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Wriothesley's constant is Neuvillette - his symbol of justice, of grace and of hope.
Even as time passes slow in the undergrounds of Meropide, Wriothesley's constant is Neuvillette. From the day he was sentenced to exile, till the day he was acknowledged once more.
It has always been Neuvillette. Everyone thought it would drag on ever, but no one realized that the thin dark-haired youth who stood with his head held high, would casually admit to his sin. He casted one look at the pale-haired judge above, his blue eyes unwavering.
The people were unsatisfied, the crowds booed but the youth shrugged, his mouth still cut and bleeding from last night's violence smirked in a triumphant way.
"Silence," The Iudex ordered, slamming his cane.
Judgement served, and it was fair.
The youth bowed his head and knelt.
He would escorted below after a meal. What did he wish to eat? He said a cup of tea, two cubes of sugar, no more no less. The garde was surprised, looking at him over, scrawny body, his hair matted and scabbed knees.
"Only tea?"
"Just tea. Make sure it's extra hot."
She prepared that for him, a pot of tea and two cubes of sugar. In a ceramic cup. He held it carefully, after sugaring the liquid, drinking it like a nobleman's son would. The garde was about to speak, and then she looked at the doorway in surprise. "Monsieur Neuvillette!"
The Iudex was at the door, his face an impassive mask, his walk slow and majestic. He came nearer, standing by the wooden table where the youth drank his tea.
"Miss Harriett, you may go for a while. Let me speak to him alone."
She made a small sound of reluctance but she left anyway. Not that the Iudex himself would be of danger. Neuvillette sat down on the other chair, his hands on his cane, waiting till the young man finished his tea.
The youth set down the emptied cup and he stared at the judge.
"The trial is over. Why are you here?" A question asked in wonder, the youth meant no disrespect apart from an honest question. He did not fidget, neither did he looked bothered.
The Iudex did not reply until a moment later.
"Were you afraid?" Neuvillette asked.
The young man folded his scarred arms on his chest, and he did not shrug nor ignore the strange question. Instead, he thought seriously and presented his answer in the most amiable of voice. "I trusted that you will give me a fair judgement, Monsieur."
His voice remained steady, his eyes steel-bright. The young man watched the Iudex's face for any change in emotion yet those lilac eyes remained as reflective as the waters of a moonlit sea.
Neuvillette nodded his head. He felt a gentle ache, perhaps to the left of his chest.
He was not one who'd give inspiration, nor someone who understood what words of comfort to say. The Fortress was a dark and gloomy place, where even the brightest would be smothered and quenched. His fingers moved, tightened on top of his cane. The youth saw all that.
"You do not need to worry." The young man unfolded his arms and stood up. It was time to go. "I'll be good enough to keep the company of the wise and the angelic."
Neuvillette's lips trembled just slightly.
A smile cracked on the youth's broken, bruised mouth.
"And I'll be just bad enough so that the devil and his demons will not come for me. Wait and see, Monsieur, we'll meet again."
Wriothesley's constant is Neuvillette.
Though, tides may rise in the affairs of men, and time hasten to end like waves on rushing onto the pebbled shore, only Neuvillette remains constant in his heart.