Fanfic.
A TEMPEST
The first time she sees him, Priscilla thinks that Lucius is a woman, and jealousy strikes her heart like a javelin.
She tries to justify herself. It's the way he walks beside Raymond, not behind him, as his rightful place would be. It's the way he regards Raymond as a friend and not a master. It's the way his brow furrows with worry when Raymond dismisses him. It's not proper for a servant to act in such a way.
But if she allows herself to be honest, it's because she sees them talking together, and Raymond wearing a smile, and because they stand a little closer than neccessary, and because they touch each other just a bit too much for it to be coincidence.
Disgraceful, she thinks, before she has a chance to regret her thoughts. The woman doesn't know her place. She's trying to get close to my brother, who is rightfully a Lord of Lycia and who is obviously far too good for her. Isn't she supposed to be a cleric? What about her vows of chastity? Doesn't she know she's butting in where she isn't wanted? Why can't she leave us alone?
Then she hears Lucius speak. His voice is soft, gentle, but definately that of a man. Her terrible thoughts take their leave of the front of her mind. Oh well, she thinks, that's all. They've been together a long time, and doesn't any faithful servant overstep their place sometimes? It's forgivable.
Still, doubts continue to plague her, like an itch on the inside of her skull.
In battle they fight back to back. This shouldn't bother her as much as it does. It implies familiarity, a trust that Raymond doesn't even give to her anymore. When he swings his sword, his eyes are always fixed on his opponent, but his stance is such that he can turn around at any moment should Lucius need assistance.
Outside of battle, too, they are inseperable. They eat together. They sleep in the same tent. Any time she wishes to talk to Raymond alone, Lucius is at his side, a subtle but constant presence that makes it impossible to connect with her brother in the way she so dearly wants.
Of course, it's true that Raymond has changed. Memories of her brother painted him as a gentle, loving boy with too serious a disposition; that boy now reveals himself rarely. And never to her. Only to Lucius.
She feels horrible that this makes her angry. She always thought of herself as so tolerant, so just, kind to everyone alike. They called her the Little Angel of House Caerleon. She hates what she is becoming. And yet, when Lucius' hand brushes up against her brother's arm as though that is its rightful place, she finds herself enraged to the point where she can hardly breathe.
On the battlefield she plays the nursing angel, the sweet young girl she has always been, but for the first time there is a monster growing inside her head. And she can't stop it.
One night she has a dream where she is in a church. She watches the dream frozen and unable to speak. Lucius is walking down the aisle, dressed all in white, with his head bowed reverently. Raymond is there to meet him at the altar.
The priest begins the words of the marriage ceremony; they are words she has heard many times, but now they fill her with dread. No, she wants to scream, no, this isn't right, they can't get *married*, this is crazy! They're both men! He's a monk! He's a *servant*! This has to be some kind of mistake! But her throat remains empty.
The worst thing is that they look utterly beautiful together. Staring at each other, their faces are mirror images of devotion. She might be less angry if she could pretend to herself that it's not love, it's just a mistake, they'll get over it, but she knows that's a lie.
She wakes up just as Raymond slides a gold wedding band onto Lucius' ring finger. Her teeth are clenched painfully hard.
It can't be. It's just not possible.
She cannot help but believe that it is true.
All that week, she is smouldering inside. It is noticable to everyone; even Erk comments, grudgingly, that she doesn't seem at all her usual self. She brushes him off with some exuse of homesickness. It's true, in a way. Lucius looks awkward around her, which makes her feel bad. Raymond ignores her. That makes it a thousand times worse.
When she sees Lucius on the battlefield alone one day- Raymond is resting after a chest wound- she can't stop herself from riding over, with a little cutting smile on her face. The fire inside her is burning higher. The monster inside her is ready to attack.
Maybe it's because the flash of light magic on his fingers bears resemblance to the shine of a wedding band.
"Ah, Lucius!" she calls, making her voice so light it is almost sarcastic. "There you are! I've been wanting to speak with you!"
He turns around, just late enough to sidestep the arrow flying towards his skull. She is not quite so far along as to regret that it doesn't hit him. "...Lady Priscilla? What is it? I fear this may not be the best time..."
Priscilla shakes her head. Her hair brushes her cheekbones, and coupled with Lucius' presence, the sensation chills her. "I won't take long," she says, "I only want to apologize for my words the other day. When I... made reference to your appearance."
"That...?" Lucius shakes his head, too. His hair is longer than hers, with more body, and it gleams in the afternoon sunlight. "There's nothing to apologize for. I should be the one to say I'm sorry..."
Tugging her horse's reins to one side so as to better face him, Priscilla frowns. "Oh, no! It was rude of me to be so forward. Please accept my apology."
Lucius gives in as he opens his book to cast a spell. "Of course. It's nothing." A moment of silence passes.
"Although..." Priscilla says, as though she is watching herself from far away, "you know... you're not only beautiful, but you're so kind... I suppose it's fortunate... if you were a woman, my brother would certainly have fallen in love with you."
The calm on Lucius' face disppears to be replaced with pain, briefly, before settling on a careful blankness. "Lady Priscilla...?"
Priscilla fakes surprise. She feels terrible now that there is no going back, but she can only dig the knife in deeper, entranced by her victory. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she says quickly. "I was just... I didn't mean to *offend* you! Oh, I'm sure Raymond doesn't think of you like that...!"
"I have to go," Lucius says softly, turning away from her. "I'm needed elsewhere. I'm sorry." He is out of sight before she has time to say anything.
She stands still for a moment. The tempest inside her has ended.
No matter what she says or does, it doesn't change the facts. She is deeply attatched to her brother, but he doesn't care about her anymore. He has found someone else; what's worse, despite his status, that other person is perhaps genuinely better for him than she is. She has ultimately lost. There is no point in hurting Lucius any further.
Drained of her rage and jealousy, she is like a near-empty vessel, filled with only sorrow.
END
(I felt guilty after writing this, because it portrays Priscilla in such a bad light, and I really do like her a lot. But teenage girls, like bears, are vicious when they feel threatened. And I wanted to write about that. In retrospect the classism in this fic should have been way more subtle. Well, I still think this isn't bad.)