A King had been chosen. And now all they could do was wait.
The crystal has awoken.It had been ten years since the first flicker of light appeared in the crystal; ten years since the Oracle first answered the call. The denizens of New Lucis were naturally skeptical at first. Some were afraid to hope, memories inherited from those that had lived during the fall of Insomnia still as vivid as if it had been
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Oleander, the heir apparent to the family he served, didn’t want him or his protection. He hadn’t for many years. That he might have needed him was a matter of some discussion which fell upon the deaf ears of his mother. She, who would rather prostrate herself to an absent God, than to consider the practical need of having her son learn self-defense. No one forced him to do anything he didn’t want to do. Over his years of service, he’d watched Oleander turn from a boy of privilege with a profound selfishness to one who wore the permanent scowl of one without honor, a man without empathy. Cal was different, so wholly different that she only saw the good in her brother, in mother whose sanity was precarious at best, even in him.
That the Amicitia matriarch kept him on staff he assumed was more for appearances than need. Calluna wanted him, yes, and still benefited from his instruction, but she didn't need him. She was no longer a girl of ten, with skinned knees, incapable of hefting a broadsword. She was a woman fully grown, a fierce fighter and had a keen mind for forethought. He was young yet. As a hunter, he could do true good in the world. He could rid the wastelands of demons and be a sword and shield in earnest. There was little reason to stay, and yet, he found he couldn’t go. The crystals sudden glow and the subsequent upheaval in the political circles notwithstanding, he still found little reason to stay.
He snuck into the training rooms, surrendering himself to the tried and true motions which he hoped would make his mind up for him. It was only partly a surprise to find he was not alone in his needs. A small part of him had expected Calluna, at his heels, as he occupied the space at her elbow. They circled each other as practiced foes, limbs as lithe as wind and fists as anvils. They collided with a practiced heaviness, a dance they had done a thousand times. When she landed a blow, a well-placed strike which might have felled a lesser man, he allowed the weight of if to bring him to his knee, guessing that she’d gloat and smile, rather than suspect it for the feint it was. There were still things to teach her, he thought. But was it enough? Was it reason enough to stay?
Fortem slid beside her, a mimicry of her position. From the flat of his back, he saw the same advantages she did. “You’re arrogant,” he said without heat. “And where was your focus? It wasn’t on me or you would have guessed what I’d do next.” He tamped down on a grin, turning his face towards her, close enough that he could track the lines of sweat as they fell from her brow. “Pay attention. Or don’t waste my time.”
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Cal tilted her head, her cheek resting on the map, a sharp retort readied on her tongue. If she had been distracted before, he now had her attention in full. Fortem lay close enough that his breath could be felt on her cheek, warm and chastising. It was a different kind of distraction, a fortunate flicker of time before she remembered herself and returned her gaze to the ceiling.
"Of course I'm distracted," she relented quietly. How could she not with the council scrambling for answer, her brother certain of his destiny now more than ever and her mother's convenient arrival it was all a bit much to reason with. "Not all of us are as disciplined as you." Cal envied him his resolve and even strove to emulate it. She did not need a reminder of her faults.
Frustrated, she pushed herself back up to her feet. It was not in her nature to be so easily cowed. Even when she knew she was wrong. The idea that she was wasting his time had offended her more than she cared to let on. She never asked him to meet her here. "If you feel I'm wasting your time, then by all means ..." she trailed off, gesturing obstinately to the empty space at the far end of the room. There was plenty of space for them to coexist and work out whatever frustrations either might have had without getting in the other's way. What she had really meant to say was that she was sorry, and she would do better this time around. That the last thing she wanted to do was to disappoint him, or for him to go.
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He was still on his back, wondering, when she began moving across the floor with all the elegance of a garula herd. Her frustration was in her step, made it heavier, louder. He closed his eyes for a moment, just listening. Even behind the lids, in true darkness, he could feel the ripple of her movement and draw conclusions on how far she was from him. He could predict the distance between them, close enough that if he threw out his arm it would hit the delicate ball of her ankle and send her sprawling anew. He didn’t, but he could.
“Whatever you say, princess,” he replied.
Fortem turned, curling onto his side before coming to stand. He kept his back to her as he began walking, not towards the exit but towards a pair of doors which allowed the freedom to look outside. The sky was no longer ablaze with the power of the crystal, but the world below the training rooms was awash with movement, even given the late hour. He wanted to see, but whether it was alone or with her was her choice. “Are you coming or what?”
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Cal had taken four steps before hearing Fortem speak again and halted, one foot mid gait. She gently lowered herself onto the ball of her foot, rolling to the heel, and then back up into a pivot so that she was now moving in the direction Fortem had spoken from. A few beats later and she was occupying the empty space at his side. Her arms crossed over her chest gave the only indication of her mood, still somewhat sour from earlier.
Together the two brooded atop the veranda, staring below into the anxious crowd. Cal's attention was immediately captured by a woman handing out flyers, her voice somehow managing to breach the chaotic hum of the crowd. The gods had spoken, their chosen soon to reveal themselves. Calluna knew this spiel all too well. She had heard some variation or another from her mother every since she was a child, spoken like a nursery rhyme. Immediately her thoughts shifted to her brother. Oleander had prepared for this day practically from the moment he could stand upright. Would the power of Kings finally reveal itself to him? Cal wanted to believe it if only because her brother believed it. But what if her mother's interpretation of the prophecy was wrong? If not Oli, then who?
"Looks like I'm not the only one who is distracted," Cal finally remarked after several long beats of silence. "That was a low blow in there, even for you." Now it was her turn to chide him. Name calling should have been beneath them. This was not a playground, after all. They were both adults, whether he cared to admit it on her end or not. "You know how I hate being called princess." To accentuate her point Cal side-eyed him with a fixed, fiersome, extremely adult glare.
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“I’m not mocking you,” he said. “Oleander will be king. Even I’ve heard the chatter. When he is you know the role you’ll fill. Until he finds a queen, you’ll stand by him. You always have, you always will.”
There was a tinge of both distrust and dislike in his heart toward Oleander which had nothing to do with himself and everything to do with Calluna. Though Oleander had shown him nothing in the way of amity over the years, he’d dealt with uppity lords his whole life. He could brush off his jibes and jests with ease. It was the way he acted towards Cal which bothered him. He didn’t like the way her brother stared at her, a bit too long to decent. He didn’t enjoy the smoothness with which Oleander operated, steering Cal to his understanding with an underhandedness which oddly made him ideal to sit a throne. He had little use for him in general, but because of Cal, he liked him less.
Fortem tracked the line of Cal’s gaze, watching a woman in the square below hand over flyers. She looked the picture of a zealot, with her windswept and un-brushed hair, her voice a crackle which rose and carried, her movements frenetic. He didn’t want to see this. He didn’t want to see Oleander ascend a throne. He didn’t want to think of Gods and crystals and prophecies. The foreboding of things yet to come and that which he already didn’t want to deal with made him want to leave even more. He could do good as a hunter, yes, but he could also lose himself to his preferred world where sharpened steel was all that mattered. He turned his eyes back to Cal, lips curving into a thin smile as he took in her closed off posture.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began, hedging only for a moment, waiting out what he assumed would be a quick retort about how doing so wasn’t his strongest suit. When it didn’t come, he continued.
“The world is changing. Your worlds changing. I know you could learn more from me, but despite what I say you’re not bad with a blade. You don’t need…I could do more outside the city. “
He wanted her to respond, but he didn’t know what he wanted the response to be. A part of him, a very sentimental part, which rarely came to the surface, wanted her to ask him to stay. Another part sought her understanding without judgement. There was no place for him in this new world. He was made for work and violence, not the petty intricacies of policy. He didn’t want to experience it. He didn’t want to see Cal lose herself to it, either. As the moments ticked by, moments where nothing was said, he averted his gaze.
“Say something. You hate the quiet.”
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Nevertheless, should the crystal indeed reach out to Oleander, Cal knew exactly where she'd be.
Right at his side.
In that, Fortem was not wrong. Cal may not have had faith in the prophecy, but she had faith in her brother and she would aid him in any way that she could.
While Oleander's life had been plotted out practically since his birth it was strange that it was only now in this moment when Fortem brought it up that Cal should ever come to think about what her role in it all would be. True, she always anticipated to be by his side but beyond that, what? She had no immediate answer and the suggestion Fortem put forth was hardly satisfactory. The idea of being regulated to wall ornamentation was not the least bit appealing to her. Cal had little time to ruminate over the existentialism of her place in her brother's new world and was all too grateful when the conversation was hijaked by Fortem once more.
She tilted her head ever so slightly to the side, eyeing him curiously, wondering what could possibly be the cause of the suddenly somber expression on his face.
And then there it was. He was leaving, or at least he intended to. The words may have not been so much as spoken out loud, but it was plainly there between the lines. An inexplicable sensation of panic set in, blindsiding her like a freight train. How could he possibly even think about leaving at a time like this? If her brother was truely the heir to the Lucian throne then Fortem's experience and skill would be invaluable! What could he possibly do outside the city that he couldn't also do within? And what about her? Did he really just intend to abandon her? What the hell was he thinking? Despite what I say, you're not bad with a blade. Not bad with a blade?! Little good that'll do her when she can't even anticipate a counterattack that had left her on her back just minutes ago in the training room!?
Say something. You hate the quiet.
"You can't leave! Not now!" she blurted out, less the twenty-two year old she had become two months back and more a child of six about to attend school for the first time on her own alone. "Not when I need--" she caught herself, oblivious to the parallel of his near confession moments earlier. "... when we need you the most!" His arm was tense when she reached for it, thoughtless of the act when she sought only the comfort of a companion who had been so long in her life. "You just said it yourself. I still have more to learn from you." Her hazel eyes met his, pleading silently as her grip tightened around his arm.
"I still have more to learn," she reaffirmed a few beats later, stubborn and stern, her once vulnerable expression hardening into a look of stony determination. He couldn't leave. She wouldn't let him. He'd said it himself. She would be at her brother's side, a princess no longer in jest but in truth.
She .... she would command him to stay if she had to.
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Fortem never touched her outside their sparring. She might have been cast of marble, cold rather than flesh, outside of the times he pinned her hard to the training room floors. They did not touch. Their swords could kiss with shrill cacophony, as they moved to each other as combatants, but he never reached for her. He stopped cuffing the back of her head when she acted foolish so many years ago; he scarcely remembered when it had exactly stopped. He didn’t hold her. He’d thought to, once, catching her in stray moonlight with a fixed frown on her face. He thought to wipe it away, but it was a fleeting fancy and one he never again had the temerity to call upon. Her touched startled, his arm tensing at the surprise, and when he did look at her he found her eyes were wide and beseeching.
"Not when I need--"
“So, you’re saying you need me…” he asked this of her without preamble or game. This was forward momentum, this choice, to stay or to go. She could pull him back, anchor him with the tether of words which neither could misinterpret; he would stay. He realized he would brave court life, dare it with his common ways, if she’d admit to only that and no more. He wouldn’t ask for so many words, however, he could not.
“…is that what you’re saying?”
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In truth, it was a terrifying revelation. But then it had always been there in the back of her mind. When they had started training she had been but a young girl, tall and lanky, uncomfortable in her own body. Eventually her awkward limbs grew lithe, her breasts filled in and her face cleared up. It was right around the time she grew into her body that she became aware of its desires, and was it any wonder the curiosity that bloomed in her had transferred to the closest man in her life outside of her kin? It began as an infuriating school girl crush; one she forced to the back of her mind but struggled with daily, knowing it could never be so long as she remained the subordinate pupil in his life.
Through the years it became increasingly difficult to ignore, and in a moment such as now when confronted with the fact that he might leave her, her desire was overwhelming.
It wasn't what Fortem was talking about, of course, but it was difficult to divorce the intent behind his question from the interpretation she preferred. Cal became painfully aware of her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest becoming more erratic with every beat that contemplated it. He was awaiting her answer and she knew him well enough to know that Fortem would not stay when he felt he could no longer be useful. His pride demanded an answer, but if she spoke the truth would that not only serve to push him away all the same?
"You already know what I'm saying." His gaze never wavered, brown and uncompromising. It was not good enough. She knew that if she looked away, she'd lose him right then and there.
Yet Cal hated the feeling of being powerless and resented the vulnerability she felt in his presence. "Yes, Fortem. I need you," she said at last through clenched teeth. Cal held is gaze for one long final beat, before looking away defeated and stalking back off in the direction of the training room. Where the frustration and anger suddenly came from she could not even begin to understand, but of the two of them she seemed to have a lot more to lose by revealing the depth of her need for him in her life. And that notion unnerved her far more than she cared to admit.
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He did not know. He could not guess. Calluna was not as disingenuous as her brother, truly there was not an insincere bone in her body, but she kept her secrets as well as anyone who was not prone to talking might. In that way, she and he were utterly in sync. He spoke less than she did, but they both had an affinity for proof in action rather than in words. Why speak and brag at being a swordsman when one could prove that acuity with a blade in hand? But sometimes, like this time, words were the only way he could gain the satisfaction of clarity. Hearing words which left no room for indecision was the only way he could know if his place was here, at her side, or if it was time to go. He could not bring himself to say so, either too cowardly or too proud or both. It left him standing, his back ramrod straight, her hand upon his arm.
His world narrowed to sensation. The rooms in which they practiced was dark. His eyes had acclimated, aided by the filtered light from the city below. Still, he could not see the color of her eyes, or the any emotion in them. He could only guess, but he could not see; her eyes were prone to stare, green as emerald, sharp in insight. But it was not enough, not in this. He could hear the restlessness of her breathing, but only guess at the cause. Perhaps he had caught her off guard, but he’d thought she’d have predicted. If he could not be of use, then there was little reason to stay. He’d also left signs without meaning to, contracts and hunting papers he’d left too near her gym lockers, playing the radio for bounties rather than the music he usually listened to. His nose told him nothing, the training grounds smelling only of ammonia and talcum and sweat no matter how often and diligently they were cleaned. The only taste he knew was that of indecisiveness, bitter and uncompromising as death. His senses gave him nothing, and if she could give nothing, then his decision was made.
"Yes, Fortem. I need you,"
Those words lit something within him. It felt as a weight, bearing down upon him center mast. It was heavy, and painful and sharp as a blade. There was a physical ache, as real as if it had been a weapon rather than words which had hit him. He felt his expression soften, but she did not see. He had awoken an anger in her, forced her into a corner where sentiment was the only card she had left to play, a last ace in a lost hand. He could not think of anything which might have cost her more when it came to him and it left him profoundly humble. Because of this, and because she had turned with angry steps to walk away it was easy to respond to her.
“Then, I’ll stay,” he said, softly so that she could pretend not to have heard him if she wanted. “For as long as you want. For as long as you need. I will.”
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Cal had stopped in the middle of the training room, only now turning to look back at him. Silhouetted by a multitude of light sources from the city below, she could not read the expression on his face. Her own was hard as stone. She bent down to retrieve the wooden practice sword she'd been sparing with earlier. The blade was weighted, so that she could develop the necessary strength to wield it in actual battle but was blunted so that no true harm could actually be done.
"Then come along ..." Cal invited Fortem to rejoin her with a nod of her head. "The night is young and we still have work to do yet."
Slender fingers flexed along the hilt of the wooden blade, itching to hit something. Hitting things was far easier than dealing with something as superfluous as her feelings.
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