-- [ Christmas Night, played with Konami Shojou ] --
She stood by the hearth in the now-deserted hall, staring expressionlessly into the dying fire and clutching a large shawl about her shoulders to ward off the relentless winter chill ever seeping through the stone walls of the manor. Even though the cold gave her reason aplenty to have stood so by the fire throughout all the evening's festivities she would have not risked seeming as if she were hoping to catch a glimpse of her future husband's face in the Christmas fire. There had been small clusters of skirts swirling close to the fire for several minutes of whispering and giggling and then dissipating shortly afterward for hours, and Merro had watched them from a polite distance with outward smiles and inner sneers.
But now, with all the guests fled or abed, she stood by the fire and stared into the flames. Unlike her age mates, her eyes were neither eager nor hopeful, and her head did not dance with visions of a youthful knight or elegant noble. She would turn nineteen this coming year, and whatever reasons had kept His Toadship from marrying her off in the preceding five years, she could hardly expect that he would allow her to simply mildew away into an old maid when she could be tied to a rich or powerful son-in-law instead. Bitterness and disgust filled her dark eyes instead of dewy, dreaming hope as she looked at a cracked and charred piece of wood and wondered if it was a portend of the wrinkled and shriveled face she would have to face each morning and night. Perhaps the red embers were to signify her future husband's florid complexion, the spirits he drank aided in reddening his face by a fiery temper.
There was no bootstep ringing against the floor, no warning cough or sonorous breathing. If there was anything it was merely that the flames seemed suddenly to waver and bend, as if the air caught in someone's cloak had fanned the fire ever so slightly. As her eyes caught the ripple in the flames, Merro frowned and abruptly whirled about.
Letalus stood still as ever, the only indication that he was not, in fact, a statue was the lingering movement of his cloak around his feet. The orange and red glow of the fire, cozy and inviting in any other circumstance, reflected like hellfire in the empty canvas of his eyes. He stared down at the girl, slowly tilting his head to the side as if examining a particularly interesting bug.
It had been a long day. Without any of the darker tasks his master bade him do, Letalus had been charged with the role of butler in preparation for the coming party. Whether on the battleground or in the more chaotic surroundings of a manor before a social event, he was expected to lead and delegate. The horses had to be groomed, the gardens tended, the silver and linens cleaned, delicacies baked. And it was his privilege to dress Lord Kisan in his finery, choking on resentment and the desire to strangle the man.
"My lady," he finally said to Merro. "Shouldn't you be abed at this hour?"
She was surprised to see him, as she would have been surprised to see anyone, but relief was what she mainly felt upon seeing him. Had her unexpected companion been one of the servants, it would have added to the store of gossip that was whispered around the keep about the strange things that Lady Merro was wont to do. Lady Merro toiled and spun, and was certainly not arrayed in merchant-prince glory when not being paraded in front of guests. She did not spend what spare time she had in improving herself in the arts of embroidery or song, or indulging in poetry or prose. In fact the maids were not quite sure what Lady Merro did in her spare time, for she could never be found idling away at all. She would either be hard at some task or the other or come upon one suddenly in a hallway or round the bend in a staircase, scowling at whatever housemaid had been so unlucky as to run into her. Some of the maids entertained themselves at night by making up chilling histories of Lady Merro being in fact a changeling, witch, sprite or demon.
A guest coming upon her this late at night would have been even worse. She would have had to put her polite company face back on and then lie it right off, either smiling brainlessly or staring demurely down at the floor approximately three footlengths in front of her. She would have to endure, where with a servant she could simply order off and resume her solitary musings. Word would likely reach her father's ear that his daughter had wandering about late at night, earning her an indulgent scolding in public and a tongue-lashing and several hearty cuffs in private.
And if her father himself had come upon her, well...a quick blow to send her to the floor and a premptory order to send her to bed would have been all of it.
And so upon recognizing Letalus, her first reaction after surprise was relief, and she met his gaze without much reaction. His eyes caught the firelight, but she expected nothing fiery of him. Her father was a two-sided demon of neglect and abuse. The servants were also a half-mix of fear and disrespect. The mages and soldiers in her father's employ were courteous to her face and no doubt discourteous behind her back. In comparison of everyone else in the keep, Letalus seemed downright reliable. He never smiled at her or flattered her, thereby earning her immediate distrust. He simply said what there was to say and walked off when the conversation seemed at an end. She had come to leave off her habit of trying to read the other person's hidden words and motives, for Letalus didn't really seem to have any. If he intended to get her in trouble with her father, he'd say so right out. And then do it.
"I should," she agreed, the frown not faded completely but her voice quiet and - for her - nearly friendly. "There are still hours enough until dawn, however, and I am not at all tired." She wasn't about to confess her penchant for creeping about the keep at all hours of the night, relishing the temporary freedom of being alone. Her eyes cut to the door leading to the gardens, and she had a sudden urge to run outside into the snow and run herself breathless between the hedges and now-dead gardens. She had been smothered in heavy drapes and heavier conversation and made dizzy on the drunken breath of her father's guests and the toil of keeping up with the giddy conversation of her age mates all day. She had loosened her laces a bit and let down her hair. Now she wanted to be downright silly.
"Are you not tired yourself?" she asked after a moment, curious as to why Letalus might be roaming about and thinking to hint him off to bed so that she could carry out her wild plan. "My father had you doing three days' work today."
"Your father knows my capabilities," he answered simply, as if that explained everything. He had seen her glance to the night outside and briefly wondered if she, like any other young noble girl, was afraid of monsters in the dark. The fact that she had no idea that she was alone with a monster this very moment mildly amused him. And the further thought of frightening the girl amused him further. It had been some time since he'd come across entertainment this late at night.
"Would you care to take a walk outside, my lady?" he asked flatly, expecting her to start and quiver and make excuses to cover up her delicate female fear.
He must be capable indeed if he'd been able to accomplish all that her father had ordered and still have the energy to be wandering about the keep this late at night, but Merro privately thought to herself that it was more likely that His Toadship simply loved to squeeze every possible ounce of sweat and blood out of his servants rather than that he knew Letalus' limits and pushed him right to the edge of them. At Letalus' unexpected question, Merro did indeed start, but rather than fear, it was in surprise at apparently having had her thoughts read, and there was no waffling or whimpering to follow the slight motion up. She blinked at him for a moment, wondering if she'd even heard him correctly. Her father's mysterious shadow was politely inviting her for a walk as if they were simply two young persons at a summer party, brought together by mutual friends and seeking a respite from the heat and crowd by escaping into the shrubbery for a walk in the shade.
He was her father's hired man, it was past midnight, and there was snow on the ground. She almost laughed, but instead heard herself reply,
"I would, thank you," and then silently cursed herself for a thousand kinds of fool. She might gain the outside air, but there was hardly any freedom to be found on the arm of the mysterious man who the housemaids whispered was actually Lord Kisan's familiar in human form, now was there? She should have declined and then pretended to go to her room, after which she might have snuck out through the kitchens for her illicit late-night romp in the snow.
Committed now, as she thought she was, she stepped forward to his side to be escorted to the door, all the while still wondering at this odd turn of events. She should indeed be abed instead of preparing to take a walk outside with this man of all men. What in the world was she thinking? What was Letalus thinking?
...what was Letalus thinking? She suddenly had the wild idea that her father had ordered the man to dispose of her quietly during the night as a sort of belated Christmas present to himself. The sensible portion of her mind scoffed, but the more dominant side of her mind declared that it was all too possible. Merro cut her eyes up to Letalus' face through her bangs, partly amused, partly suspicious, but mostly curious.
Surprised by her reaction as he was, Letalus showed no inclination of it as, rather than offering his arm as a gentleman might, simply walked to the door and opened it. The night air was chilly and brisk as it flooded into the warmth of the room, stirring the silk banners from the walls.
Lord Kisan was undeniably wealthy and made sure his home illustrated this fact...loudly. Opulence and extravagance were everywhere, inside and out; the colors of his family's coat of arms brightly displayed on flags and curtains and drapes, marble flooring and rare, exotic carpets, gold busts and silver armor...for though Kisan was tight with his money in all other instances, it was simply good business to advertise his wealth and capabilities as a businessman.
Yet, under the pale winter moon, the grounds lost their gaudiness. Draped in silver, glistening snow not yet marred by footsteps, the land seemed under an enchantment and Letalus was struck by memories of a younger time. He stopped at the stairs leading down to the path lined by bare birch trees and turned, watching Merro's face with a blank expression and intense eyes.
Merro followed him after another moment of inner amusement at each turn of events. His offer of a walk outside had been odd enough. She supposed it shouldn't have surprised her that he didn't consider his offer to have included his arm as support. After all, she had claimed not to be tired and it wasn't likely that he wished to walk about for hours.
The closer she came to tasting comparative freedom, the more eager she found herself, and she nearly pranced the last few steps. She came to a stop by Letalus but did not notice his gaze upon her, for she only had eyes for the moonlit wonders before her. Taking in a deep, refreshing breath of the bitingly cold air, she looked at the familiar private gardens as if seeing them for the first time. Her eyes sparkled above rosy cheeks, and she smiled without realizing it.
A fresh snowfall had blanketed everything in a mantle of silver and white that glistened like diamonds on white velvet under the moon. The circular area at the foot of the steps was smooth, as if there was a pond there instead of flagstones. The low stone wall surrounding it blended smoothly into the neatly trimmed hedges that lined the three paths leading away into the orchard and gardens. The flowers were all dead now of course, but frosted tree branches and shrubs gave shape and decoration to the landscape. All was quiet and still, and her inclination to sprint through the gardens suddenly had to fight a pitched battle against reluctance to spoil the pristine beauty of the unmarred snow.
Merro cared not for monsters or bandits or catching a chill. She lived under the rule of a greedy monster, and the chill in her heart could hardly be matched by anything this windless night could offer. She looked upon the dead, snow-covered garden and the endless dark sky with the kind of longing most shivering travelers reserved for sturdy stone walls and a cheerful fire. The expression of delight that had formed on her face faded even as she slowly let out her pent-up breath in an exhalation that ended in a small sigh. How she longed for escape. The desire to get out of the keep and run through the gardens was merely a symptom. What she truly wished for was to leave the keep forever. To run through the garden, out the gate, and never return. She had no clear idea of what life outside of her current situation might be like, but in her ignorance she firmly believed that she would find anything, anywhere, among any people, better than what she had now.
In an instant her mood had changed, and she now hesitated at the edge of the steps.
This was not the first time Letalus had watched Merro. In an environment full of toadying, backstabbing men and empty-headed, gossiping women, his master's daughter was completely unlike any other person in the keep. Oh, she certainly knew how to the play the part she was born into, but he knew a false smile when he saw one and had most often seen her delicate face pulled into an aggressive scowl. Even at the festivities earlier this night, as beautiful as she was in her gown, the bleakness of her eyes matched his own heart. Unconsciously, it resonated within him. For the first time in decades, he felt pity and empathy.
Both pity and empathy were gone now as he watched with silent wonder as Merro came alive. When she turned slightly to glance at him, hair unbound, face flush from the cold and her own eagerness, he quite found himself at a loss for words.
To hide his discomfort, Letalus walked past her and down the steps, stooping slightly to brush a dead leaf from the pond's rim. It was ridiculous, of course, because who would care this late at night if a leaf was out of place, but as the seconds ticked by and he still had no idea what to say or how to act, he simply pretended to be completely unconcerned with her presence.
The spell that the garden had temporarily woven over her was broken as Letalus trod down the steps and put his prints upon the snowy ground. A smile curved her lips again, but it was a small and quirked affair rather than the unconscious natural one that had spread over her earlier. He politely invited her to go for a walk, held the door for her as if he were just letting the dogs out for a run, and now stepped off without her and busied himself with tidying up stray leaves. She'd already marked him as an oddity, but now it was carven in stone. Merro wondered if he'd turn around and scold her off to bed so that he could plow the ground for winter wheat next.
The silly mood was returning in the face of her companion's strange ways. She was already outside. There was no sense in wasting such an opportunity. She quickly but carefully made her way down the stairs after him, skirted around the pond and then headed for the pleasure gardens. The kitchen gardens were boring, and thought the leaves were all off the trees she wanted a bit more of the open sky than the orchards would afford. She cast a quick glance back at Letalus and quirked an eyebrow at him, not wishing to break the hush of the winter night just yet.
You were the one who suggested a walk, odd Sir.
Letalus inclined his head in acquiescence and looked ahead to the winding, ghostly path to the orchard, walking at a sedate pace. He glanced down at the girl by his side, wondering if she felt cold as humans did and looked away before she could see that he was, yet again, watching her face. He focused on the view ahead instead, arms crossed primly behind his back. He dimly knew conversation was expected in such a situation, but even at his most relaxed, chitchat was a difficult task. And he was very much not relaxed, now having second thoughts in tempting his master's daughter to gallivant with him in the winter night.
When the walk began in a normal fashion, Merro found herself feeling disappointed and realized that she had been waiting for Letalus to do something unexpected again. And then, when she realized that he had in fact acted contrary to her expectations, the impish smile popped back upon her face. Conversation was out of the question. Merro was struggling not to laugh. She kept her face demurely lowered and walked quietly as not to attract any attention to herself.
Unfortunately, her own actions struck her as humorous next. Merro Kisan, having forsaken the chance to roam about the keep alone as was her wont, now voluntarily suppressing all wild impulses to run in the snow and protecting her ladylike image while catching her death in the snow with one of her father's men in the dead of a winter night. The young woman fought mightily against the giggle bubbling up within her chest, for it was unthinkable that she might actually titter in front of another person for no reason, as if she really were a giddy little flirt of a brainless highborn. Sadly, the harder she fought, the more quickly her self-control seemed to crumble. It had, quite simply, been too long since she'd had any fun.
Her usual nighttime roamings were silent, secretive affairs by necessity. She couldn't risk waking anyone with any unnecessary noise or letting anyone else into her secret, else the game would be up. But now, the further they wound through the paths, the more distance they put between them and the nearest window in the keep. And she had a companion just now who, while he did not seem likely to be able to appreciate the farce, was keeping her more honestly amused than any of her commonplace, proper-raised acquaintances ever had been able to before. Her inner imp kicked down what remained of her dignity and reputation and demanded she indulge herself.
With a sudden breathy laugh that she tried vainly to smother with her hands, Merro stopped, shook her head, turned slightly to face Letalus - though not daring to look and see what his expression might be - and said in a voice that shook with suppressed mirth,
"Excuse me, I beg your pardon, but I really must..."
And then she dropped her shawl, picked up her skirts, and began running herself breathless down the path as she'd originally intended, laughing.
Letalus blinked and stopped in his tracks, watching Merro run for a moment before glancing behind him to face whatever surely must be coming after her. When there was nothing, he turned and faced her retreating back once more. Why was she running? And laughing? His mind was a blank as he strained in his limited capabilities to understand a girl not even her fellow humans could comprehend.
It would be on his head, however, should she lose her way or get hurt, so he set after her. He seemed to glide along the path rather than run, the tails of his long, grey surcoat sounding like leathery wings. He could have caught up and passed Merro, but he stayed just a few feet behind her, his heavy footsteps a rhythmic and quiet presence.
Her laces had been loosened slightly and she was by necessity much stronger than the average young noblewoman whose most strenuous exercise was struggling into her dress every morning with the aid of two maids, but Merro was still in no shape to run full-tilt for very far. Her breath giving out, she pushed herself to keep running just until she'd gained the benches near the hedge maze and then abruptly let momentum fetch her up against a slender young tree. Half turning, half ricocheting off, she stopped and then let out a startled, "Oh!" as she realized Letalus had run after her.
The last traces of her usual dark mood and temporary melancholy from the top of the steps were gone now, and Letalus was treated - if that be the right word - to a sight of Merro that none else would see for a very, very long time. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed from the exercise, and she still laughed faintly between trying to catch her breath as she swept long strands of hair away from her face and neck. She looked at him openly and honestly, and seemed exactly what she was for a moment. Happy.
"Do you like to run too?" she asked simply. A child's question, asked with the same sort of naivete.
Letalus stopped when his quarry did. In contrast to Merro, he was as collected and calm as he had been back in the keep, the faint fog from his breath unhurried and relaxed. He tilted his head slightly, at first not understanding her question, and said hesitantly, "...when it serves my purpose to run, I will do so." He paused again, flat grey eyes taking in Merro's unladylike appearance. "Do you..." he began, glancing away to watch an owl fly from a nearby tree, "...like to run?"
His answer was less odd and amusing and more...normal, than she liked. The bubbling urge to laugh and play began to fade as she was able to regain her breath. Smoothing herself down a bit, she replied in a more usual tone,
"I like the feeling of freedom it gives me, when I can escape from everyone's eyes for a moment and just run." It occurred to her that she had obviously not been alone this time, but it was something she couldn't explain, and she hoped he would not remark upon it. With another quirked smile, she added as the thought occurred to her,
"I'm like one of my father's high-strung horses. If I'm not let to run occasionally I start kicking at the carriage." And a beast of burden she was, too. Further similarities came to her, that after being worked for a long while, she would be sold for a profit and bred for the sake of valuable progeny. She dropped her eyes to look at nothing at all, and a slight frown creased her brow.
Letalus couldn't disagree with her words, as sad as they were. He'd often heard his master advertising Merro to company, speaking nothing of her actual assets and more her lineage and beauty. Just as he spoke of his manservant's undying loyalty and tireless work ethic. If Merro was a wild mare in the process of being broken, what was he? Even the most docile work horse had a will of its own.
He was struck with the absurd urge to tell her everything; what he was, how her father had used him, his overwhelming desire to murder his master in his sleep...but he squelched the instinct. Who knew how far the apple fell from the tree? Beautiful fruit could always be rotten on the inside.
Instead he simply nodded. A gentle snow began to fall and he tilted his head up as he said, "Are you cold, my lady? You may make use of my surcoat, if it pleases you."
And then he went downright gallant on her. Saints, but the man had as many moods as she did, and went through them nearly as quickly. Merro usually ran hot, always the first of a walking party to drop her shawl from her shoulders and the last to put on an extra layer in the winter. But even her warm bloodedness could not shrug off the freezing cold air of a midwinter night.
"I am, and I thank you but I would rather you helped me find my wrap," she replied, trying to recall where they'd been when she first cast it off to begin her wild run.
Letalus bowed slightly, turning to head back down the path. "I remember where it is," he said, his back to her. "Stay here." Despite the chivalry of his actions, he was unable to be gentler with his words and the idea that he should not, perhaps, be ordering around his master's daughter didn't enter his head.
He started to jog, his movements once again concise and smooth, following the trail of their footprints in the snow. As he got closer to the keep, he saw the crumpled cloth of her wrap...and also the unwelcome shape of a man picking crouched over it. Letalus slowed to a walk, hoping whoever it was would assume the wrap and the small, distinctly feminine footsteps beside his belonged to one of the female servants.
As Letalus approached, he recognized the man. It was Urien, one of the stable boys, "boy" being an ironic title indeed, as he was well into his forties. An unrepentant drunk and troublemaker for the rest of the staff, he was the last man Letalus wanted to see at the moment.
"Goin' fer a lil' walk, eh, boy?" Urien slurred, wobbling slightly as he stood. In one hand, he clutched a bottle of wine with sausage-like fingers. The other hand lifted Merro's wrap to his reddened nose, inhaling deeply. "Ahhh," he sighed, eyes rolling back in his head. "Nothin' li' a woman ta warm yer 'art durin' a cold night." He opened his eyes and grinned lasciviously at Letalus, who gazed impassively back. "An' here I thought you was cold as th' grave."
Uncharacteristically, Merro did as she was bidden, at least for a few minutes. Left to her own devices and finally finding herself alone in the crisp, clean air outside the keep, she indulged in a bit of idle nothing-doing, wandering an aimless circle around a dead flowerbed and thinking over her strange little walk with her strange large companion.
He had surprised and amused her by turns, and seemed to tread some strange ground with her between formality and familiarity. He did not act like a servant, but did not quite treat her as an equal either. Whoever she compared him with and however she looked at him, he did not fall into any category that she could think of. Letalus was unique, and for a girl who hated everyone, it was an interesting thing to realize.
Suddenly bored of her long-desired solitude, she began retracing her steps, seeking him.
"Letalus?" she called softly around one corner.
Letalus held out his hand for the wrap, lending some credence to Urien's opinion of his personality as he completely ignored the man's drunken ribaldry. "My woman will be chilled," he said quietly, lowly. Emboldened by drink, Urien sneered when he otherwise would have slunk away from the pale, dead gaze turned on him.
"An' what woman would that be, eh? Some ugly lil' whore who cannaw do better than a stone cold assassin?" Urien guffawed, a hint of hysteria creeping into his rasping voice. "Thas right, we all know wha' ya do fer the master, ya black-hearted demon! Who you out here with, eh? Eh?"
Letalus stepped forward and smiled, hand reaching out, not to the wrap still in Urien's hand, but to the man's fat neck.
Whatever Letalus had been about to do, he paused at the sound of footsteps. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening by a fraction. Was the girl simple? Didn't she know the word that she'd been out of the keep in the middle of the night would eventually reach her father's ears? Urien was a drunk, certainly, but even a ridiculous rumor from an untenable man had to start somewhere and the last thing Kisan wanted was his guests questioning his daughter's chastity.
As for Urien, he was much less subtle about his shock, first gaping at Merro as if she had two heads and then quickly bowing and scraping, shoving the wrap at Letalus as if it were plagued. "B-beggin' yer pardon, miss, I didna know t'was you!" He seemed to shrink visibly as he stared at the snowy ground, inching away slowly.
She bore down upon the suddenly sober man relentlessly, stopping just a few steps away and looking down upon him with scorn, as though upon an insect too disgusting to soil her slipper with. Her fiery temper led her first desire to be simple bloodshed, but her survival instinct and some small shred of common sense overruled her bloodthirst.
"You thought instead that my father hires the sort of man who would be wasting his time in idle dalliance instead of fulfilling his duty to his Lord as my guard and safekeeper this night?" she asked in a tone clearly not meant to be answered. "You insult my father's judgment and your drunken lewdness offends my senses."
"Cravin' yer forgiveness, yer Ladyship, an' t'Master's!" babbled the man, giving up his attempt at cringing away and now practically groveling in the snow. He sensed impending unemployment at the very least, and quite possibly death. The Lady Merro's temper was a sort of gruesome fairytale among the hired men, hardly ever witnessed firsthand, but with many lurid tales having been leaked out from within the keep by the bevy of gossiping housemaids that had to live under her eye. He made another clumsy bow and attempt at escape.
"Beggin' yer mercy an' forgiveness, miss, an' I'll just get miself away 'n' outten yer sight."
She paused as if in consideration and then said coolly, "You may report yourself to my father as a drunk and useless man, or Letalus shall report you to the Horsemaster for having exposed your disgusting manners in my presence. The choice is yours. Merciful, am not I?" She paused for another non-answer and then snapped,
"Get out of my sight."
He watched Urien scamper away as if the fires of hell were at his back, and judging from Merro's rigid expression, Letalus couldn't blame the man. Sidelong, he regarded the girl with new eyes, almost impressed. But it did reinforce the impression in the back of his mind that she was not as unlike as her father as her beauty otherwise implied, and any desire to reveal anything important about himself was squelched completely.
"My lady," he said calmly, holding out her wrap for her to take. "It might behoove you to return to your quarters. You've put the fear of God in Urien and he'll not mention names, but he'll be raising a ruckus going back to the stables. You might be missed."
Once she was certain the stablehand was gone out of sight and sound, she relaxed slightly, drew in a deep breath and let out a slightly shaky sigh. Letalus' words only served to further impress upon her the potential consequences of what she'd thought of before as just a bit of fun. Her temper had brought her out of the shadows, and it had served her fairly well in frightening the uncouth servant into silence, but she would have done better to have stayed hidden. Hindsight was a bitter old witch.
Taking her shawl back from Letalus, she gave it a brief shaking out to dislodge the bits of snow clinging to it and then threw it about her shoulders, shivering a bit as she did, imagining for a moment the consequences of her father finding out she'd gone for a bit of a romp in the snow in the middle of the night, with none but Letalus for company. She wondered who he'd have killed first. Entirely sobered and subdued for the moment, all her fire spent, she nodded and then said quietly,
"I shouldn't have come out." It was as close to a simple and honest apology as she'd ever made in her life. Looking up, but not quite meeting his gaze, she added,
"Thank you," and then turned back to the keep.
Letalus tilted his head but said nothing in response, watching her leave with the usual blank stare. She seemed to immediately regret her actions and he knew the next day would be full of the quiet tension he'd come to expect from Kisan when he couldn't rage the way he wanted. Letalus silently thanked the guests for their presence; it would give him time to convince his master that Merro was not at fault in any way.
He turned and looked up at the sky, which had grown darker with clouds, the snow falling heavier now. It would be a long day tomorrow.
