Chapter Text
Citizens parted easily while Owain marched through town. His strides swallowed the distance he knew not the extent of. He needed to find Nominal for a long overdue conversation. His day had been going too well. He had walked along the edges of the mountains, looking over their defenses, considering how to best rectify the trajectory of Nominal’s life. He had learnt that Scott was a mage, all the more beneficial to the kingdom by their rarity. Only for it to be frankly ruined by the information that they would all be leaving soon.
Owain had no idea where to find Nominal, but the man did not know how to meld into shadows. He had never been discreet, quiet or inconspicuous. He should not be hard to locate. What with that loud mouth of his? Owain’s helmet already vibrated at the resonance of his voice. He stopped in his tracks, slowly sweeping his eyes over the bustling market. Most people did not even register to him, faceless passersby that gave him a wide berth. The tops of their heads were entirely uninteresting.
With paced steps, Owain made his way forward, still analysing the area. Until Nominal appeared at the edge of his vision. There he stood, chattering away with a merchant as though he would come by every week. How could he stand to deceive somebody so dishonourably? The stallholder spotted Owain first, bowing stiffly. They barely received a nod of acknowledgement. His sole focus was on the carefree laugh of the man ahead.
“Nominal. You did not tell me you were leaving.”
Owain addressed him directly, yet Nominal kept his elbows leant on the low table. Only his head twisted aside to look at Owain. He was neither sorry nor repentant. His mouth didn’t even pull aside in that bold smile he carried naturally. He stared up without a wisp of regret.
“I didn't think I had to. What made you even think I would stay?”
That pride of his was a problem. Owain would need to fix that before Nominal could become a knight. He had never followed authority, even during training. He thought he knew better than those more experienced, than the monarchs themselves. He didn’t understand the purpose of a knight. Owain would teach him, gladly, to bend at the knee and receive orders.
“I thought you had changed your mind from whatever crazed idea of yours sent you off. I thought you had come to your senses.”
The previous night, Owain laid staring at his ceiling, unable to find rest. He had believed, perhaps, that Nominal’s return was a chance to make up for his past faults, bestowed by Him. Another opportunity to do it right this time. Nominal had gone on his foolish adventure, seen what he felt the urge to see, and finally returned where he was meant to be.
“I just came here for Scott to meet Graecie.”
That would not do. That simply would not do. How could he step upon the soil of his youth and not long to remain? The streets, the buildings, the mountains all held memories, thoughts anchored to them. Did Nominal not wish to build new ones with his companions, reminisce with those who had known him for so long? Owain cared not for friendship, but to others, the bonds of siblinghood ran deep, whether by blood or choice. Nominal could share that with them.
“What about your sister?”
That made Nominal tick. He moved away from the stall to face Owain, chin cocked up. Katie too had her place in the Blue Kingdom, her friends, her desires. If she was truly the one Nominal pledged his misplaced loyalty to, as Owain suspected, she need only express her want for him to listen.
“What about her?”
Nominal bristled, which really meant that he was listening now. If Owain managed to make him understand, the scars on his back might finally have attained their purpose. His penance could be paid, at last. Owain did not want absolution, the mistakes of his past were his alone to bear, but he could preserve Nominal from His eye. Because they needed him.
“Does she not wish to return? Does she not deserve a stable life? Your friends would all be welcome to stay, even the suspicious ones.”
Owain asked in earnest. Surely, a sailor's wandering didn't suit Katie. Rigging ropes would callous her hands, far too soft, steal away the flitting dexterity of her fingers. If she dedicated herself to music still, she couldn't afford to lose that. Nominal would not inflict that pain upon her. As flawed as his devotion was, Owain admired the strength of it. If only he could place it on the right person, Nominal truly would be their greatest.
“I am choosing to ignore that last bit. But really, you believe Katie, of all people, would want to come back? She's the reason we even left in the first place!”
Where Nominal's hands clenched into fists, Owain's grip loosened on his sword. Surely that couldn't be true. How could Katie long to flee the kingdom that provided her with everything she might ever require? Of her own will? He couldn't fathom such a thought. Even from Nominal, he never understood what appealed him to simply… Leave.
“What?”
On such a whim as well. He had no real plan, abandoning his entire life, the future traced ahead of him from one day to the other. It was Graecie who told Owain that they would be sailing. If Nominal wanted to sail, he could have done so on missions for the crown! Take up the mantle from Owain who much preferred close guard rather than official business, although he would do anything he was asked still!
“She wanted to go away, I couldn’t- I wasn't about to let her disappear by herself! I had to look over her.”
Nominal gestured wildly, the same he always had, without consideration for his surroundings. His hand knocked into the display he had been observing before, barely catching it before the glittering jewellery spilled everywhere.
“Nom?”
Neither of them acknowledged the blue slime’s call, his feet stuttering at the edge of the crowd. A circle had cleared around them. Still in disbelief at the true reason for Nominal's betrayal of the crown, Owain stared at the hard line of his brows. Nominal gave him back the glare as though he could see through the dark gaps in the lion helmet.
“Maybe you wish you could go back where you came from, Owain, but I don’t. I don’t value a kingdom over my own sister. Over my friends.”
Nominal stabbed a finger to his chestplate. Owain took a deep breath in and out. He had never spoken of his past to anybody, because it did not matter anymore. He wished for no such thing. He was part of the Blue Kingdom now, and so was Nominal.
“You have no idea what you are talking about.”
In the Blue Kingdom they must remain. If Nominal couldn’t come to this obvious conclusion by himself, then Owain would remind him what he gained here. His gauntlets clicked as they met at the hilt of his zweihänder. He heaved the blade from his shoulder and swung it down, directly ahead of him. Nominal jumped aside. He barely avoided the hit. He really needed to start training again.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!”
And that foul mouth. Owain had pushed Nominal to surpass his limits in the past, he could do it again. He needed only to reginite his fighting spirit, his talent that would shine the brightest as a knight. The sole part of his training that he had never neglected, throwing himself body and soul into duels to the point where others feared being put up against him.
“Hey, leave him alone!”
Yet again, 4C called out. Owain hardly looked at him, just enough to locate him and see if he would cause problems. He had seemingly moved to hide behind a stall, but the onlookers had receded, leaving him to stand alone. Nominal unsheathed the sword at his hip, holding it up to Owain as he fell easily into a defensive stance.
“4C, you should go! I can take him.”
Nevermind the threat of Owain’s presence, Nominal turned his head aside to his friend. Fool. Owain’s sword whipped low to the ground, clashing against the sudden catch of Nominal’s own. He had been aiming with his hands twisted so that only the flat would make contact, should it have. Nominal had no armour, many distractions, and an apparent loss of skill. Owain could not injure him severely.
“You were meant to be our greatest soldier and yet you cast it all away at the whims of a child?!”
Nominal too was near enough child. The training should have hardened him just how it had done Owain at an age even earlier than his. Molded him into something better than this- stubborn- insufferable- The swords swiped back up and Owain pressed in further, applying all his weight to the weapon to force Nominal to take a step backwards. Rather than retreating, the only logical sequence to follow, Nominal put his strength towards the side. The tip of the zweihänder screeched as it grazed the stone.
“She is my sister! I don’t know what family bonds you have, but knighthood has nothing-”
That sister, that damned sister, if Katie had only a sliver of Nominal’s potential, she would make a great knight herself. Eager to learn, eager to help, and detestably eager to discover the world. Should Nominal not have been so protective of her, Owain could have convinced her to join as well. He had no thoughts for how the two of them could have been both siblings and knights at once. It could have been beautiful. Only He knew how high they might have risen together.
“You know nothing of knighthood! You disrespect its name, you always have. You have no idea of the sacrifices I have made to keep you safe, of the penance I pay-”
And the painterly vision shattered as stained glass from a brick when Nominal riposted with his own attack at Owain, aimed towards his middle. It bounced off the chestplace and barely left a scratch. He knew how solid the armour was. He knew that it would do nothing.
Or had he forgotten the time they had spent sparring until sweat drenched them entirely, until their limbs could no longer support their bodies? The nights that Nominal had slept on Owain’s floor, the barracks closer to the training grounds than his own house? The weight of Owain over him when a club aimed true at the back of his knee, forcing him to buckle onto Nominal? No longer did he let such an oversight happen, what with how Shandrea seemed adamant on knocking him to the ground.
“I’m not scared of your god striking me down. Whatever it is you do, stop.”
His mouth, his godsdamned mouth that knew no respect. He thought himself clever, able to evade the wrath that his behaviour should have wrought, with no question as to how, as to who-
Getting beneath Owain’s skin was difficult, but Nominal had somehow figured it out over the years. He cracked Owain’s shell, his armour really, and slithered under to prod at the soft parts that no one should ever have reached. Sullying His name without any regards was a disgrace that Owain could not forgive.
“You lack honour, deference, humility, you hold only selfishness and arrogance- You cannot even wield a sword properly anymore!”
Owain’s blade nicked Nominal’s ear, a length of hair fluttering to the ground. He could bear another scar for his repeated betrayal of Owain’s trust. A low price for his thoughtlessness. Nominal had not even managed to parry a strike that once would not have sent a gust to caress his face.
“Um, guys? Is this really the place for arguing?!”
It was not just an argument, but 4C could not have known that. The culmination of sleepless nights, endless practice, passing on all that he knew, improving his conduct, his stance, his work, promise and struggle and discord, snuffed out in a single evening as though it had meant nothing. From then on, not another word, not an explanation, just scampering off like a wanted criminal. What had that left him with? Nothing worth the cost. Nominal had lost his touch in battle. A sword had never been his weapon of choice, he lacked both the finesse and patience for it.
“Don’t you want something heavier?”
Owain taunted with a low blade. Nominal was not a swordsman but a catapult, not a bow but a ballista, not a cavalier but a battering ram. Graecie, after their departure, had berated Owain for pushing Nominal too far. Owain disagreed. He simply had not pushed Nominal far enough. Owain would not make that mistake again.
“Shut up.”
Nominal could still reach his full potential. He would witness His greatness and strive to make himself worthy. Under Owain’s instruction and guidance from Him, he would. They had gathered the kindling, striked the match, now the fire just needed to take. He swung high to fan the flames. Nominal ducked.
“We still have it, you know. It was waiting for you.”
The weapon, his weapon, his mace. Owain had it kept safe, hidden away where nobody could find it. Namely Graecie. She had insisted, time and time again, that they should get rid of it, smelt it into other weapons. She also had not expected Nominal to return. But unlike Owain, perhaps for the first time of her life, she had not held on to senseless hope.
Always choice words to be said regarding Owain’s training methods, yet she stayed so lax with Nominal. No wonder he got confused with such differing ideals being placed on him. Obviously his bloodrage would fare better when molded by rigor than left to fester under softness.
“Stop it.”
Nominal grunted through clenched teeth. Crimson flowed along the curve of his ear, it pooled past his earlobe and down his jaw. Good. If he let the blaze consume him, he would remember his driving force, the need to give his all to combat, that all-encompassing chaos he chased, he would join Owain again. Nowhere else could provide him that rush. Nobody else.
“Nom, what is he talking about?”
Not that slime, not that elf, not his sister, not that other one that had apparently joined their foolish adventure. The more Owain had thought about her, the more familiar she felt. Had she had a hand in convincing Nominal to leave? What even could her own reasons be? Owain knew of one reason for somebody to flee so suddenly. He slashed at Nominal’s coat, adding another cut to the multiple visible mends on the leather.
“Really not the time, 4C!”
Nominal shouted as he jumped back. His companion knew not of the mace. He had kept it hidden, all this time. He longed for the weight in his hands, the momentum with which it spun, the way anything beneath its spiked head gave away like mud. Owain had held it before. Rarely. A similar mass although much less balanced than its zweihänder, for they carried not the same purpose. It must call to Nominal, surely. One did not bond with a weapon, involve himself so deeply in its creation, only to so easily discard it.
“It could be yours again-”
Nominal parried the next hit beautifully. See, it was already coming back to him. It had never truly left him, just biding its time, simmering under the surface ready to burst out when given the chance. And Owain was exactly that.
With his mace back, Nominal could do exactly what he wanted rather than having to follow his sister. He could be the weapon to Owain’s shield! If the two of them formed a pair, Blue Kingdom would ascend ever higher, thrive as none had ever seen before!
Brothers in arms, is that not what people called them?
“No! I! Am not! Staying!”
Metal shrieked when Nominal pushed back. He sent another quick jab, high this time, where the chainmail wouldn’t protect Owain’s chest from a head-on point. Yes, this was right! Owain lifted his chin, taunting him to try again. He needed him to have that instinct, that urge to strike. Sink his teeth into his prey. Bite down as hard as he could. Then shake till it fell limp.
A wolf and a lion on the same hunt.
Nominal took the bait and thrust the sword to Owain’s throat. He almost hesitated blocking the attack from how perfect the aim was, a strike that he would be proud to die from. Almost, of course. Owain still had things to do. Before the zweihänder could even make contact to parry, a third piece of metal appeared. A length of bright pink whistled right between them, knocking aside both blades. Nominal’s sword clattered on the ground.
“Enough!”
The spear vibrated as it planted itself in the wooden pole of the stall. The merchant flattened themself to the floor, breath short and hurried. Before Owain could offer help, a pink fury flew up to them, leaving an empty trail in the handful of bystanders behind. Graecie shoved herself between the two of them, with loud bangs from their armours. Owain held his position, unmoved by the weight, but Nominal stumbled back.
“Not only are the two of you making a scene, you are putting civilians at risk!”
She gestured at the marketplace, a lot emptier than it should be at this time of day. Than it had been when Owain originally arrived. The slithering mass of bodies had thinned severely, leaving only scattered people, braver, or perhaps more reckless than the rest. Gossips.
“I’m a civilian!”
Nominal cried out, despite the ease with which he kicked his sword up. The hilt fell into his palm, a perfect catch that truly betrayed his training. Nominal could pretend all he wanted. Only his lack of an oath made him a civilian. Even with the blade hanging beside his leg, his grip remained stiff, ready to act. Owain returned the zweihänder to his shoulder again. The braided lengths swung over his chestplate. The crossguard pressed into the dip of his muscle. Somedays, he thought that he should carry it without the protection of his gambeson, his chainmail, let the sharpened edges that never touched anything finally slice through flesh.
Graecie turned her eyes up to Owain, her usual warm temperament shadowed by hard-set brows. Alright. She was not happy. Nobody but Nominal had been hurt, or come close to harm. At most, he might have scared them. Owain didn’t believe he had a reason to apologise.
“The monarch has called for you. At once.”
She told him sternly, her arms crossed at her front. Graecie too was not one to lie when it came to important matters, and she knew well enough that anything befalling the kingdom was of the highest priority. To him. Not so much in her eyes. Still, it meant that this was not a simple distraction to separate Owain and Nominal.
“We will keep it.”
Although Owain’s head had not moved, it was clear who he addressed. Let Graecie’s suspicions of what caused the sudden disappearance of the mace be proven right. When she asked him where it had gone, he told her that it wouldn’t see the light of day. She had searched the castle from its basements to its towers, the woods, Owain’s room in the barracks, even the whole perimeter of the mountains around the kingdom without finding it. Obviously. Why would Graecie suspect it to be buried inside her own garden?
“You-”
Nominal jolted forward, teeth bared, but his sword caught halfway up. The slime had sneaked closer, entirely shielded from Owain due to his short stature. His hand at Nominal’s elbow kept him back, light but enough. Enough? If that was enough to quell Nominal, it meant Owain had never had a chance. Graecie didn’t even turn around to look, standing her ground.
“Owain, have manners or goodbyes.”
Graecie insisted. Why was she only this strict with Owain? If she had any of that with Nominal, they would never have reached this situation in the first place. Alas, life had not been so, and oblivious kindness governed Graecie’s, far from Owain’s exacting devotion. Or Nominal’s foolhardy disinterest.
“Nominal. I wish you had not returned.”
With these final parting words, Owain pivoted on his feet. He would need to retrace his steps until he reached the bridge, which he would follow up to the castle. Whether the monarch needed him because word of this encounter had reached them or for another matter, Owain did not know. He would do as told regardless. A deep sigh came from behind him.
“Nom, put that away now. You have a lot to tell me about. And vegetables to chop. Oh 4C, I’m sorry you had to see all that.”
Cooking duty was a befitting punishment for Nominal. He long had practiced during the days of his training when he missed the theoretical classes he so detested. He would be right at home peeling carrots and potatoes. Owain made a note to avoid the corridors near the kitchens for the rest of the day.
“What about me?! Are you not sorry for me?”
Nominal’s protest was insouciant, as if the fight was nothing but a passing raincloud that had rolled off his leather coat. He truly did not care for any of what Owain had told him. He paused in his steps for but a second. A young girl in front of him, barely out of infancy, tilted her head so far back looking at Owain that she fell on her rear. She cried out only once, more surprise than hurt, blinking without tears. Maybe she too could be a knight when she became older.
“Eh, I’ve seen worse.”
The slime answered nonchalantly, clear without the usual hubbub of the marketplace. The child reached an arm up towards the scarlet mantle swinging above her, swirled with cream patterns. She got snatched away from the ground by a teenager who hurried to bow. They had the same golden blonde hair, loose on the child, tied back for the older one. Siblings. Two potential knights?
“And you, of course I scared you. I will get your stall all fixed up, I promise!”
Which would forsake the other as they grew? Which would cut all ties and abandon their kingdom for some needless adventure? Owain nodded at them. The child clapped, kicking her legs up into the arm keeping her off the ground. He returned on his way, the merchant’s trembling voice the last thing that faded with the distance.
“It- it can wait- until tomorrow…”
Owain stood guard deep below the surface, in the labyrinthic underbelly of the castle. The bells had tolled six hours already. Soon, another would come take up Owain’s shift. This is what Owain excelled in, the very combination of close guard and night shift that formed his preference. It was quiet, so far inside, past several other stationed knights. Keeping safe the riches of the kingdom filled him with pride.
And yet, despite the stillness of halls, any slight change in position echoed a thousand times. Owain’s mind refused to fall silent. All night, the memory of his conversation with Nominal dredged up thoughts he abhorred. What he could have done differently. What he could have said differently. How he could have made it right, at last.
His only respite came in the fact that he would not see them go. The gate rose much too distantly, and Owain would not exit the castle prior to sunrise. When he stepped outside, they would all be gone, never to return again. Nominal had no reason to. He had said it himself. Owain would simply wipe clean the slate of his memory, even if either Shandrea or Graecie dared bring it up, he would not have anything to say. Pretend none of the past few days had ever happened.
Alas, Owain knew, and furthermore He knew as well, that Nominal would never become a knight. Entirely due to Owain. More lashes would be had, till the cat-o’-nine-tails soaked through, imbued with blood that never would wash off. Owain had failed the Knight God time and time again. The price was his to pay and his skin would forever carry the painful reminder of his defeat.
Even now, it stung from barely closed wounds. Clear liquid seeped out with every movement that pulled at the thin scabs. All his undershirts had the same faint stain of pale yellow, leaning towards orange, the same colour as the very edges of the sun. Owain shut his eyes tightly, the memory of that brightness hovering over his vision.
“Um, Owain?”
His eyelids snapped back open. Owain didn’t physically startle, he had trained the reflex out of himself long ago, but the sudden apparition in front of him did send his pulse into gallop. Scott stood a few steps in front of Owain, staff clutched close. He nearly pressed himself into the wall, as though he wanted to fade into it. Was this some kind of illusion? Or an image conjured up by Owain’s mind from all of those thoughts endlessly spinning?
“How did you get here?”
Scott should not be, for multiple reasons. One, he was meant to be leaving the kingdom entirely very soon, if not already. Two, more concerning than a potential delay that Owain cared not for, this was a highly restricted area he should not have been able to reach. He would have passed, unnoticed, in front of several pairs of guards to even make it to Owain’s station. He would have to bring this up. Scott may not hold any ill will, but others would not be so kind. Nobody should be coming this close to the treasury.
Scott waved his staff loosely. Then he disappeared into thin air. His ability to make his way without attracting attention suddenly made a lot more sense. Scott came back into view after a few seconds, not having moved.
Hm. Did this mean Shandrea had learned how to do this as well? Owain had concerns.
“Of course. Mage trickery.”
His magic was much different from hers, however, and his behaviour too. Bashful, cautious, yet sympathetic. He wouldn’t catch Owain in a bubble several times over to drop him into the lake then bring him out again, until his gambeson soaked twice his weight and his armor oxidised. Scott would have made a brilliant addition to the Royal Elite. The other mages dealt with much more spiritual matters, regularly attending court and meetings. They kept to themselves and did exclusively as directed and, rather selfishly, nothing more.
Owain respected their skills but he did not approve of their haughty behaviour. They did not have the kingdom’s best interest in mind. Their abilities should be used for the greater good. Unlike an oath spoken by the person who took it, magic was bestowed by the Mage God to a much more personal extent than Owain’s Knight God. They had been chosen, blessed, a special few designated by a higher power. He simply could not understand how they refused to apply themselves to help those in need.
“How did you know where to find me?”
Scott tilted his head down with deference. The kingdom was large, with many possible places for Owain to be. Unless Scott had scoured the streets all night, he should not have been able to locate him. He shouldn’t even be aware of the location of the treasury, really. Particularly as an outsider.
“Graecie told me. Could I have only a minute of your time?”
Of course she had. She knew not how to keep her mouth shut. Still, Scott was polite enough, even with his apparent lack of concern for sneaking through restricted parts of the castle. Owain would allow him to talk, if only to be finally done with it. The quicker he started, the quicker he would leave and allow Owain to forget all about this. Not that he could. But he would hope to.
“One minute.”
Owain repeated firmly, and Scott looked up. Owain did not meet his eyes though, attracted by movement around the corner down the hall. Finally someone had noticed that something was amiss. Nevertheless, Owain had the situation handled. He shook his head at the knight, who retreated back to their position. If Scott were anybody else, if he travelled with anyone else’s protection, he would have ended up in the jails. Owain would twist protocol, just this once.
“For what it's worth, I am sorry for misleading you.”
Had Nominal told him what had transpired? Or was it the slime? Graecie? There had been too many witnesses. After two nights of mulling over the event, Owain had to admit Graecie had been right on one account. The marketplace should not have been the place for Owain to air out his grievances. The training grounds were much better suited. He had gotten too caught up in himself, in Nominal, in the past to consider the repercussions of his actions on the kingdom. He hoped it had not tarnished its reputation. The monarch had not summoned him regarding the altercation that they surely would have heard about by now. He was immensely grateful to be granted clemency he did not deserve.
“You are not responsible.”
If Nominal had neglected to tell him about how close to being a knight he had come, Owain surely had not been mentioned either. As such, Scott could not have known how strongly Owain cared about the situation. The mage rocked on his feet. His staff was planted just ahead of him. Not the best spot to support him. He should have it to the side, or a little bit further forward. He must not be used to carrying a walking aid.
“I simply hope you can understand where Nom is coming from. He cares just as much as you do, but- for other things.”
Obviously he did, for him to entertain Katie’s senseless idea to leave. However strong his devotion, he misplaced it. It should have been to his kingdom, the one who had seen him grow, allowed him to rise strong, until he repaid it with his protection. Even with his many faults… Owain saw Nominal’s loyalty. His endurance, his tenacity. Once his trust was obtained, he would quite literally follow the person to the ends of the world.
“Hm.”
Did Scott fall in that category now? He sure seemed to care for Nominal, since he dared infiltrate a part of the castle he seemingly knew he shouldn’t, all to apologise. To explain Nominal’s behaviour when he had not even been present to witness it. They must be rather close friends. And that staff, made from Nominal’s very hands. Owain had tried his best to squash his foolish ambitions of blacksmithing, to no avail. He pursued that forge like a hound on a wounded animal. The craft, however respectable it was, did not amount to the work of a knight. There was only knighthood. Perhaps magehood. Definitely no smithhood.
“Having met you now, I now understand him a little better. And I truly see why you love this kingdom. It’s beautiful.”
Flattery would not serve Scott. A good knight should be insensible to it, impartial and just. Owain was not one to be bribed. He could definitely agree with a statement, an accurate one at that. On the rare occasions he left the kingdom, the magnificence striked him upon every one of his returns. Nowhere else he had visited could compare to the grandeur of the city, its castle backed by the stability of mountains predating any civilisation. The prismarine mined from the depths of the ocean covered their buildings, a very gift from nature to keep them safe and dry. Everywhere the sun fell, the world gave its testimony to the Blue Kingdom’s splendor.
“It is.”
That much was certain. However, others… Nominal’s words had brought Owain to contemplation. His offhand comment about one returning where they came from. Not that Owain wanted to, even should he be allowed back. The memories of his years in Walesland faded, partially, from the passage of time and some innate refusal to think of it. Still he couldn’t help but wonder, had he stayed, which would be the greatest kingdom to him?
Was his recollection of Walesland tainted by his unwilling escape?
He could picture the houses, plaster between frames of dark wood, rising as individual towers near the castle or long rectangles with great curved timbers near the edges of the kingdom. Citizens spread out more widely, sparse amidst the fields that bordered the towns, not constrained by terrain. It had its own charm, but the sight of a single wooden beam made Owain’s stomach turn.
“In another life, I think I could have been at home here. But not this one.”
No, not this one. Scott was much too eager to return to his companions, the beaten path that would lead them to their ship, the waters that carried them far away from home. Wherever Scott’s home had been, wherever it might be now, it would not be the Blue Kingdom. The uneasy glances he threw at the corridor leading back outside made it obvious.
“You would have been welcomed with open arms.”
The people of the Blue Kingdom cared not for one’s birth or past. So long as a contribution was made, anyone’s arrival would be met with enthusiasm and hospitality. A neighbour would invite you over for tea, a merchant would give you a friendly discount, a stranger on the street would offer to help with your luggage. Owain had been first and second hand witness to it, time and time again. The skills, the knowledge, the culture of a new citizen would only benefit the kingdom. Why would they be turned away?
“I'm sorry.”
Apologising, again, for something he could hardly control. Nothing could be changed about it now. Owain had accepted that, however reluctant to admit he was. The only way to keep Nominal here would be against his will, in which case the fire that animated him would only be turned against the kingdom. Even with Scott here on his own, vulnerable, within reach, Owain could not. Any action he took would put all of the people far above his head at risk.
“You have decided that your place is not here, therefore, it is so. Do not pity me. I have endured many hardships and this one is only minor in comparison.”
Hardships Scott never could imagine. Owain wished he could not. None deserved to even have the ability to conceive the horror, the heartbreak, the sheer torment of meeting the one who would give one all that they had, a home, a father, a purpose, and for it all ripped away when they framed one for his murder. Owain loosened the grip he had on his sword. Scott didn’t notice his trouble. He had the lion helmet to thank for that.
“I don't. You are very capable, I can tell.”
Scott smiled, timidly. Why? Owain didn’t need the comfort nor the stroke to his pride. Scott could save that for Nominal. Hearing his abilities acknowledged was appreciated regardless. Knighthood was Owain’s true calling, it was obvious to all that met him. Had he not been a knight, he would be entirely lost.
“I am.”
What would Owain’s look like under those different circumstances? His life would be empty. A peasant orphan rarely accounted for much without a benefactor. Oh, his King. How greatly Owain missed him. They would meet again one day, in the great ethereal beyond. Owain only wished that the King knew he had not done it. He had not been the one to put the poison in his food that day. Scott rifled through the pocket of his trousers, only to pull out barely a pinch of black specks.
“I have- something for you.”
Owain was not in the habit of accepting some- really small pebbles? He hardly lifted his hand to receive them when pale tendrils suddenly burst from them, wrapping around Scott’s palm. Green lengths shot up. Oh, seeds. Roots and stems. They blossomed at their tips with flowers of indigo, elongated cups with widely serrated edges. He took the offered bouquet even when the roots tried to cling to Scott. It looked so small, so fragile, so out of place in his large gauntlet, sharp and shiny. Something to be kept alive, to be kept safe.
Bluebells. They always covered the kingdom in swaths for his birthday. Scott could not have known, and yet.
Owain stayed silent for a moment. Pondering. Scott retreated two steps.
“Have safe travels.”
Owain bowed, his pauldrons clicking with movement he usually reserved for the court. He held the zweihänder tighter so that it would not slip off. Wide-eyed, Scott mimicked him just a moment later. They both rose at the same time. Scott took one step aside. Right, it was time for him to go. The ship awaited. And Nominal.
“I wish you the best.”
A vase would brighten up Owain’s room to an extent. Perhaps Shandrea had a spare she would dare part with. And Graecie, some wisdom to bestow on how to care for life. Owain wasn’t much good with anything but a sword. He knew how to protect, however. He could try. He would try.