The Princess and the Guard.

[mire]

Fa'Diel Base

“Relocating, is it?”

Helena Rosinder did not bother to glance up. The peon before her could not answer any of her questions, couldn’t even if he wanted to do so. He was a tool, a delivery boy that only carried the words of his superior on his tongue. He stood where he was, silently waiting to be properly dismissed. Much too preoccupied with her doings, Helena still did not glance up, and merely waved him away as if he were nothing more than a pesky annoyance (which, to her, he was). She waited until she heard the door close behind him, waited until she was certain the temper tantrum crawling up her spine would only be heard by her, and the stoic guard standing outside the heavy metal door. She began by flinging whatever was within arm’s reach, screaming at the top of her lungs inventive ways by which Renovatio could go to Hell.

Outside the room, a solemn guard paid the chaos no mind. He’d grown used to the princess’ numerous fits of temper. She was easily ruffled by the smallest of inconveniences, and had no trouble expressing her displeasure when things did not go her way. And as a war captive, not a great deal of important things went her way. Thus, she created mayhem, and swore vengeance on any and all that crossed her. She was a cute kid, he mused, when she wasn’t boiling with anger. Nice enough, once you got to know her a little. He learned to stay out of her way when she was in one of her little snits, and she tried to not have so many. Out of all the personnel at her leisure, she would tell him, she enjoyed his services the best and would one day employ him as a guard when she became queen. Such a brat, he thought, the corners of his mouth twitching with the beginnings of a smirk. When the noise behind the door began to ebb, he calculated she would need a few more minutes of cool down before she politely asked for her room to be cleaned and her lunch to be brought up.

Sure enough, Helena had worked most of the anger out of her system. How she hated to rage like that, as if she were some rebellious teenager. But alas, there was only so much she could take. She’d been good, hadn’t she, all this time, playing along with them, letting them teach her their ways. She had learned to mostly enjoy her prison, and had even managed to appreciate some of the servants that cared for her. She had considered Primus’ propositions, and had begun to accept some of them, for her own purposes. But now, they intended to move her—like some furniture piece, without asking if she wanted to move at all! Imbeciles! They had no class, no manners, no conscience. She sighed, and reluctantly began to decide what she would take with her on what was sure to be a horrendous trip.

The knock at the door made her grunt, a sound she reserved only for her ears. She assumed it was her personal guard, checking in to make sure she had not done too much damage.

“Come on in.”

She kicked a triad of books out of her way, absentmindedly decided a simple salad would satisfy her hunger.

[|°ὺ₯₳ↄĸJONES]

The purest white manifested from the shadows of a poorly lit corridor just beyond the threshold connecting to Helena's chambers. His right shoulder led a short-lived charge, shoving the door open just enough to slip in.

"I've never..." His eyes quickly analyzed the pigsty he had stumbled upon. "Queens normally don't live like animals... But from what I hear..." placing his mitts into the pockets of a great overcoat and still, looking around at the mess, wondering if she was the type to sport dirty footwear. His face screwed, starting at the lips.

"You are a -unique- case."

Remaining not to far from the door, he'd stand, impatient and uncomfortable.

[mire]

Whoever this was, Helena cared not. She assumed him to be a new servant, likely acquired as a spoil of war. In any case, it hardly mattered; she was hungry, and a little bit tired after causing so much mayhem. The last thing she wanted was to exchange words with an insolent servant incapable of remembering his manners when speaking to a princess. She would definitely speak to Primus about the servant’s insulting tongue, and have it cut off. Deliberately, she kept her back to the man, and only spared him a few words.

“I’m hungry. Go have my lunch brought to me. And send a maid to clean this mess.”

She dismissed him with a careless wave of her hand, and without waiting for his exit, flopped down on the huge bed that dominated her chambers.

“Oh, and don’t bother to return. I’ve decided you’re worthless as a servant.”

[|°ὺ₯₳ↄĸJONES]

It became painfully obvious why Primus chose her of all Rosinderians willing to overthrow his stronghold over the sister nation.

Were he a chump, her words would've been venom, but, she did not know whom she spoke to, and even if she did, Justice's title meant naught henceforth.

"Congratulations, Helena."

He did not gave food to offer, but little information, and sadly, that would have to do given the circumstance. The batting of his lashes worked in utter harmony with specific lexis and common gestures. Justice hadn't much to convey, but what needed to be relayed was of great significance.

"Queen Helena. Tch."

From this day on her life would change. Or would it? Justice didn't think so, with all that she has endured and what was to cone in the nearing future, the former Overlord of Renovatio pitied the little girl.

"Primus has dreamed of an attack on Rosinder during your reign. I figured I'd shoot you a warning since you'll probably never here from 'ol boy again."

His fingers snapped repeatedly, and abnormally loud until a servant recognized he or she was being summoned. The male guard whose been keeping a watchful eye on Helena entered the room quickly with the salad she wanted. Justice's right arm motioned forward casually, as if granting the guard further permission to proceed. It bothered Justice.

"I figured I'd come deliver the news myself..."

[mire]

Queen Helena.

Why, didn’t that just sound right? Her parents chose her name well.

Uninterested in the ramblings of a strange servant, Helena rolled off her bed and skipped on over to where her lunch had been served. Her usual guard, the only one of them that she liked, stood near her side and cautiously greeted her with a smile. He seemed rather tense, as if the presence of the new servant bothered him. She couldn’t blame him; she did not particularly care for the man’s company. She could tell, now that she wasn’t sulking, that the man was not some random simpleton. No indeed, he was a simpleton with a purpose.

“Who are you?”

Helena applied a disgustingly huge amount of dressing to her salad, completely transforming her plate of green into a sea of creamy white. (If you think nasty thoughts, you nasty.) She scooped up a tomato, sampled the results of her mixing, and seemed pleased by the results.


“And why should I care for what you say? I reign over nothing. Rosinder remains a territory of Renovatio.”

[|°ὺ₯₳ↄĸJONES]

(u need butt secks. And sorry for all the typos in the last post, again.)

There was so much to say and tell, but he wouldn't. Justice wasn't here to play twenty one questions with the Queen. His impatience was relayed through minute actions; a heavy sigh and his face hiding in the palm of his hand.

He shock his head several times before revealing his face once more.

"Look. None of that matters anymore. Renovatio is no longer a nation... It exists only through me. Rosinder has been placed in your possession... as promised."

Before he could even finish what he was saying, his body had already made up its mind as he turned to reach fir the door knob. He'd look back over his right shoulder just once.

"Rosinder belonging to you is anew story within itself." thoughts on how he'd proceed with his own life henceforth made it somewhat difficult to remain focused. "I've assigned CURE knights to look over you... All of Rosinderian blood... so you can trust them."

Justice cleared his throat all the while guilt building within him, feeding off of all the negative thoughts that had all of a sudden manifested without even a warning shot. This was all too new to the former Overlord.

"There will be a war in a few days. Present yourself as Queen and prevent further bloodshed. Trust no one."

In timely fashion would Primus relay such shitty news to the young lady from the lips of a messenger no longer on his side. Shit was all fucked up and the idea of Primus knowing it wouldn't happen just like this irritated Justice even more.

[Reign]

Like his conscience, the ever blissful, omnipotent whisper muttered edicts into the young man's ear. And as such, he found himself wandering the lands of Rosinder as the winds of.war blew against its steps. “Seek her out, keep her safe.”

Lee, as usual, both lacked context and lacked desire to seek context. Faith carried him across continents to the isolated corridor in Fa'Diel. It was of little surprise that he arrived at the gates of the particularly heavily guarded princess with little question or debate. Hell, apparently struttin' up to random members of loyalty was common practice for the the Nephilim. And much like everything else, fate lay credited to the Holy Mother. Though he never really knew how far away his first test might be.

For the time being the Templar simply pressed his march forward, entering the lively-- and now cluttered hall Helena occupied.

The amber eyed young man took not one.step in before bowing. No mind was paid to the second guest as he dropped to his left knee and locked eyes with the woman. Lost between the monk's reverence and warrior's abruptness, he spoke with no regard to role or function. He hadn't given much thought to consequence. “Helena?”

His voice was young, firm, but undoubtedly naive and idealistic.

[mire]

It was all too much. She understood almost nothing of what the man was talking about, and had reason to doubt every other word he uttered. It was so infuriating to be given no explanations, but expected to follow along and skip on out of her holding cell without a backwards glance. Well, that last part would be no problem. It didn’t matter where she was suppose to go, as long as it was far away from the tower she’d been forced to call home for more than a year. Once she was out of Fa’Diel, surely she could invent some sort of trouble and sneak away from her guards. Then, she’d find a way back to Rosinder, to the palace…

Helena?

The sound of her name broke her concentration. She glanced up, and met the eyes of a young man she’d never seen before. With her hands neatly folded in her lap, her strange violet eyes frosted over with indifference. How she hated to be addressed without a title by Renovatian scum, especially when she was amidst formulating a great plan that would get her back home. Deliberately, she looked past the young man, and addressed her question to Justice.

“Who is this?”

[|°ὺ₯₳ↄĸJONES]

Justice exited stage left, caring little for what she had to say, if at all. There were more important things to attend to, the work of scum of course, even with events like the slaughtering of innocent people to be had some hundred miles from this post. By her own folk.

He chunked her the dueces (used his fingers to form the peace sign) and like an apparition, he slid right by the guard, leaving only a gentle breeze as evidence of his attendance.

Gone with the wind.

[Reign]

he young man had learned to pay no mind to the tone taken by countless others of the years. As steadfast as the monk in him had held to his edicts and dogmas, presumptions and prejudices were cast without a thought. The amber eyes caught the light as his head adjusted to follow the woman, altogether ignoring the third party from Renovatio— perhaps to great fault. He neither knew this Justice nor cared to address the alien from a nation he knew nothing of. All he knew was that Aeon's whisper brought him to these steps, seeking this Helena and anything else was either an obstruction or of no consequence.

Lee didn't really know why she asked the outsider who he was when it would've just been simpler to address the Templar directly. “Aeon's templar,” he didn't expect the princess to know what that meant, and he didn't really pause long enough for her to ask just yet, “Suffice it to say I've come to make sure nothin' harms you over the next few days.” Much like before, he either disregarded or was altogether unfamiliar with the etiquette when dealin' with royalty; rising to his feet, the armored knight offered that naive though eerily soft amber gaze toward the woman before continuing, “이병헌,” she more than likely didn't catch it, “uh, Lee.”

Whether or not the woman was confused wasn't really an issue— the Templar expected there to be some gap about of knowledge regardin' the completely random chump wanderin' into her quarters and offering his assistance, “I really don't got anything to convince you I mean well, I simply hoped that things'd work out.”

The young man stood just shy of six feet tall; his body was decorated head to toe in fairly substantial plates of delirium alloy. Their intricate design seemed reminiscent of a dragon, fixed with what appeared to be engravings of teeth, eyes, and scales into stained ivory-colored metals. Plates jutted out around the joints and where the various layers of armor overlapped each other on his body. Though, despite the beast it had been made to resemble, their was something pristine, almost divine about the impression it made.

“So?”

[mire]

Were she not so preoccupied with her escape plots, Helena would have surely unleashed her fiery temper upon all unfortunate enough to be present. But given the situation, she cared very little for Justice’s hasty retreat, or his lack of words. He had barely made any sense to begin with! The hell with his presence, and that of those like him. Now, if he had just taken his little friend with him…

She had no idea if Aeon’s templar was his name or his title, but she figured it didn’t really matter. From his strange speaking manners, she gathered he would be the guard in charge of her safe transfer from one location to the next. It sounded that he would be the only one too, much to Helena’s delight. She could certainly escape this one man, no problem. Pleased by the prospect of freedom, her strange violet eyes lit up with mischievous intent, and the slow smile that curved her lips matched the intention in her eyes.

“Very well. I suppose you’ll have to do.”

In a much better mood, she instructed her usual guard (who had silently remained by her side) to help her prepare a bag of necessities for the journey ahead. It pained her to travel with so little, but she couldn’t expect to run away with a case full of clothes. This small sacrifice would have to do. Once she had assembled what she considered the bare essentials, she stepped over to her “new” guard, and promptly held out her bag for him to hold. It was important that he remembered who was who here.

“Well? Take it, and let us go already. The sooner the better.”

[Reign]

o be honest, he might have been inclined to carry the young woman's shit had it been sunnier that day. Or had he seen some sense of urgency in the young woman. But no matter how the Daevenian lords might have viewed him, no matter what the Mother had asked of him, catering to the whims of stuck up royalty wasn't part of his job. Though despite the momentary lapse of kindness, it didn't change his reaction much beyond the point of normal; his left hand rose to wave the woman away, “Honestly, it looks like you need the exercise more than I do.”

Yeah, he said it, regardless of whether or not it were true.

She seemed under the impression that he was another one of the Renovatian dogs catering to her every need. Unfortunately for her, he was neither Renovatian nor a dog, and today wouldn't be her lucky day. His divine guidance draggin' Lee across continents to defend her life from whatever it was that Aeon saw as so demanding was more than an adequate fulfillment of faith. And that was what both the monk and warrior in him said.

“I'll wait outside. You should hurry,” the Renovatian from before and the Templar certainly had that in common: neither were particularly thrilled in hearing what she had to say. Though perhaps she'd grow on him?

Though that would be a subject for much later, seeing as how he'd already exited the door and waited at the door on the other side.

[mire]

Templar’s impudent response barely scratched the surface of Helena’s easily stirred temper. She was much too interested in getting the hell out of Fa’Diel to give her new watchdog more than a withering glance and a toss of her green hair. She’d deal with his behavior later, if time allowed. The priority was to escape, then find a way back to the palace. Regardless of its current state, she was sure there had to be at least somebody left that could recognize and help her.

“Here, allow me, your Highness. It will be much easier for you to carry the bag on your back.”

She allowed the guard, the one she’d learned to trust, to help her with her bag. It was too bad really, that he couldn’t come; her escape plan would surely attain a higher success percentage if she had a capable guard by her side. But oh well, she would find a way to manage on her own. She was Helena Rosinder, was she not? She could easily manage elude one man.

She said her goodbyes to her favorite guard, and instructed him to bid farewell to the other servants that had catered to her since the beginning of her imprisonment. Once she was ready to leave, she stepped out to meet the Templar, the smile on her lips as sweet as sugar.

“Lead the way.”

[Reign]

either hell nor high water would prevent him from doin' what he had to do. It might not be the most pleasant experience. In all likelihood, Helena wasn't his biggest fan. But it wasn't really his place to question what it was he was here for, and if he had to drag her to safety by her hair, kickin' and screamin' the entire way, he would. Unfortunately, there was nothing at his disposal to reassure the woman that it he hoped it wouldn't come to that; he had no understanding of Rosinder, the family, the nation, the history. He hadn't even the slightest detail of the Renovatian nation occupying— hell, the only thing he knew was that some princess needed help and it was his job to throw himself into the fire to do so. The best he could do was offer her a periodic awkward smile and the regularly placed foot in his mouth. Neither of which would pan out in the grand scheme of their colorful little endeavor.

As royalty finally made her way into his company, he'd offer a simple nod. The reassuring smile he wanted to squeeze out came out more of an uncomfortable contortion around his lips, and to compensate, he pretty much just jabbed his head in the direction they'd exit her rather elaborate prison from. “So, uh, not to seem more outta place than I already am, but,” despite an awkwardness that could quite literally get cut with a knife his voice (aside from the time filler) was calm, soothing, and entirely relaxed, “Why exactly am I here?”

Yep, that's a nice ice breaker. “I was told to help you, but not really given any details,” as they began their trek from the structure itself, he half gestured ahead of them, “I honestly don't even really know where the hell we are.,”

[mire]

Helena was not often struck speechless. She had been trained to always have a charming remark or scolding retort on the tip of her tongue, depending on the situation. But for this situation, this strangely fortunate situation, she had nothing to say; she could only smile, a slow movement of the lips that heightened the strange maritime beauty she’d inherited from her mother.

The less he knew, the better she could manipulate the path towards freedom. Still, she was suspicious of his words, and the degree of truth in them. Had Renovatio truly placed her in the hands of some random man without a sense of location? It could very well be a trick, a scheme to put an end to her life. An elaborate assassination plot, where she would met her death by aimlessly wandering through the Rosinderian desert. But why they’d go through such lengths instead of putting a knife through her heart she couldn’t guess. In any case, it didn’t matter much; she would tread lightly, and decide just what kind of traps the Templar was trying to set.

“Who told you to help me? Are you not Renovatian?”

She tried not to squirm with excitement as they took their first steps out of Fa’Diel. She’d been prisoner for almost a year, and hadn’t set a foot outside of the fortress since. The air was dry, the heat unbearable and the sad hot—she couldn’t believe how much she loved it all. Nevertheless, she did not betray her perfect façade of indifference, just in case the Templar was watching her closely. Once they were a good distance away, she began to redirect their path, though she knew very little of the landscape and hadn’t a clue where they’d end up. Anywhere but here was fine.

“We go North.”