Work Text:
Ballister paced his hideout, glancing occasionally at the mess of photos and string on the wall. Something had to make sense eventually, right? Surely something would pop out at him, or click just right in his head -- he would make some sort of connection, find out some last piece of information that would lead him to the final, conclusive answer.
…Right?
From the couch, a loud snore broke his train of thought. The pink-haired girl/not-a-girl had fallen asleep some minutes ago, finally letting Ballister think in peace. But no matter how much he stared and paced and stared and paced, it was never enough. He just didn’t have enough info, couldn’t make anything fit. His arm -- what tiny piece was left of it -- ached, begged him to sit down and rest for a while. But he couldn’t. Not until he had absolved himself.
The early-morning light started filtering through the dirty windows, catching on his amor, piled bedraggedly in the corner. A knight…why did he think he’d be allowed the honor of becoming a knight? His name was Blackheart. He was a commoner -- a poor one, to boot. Even if he had been knighted properly, he was sure he’d be forced to step down eventually.
Ballister continued to stare at the wall, peeling his eyes open after every blink. His cut-off knighthood didn’t matter now. What mattered was proving his innocence, figuring out how to get this random kid off his back, and getting as much as his life back as he could.
Even if he couldn’t get it all back -- knighthood, his honor -- if he could just get Ambrosius back.
That would be enough.
Ballister didn’t need anything more.