himself to his own feet.
She blinked again, looking to her hand, then back to Gideon. "I take it you did not recognize the attacker."
"No indeed, Miss. I'm afraid not. A bit of a waste, isn't it?"
She watched him cautiously, then picked up her gauntlets, redonning them as she rose as well. She gave him an odd look at the words. "What do you mean..?"
"I yet live, and I have not the means to find my assailant, nor keep it from happening again! I daresay nobody has gotten what they wished for tonight!" He shrugged good-naturedly, chuckling with uncharacteristic mirth.
Roen frowned instantly. "You are wrong. You live. At least that was my wish when I came upon the scene." Pausing, she stepped forward, lowering her voice. "This was the second time you were attacked. Perhaps we can find a pattern. A rhyme or reason..."
"I suppose if one wishes for constants to remain the same, Miss, then one can be thusly satisfied. But this... why, nothing really changed, did it? Nothing changes." North stared at the fireflies for a moment. At his words, Roen blinked again, her movements slower. Her gaze quietly fell to the ground. A moment of silence passed... before North turned to her, smiling politely. "...Miss, I believe it would be unwise to remain here for much longer."
Roen pressed her lips into a thin line, then nodded in agreement. "Aye. Let us at least get you to a more skilled healer than I."
"If it is needed, Miss. I daresay I feel... fine." He chuckled faintly, striding forward.
She regarded him again, her eyes narrowing. "I would feel better if you were checked. And your eye, Mister North..."
"Please, Miss. What do I have to worry about with one eye less? Certainly, if tonight is any evidence, I should have been making better use of them in the first place!" He laughed heartily again, making his way down the path without looking back at her. She watched him oddly, following silently behind him.
North sat on the bed, smiling blankly as he stared forward. They had even placed him in the same room as the last incident. Perhaps they were coming to recognize him.
Roen glanced around, standing by the bedside--clearly remembering similar circumstances. Seeing the healers bustling to and fro, she sighed, relaxing somewhat. She took an uncertain step forward, towards the wounded valet. "Please, let them help you in however way they can, Mister North."
"Of course! Familiar comforts indeed, Miss, familiar enough." North nodded vaguely.
She parted her lips as if to say something, then stopped. Instead, she lightly placed her hand upon his shoulder, her voice softening. "I am glad you are alright." She studied his face. "And even if nothing changes, does not mean we should stop trying," she murmured.
"Miss need not worry. I know precisely what I must do." He nodded, smiling--still staring into the middle distance.
"Nothing foolish... I hope?" Roen stared at him, unsure.
"Do I seem a fool, Miss Deneith?" North stared back at her. For a brief moment, his eyelid twitched.
She slowly shook her head. "Nay. Anything but." Her voice lowered.
"Then I shall leave you in peace." North smiled, the expression apparently fixed in place. "Now. I believe it is time I rested!"
She shook her head again, just slightly. "Do get your rest, Mister North."
"I shall endeavor to."
At last, she stepped back, but paused once more. "I will check on you soon." She smiled almost meekly at him, as if in reassurance.
North stared, smiling, at the wooden screen. "Thank you, Miss. Goodbye."
Roen paused at the doorway, giving the man another strange look, then made her way out of the infirmary, steps slow on the worn stone.
For a long while after, while the chirurgeons and healers attended to him, North remained staring blankly forward. He could not fail them--fail those who had stood alongside him--as he had failed his Masters. Though faith remained beyond his reach, now moreso than ever before, he would always have loyalty.
If his surest way of protecting them was to disappear, then so be it.
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Skype: wordsmithrefl[/sub]
Skype: wordsmithrefl[/sub]
