Heria truly wished she could have just scooped Mezir into her arms and walked him to the study to meet his father. The trip would have been exponentially faster and surely less tiring; though, also much more humiliating for Mezir. Not that he would have been bothered by it. He had nearly begged Heria to do so before she had posited the question of what Lord White would think upon seeing them ascending the stairs like fairytale lovers. By the time they reached the study, she wished she had taken him up on carrying him despite anyone’s nasty reactions.
Heria’s entire left side had gone painfully numb from supporting Mezir for much of Blancana’s Noble Road. No matter how strong her gargantuan arms were, his armor and contraptions about his legs created an unbelievable weight. She was surprised he was able to walk at all before being injured, let alone sprint fast enough to, very obviously, break a leg upon stopping. His armor had protected the bulk of his body from the impact but his left leg looked nearly useless as it drug upon the smooth marble stairs that danced with specks of golden essence twinkling in and out of existence. A lulling sight no matter how often she saw it.
Any hopes she may have had of getting rest were all but devastated upon entering the study of White’s estate. There, directly in the center of what had recently become the largest library in all of Noctra, with his broad back to them was the Grand Lord White himself. Adorned in a massive, flowing pristine cape of purest white that was accented with gold just on the trim, he was statuesque. White’s double horned Legend’s mask held a smooth, deep curve in the middle and seemed to float too high above his body; unnaturally blank, save for the single black lens in it’s center. Lord White’s visage always made Heria feel encumbered with a magnificent dread. She never knew if she should fear his touch or vie for his embrace. Heria was certain of one thing only about Grand Councilor White; no one questioned him, not anymore.
“Mezir,” an insincere, flat chuckle floated from beneath their Lord’s smooth, horned mask, “I nearly disposed of the servant who reported to me that my own son, the legendary ‘Mezir De Blancana’, was injured by a drunken vagrant, under suspicion she may have just been incompetent. Alas, I am glad I showed some restraint.”
Grand Councilor White turned towards them at a painstaking pace, letting his pristine cape lag behind, and Heria could feel numbness tingling in her left leg intensify as he did so. It took nearly all of her strength not to drop the limp load on her massive shoulder when Lord White finally made a full circle to face them directly.
“Heria. Please let him stand on his own.”
She was barely able to contain the litany of rage that swelled within her guts, lit by her innate motive to protect Mezir. Heria was sure the fire in her eyes was visible, it burned right through the chilling unease White cast upon her… for a brief moment at least. Lord White allowed her an instant to reconsider, standing quietly, peaceably, with his hands behind his back. Heria knew to take the chance that was offered.
“Yes, my Lord White.”
Her heavy shoulders dropped low with her head as she stepped away from Mezir, stopping two steps behind him, trying her best not to look entirely terrified. Her left leg nearly gave out as she stepped on it and Heria was mortified, even more so when it seemed White had not even noticed. She did not exist. He was instantly mere inches away from Mezir, mask to mask, his hulking frame towering over her dear friend, emitting a foreboding weight. Totally focused. Lord White was waiting, watching, to see if his beloved son, Mezir the once rebel turned ‘hero of the Lord Councilors guard’, offered any signs of weakness or fatigue.
Heria’s dear commander would never do such a thing, not in front of his ludicrous father. Every interaction with Lord White was a test and failure generally resulted in a swift death. It would be no different for his son, no matter how beloved. She was overwhelmed with pride watching Mezir stand so tall as he could, peering right back at his father from behind his own smooth mask, though he was barely as tall as White’s chest. Nevertheless, Mezir did not sway or give even an inch of ground.
Tension weighed down the atmosphere in the room as if gravity itself was in on the Grand Councilor’s game, accompanied by a shrill silence that caused her ears to ache. Nothing. Not even the servants outside the study.. Heria wanted to click her tongue or shuffle a foot, just to make sure she hadn’t gone spontaneously deaf but she knew not to make the slightest movement. Her animal brain told her to not startle the coiled serpents in the room.
“Excuse me, uh- Lord Councilor. Sir.”
The timid, quaint, voice that broke the uneasy silence, like a pebble kicked into the ocean, nearly caused Heria to soil her ripped and ragged pants. Her body went cold and for a moment she felt sick rising in her throat but the shock wore off quickly when she saw the source of the jarring interruption. Shivering in a loose suit of an estate's guard's armor that looked as if it were going to swallow him whole, was a very average-looking young man, albeit with a very strong chin. Heria often referred to him as an “Wrinkly Child” in private with Mezir. He likely seventeen or so with as much life experience as an unfortunate toddler. Extremely out of place in an adult’s suit of armor.
Behind him stood a young woman layered in dirt, hiding her light mahogany skin from sight, but Heria knew it was her. She'd always had such beautiful lips.
Korrin?!
She longed to laugh and embrace her dear, filth-ridden friend but had to settle for a gentle nod and unreserved smile, which Korrin returned with a wink. Heria welcomed the soft blush on her cheeks, a familiar warmth that eased the pain of the gashes her teeth had created earlier in the night.
Lord White still had yet to address the young guardsmen or Korrin. The man was so still and intense it seemed as if he had suddenly turned to a tribute made from his beloved marble. After a few excruciating seconds, the novice guard spoke again. This time it was if the silence audibly popped an invisible bubble that had formed around them moments before.
Grand Councilor White took notice.
“Sir?”
The timid guard’s voice squeaked. Heria couldn’t find it in herself to blame him. Elderly-Child had a right to be terrified.
At least he’s a bit smarter than I-
Had she not had eyes more adept than an average person she likely would not have seen any of what happened next. As the silence shattered and the marble statue that was Lord White melted back into a fluid being, he seemed to have already struck. A blade, comically enormous in length, with a wide, cone-shaped base that came to a fine point appeared from the shadow beneath Lord White’s cloak and seemed to stretch all across the room. It fully pierced the young man’s left shoulder. Mere inches away from Korrin’s face. It would have pierced through the guard’s trembling chest if it were not for Mezir’s own blade pressed firmly against his father’s.
The attack was commenced and foiled within a second's fraction. Korrin had scarcely noticed the blade beside her dirtied right cheek. Initially, her eyes widened to a state of complete black as she stared at the blood flooding to the floor from the guard before her, when a wild laughter cracked through the tense air.
“There is the Mezir I know!”
A roaring joy was in White’s voice as his sword swiftly withdrew back into his abysmal cape and he was suddenly behind the bleeding boy-man, holding a still shocked Korrin in his arms.
”Oh, my dear! How I have missed you!”
He spun her around twice as he spoke and by the time she was back to the ground her eyes were full of awareness once more. Apparent happiness plastered on her lovely, filthy face. Miraculously, none of the muck or grime from her or the clothing seemed to be left on Lord White’s immaculate bright cape.
Poor guard Elderly-Child had already disappeared to both of them. Such was the true magic of Lord White. They turned and walked through the threshold as the shaken guard fell down, headed towards marble oblivion before Mezir caught him. All signs of shaking or pain vanished from his demeanor. Heria could feel the rage that fueled him from where she stood. She saw Korrin cast a quick, worried expression back, which Heria eased with one more smile and another nod.
Same as ever, I suppose.