When its desire to live grows strong enough,
a delicate flower can shatter the hardest stone.
Drops of melted snow dripped from the roof, the farewell tears of a dying season. As if the blizzard had been the very last desperate assertion of a cold era, winter had finally given in to spring. Warm sunlight washed over the world, making the snow thaw and fade away like a cold dream.
He stood by the window and watched the drops of water as they fell, one by one. The storm was over, the world was open. She had no reason to delay her decision any longer, no reason to keep up her display of kindness. No reason... except for the fact he had saved her life.
He turned away from the window and thoughtfully paced the room. That had been an unexpected turn of events, to say the least. Exhausted by his use of that alien magic he had been too tired to ponder it all last night, but in the bright light of morning questions would be held off no more.
A solution had presented itself on a silver plate the night before, the chance to get rid of the threat the girl possessed without sullying his own hands with her blood. All he would have had to do to be safe once and for all was to simply do nothing at all. The troll would have rid him of his problems with a single stroke of those claws. And yet, for some reason, he had chosen to save her. He'd be damned if he knew why. And that was one of the questions.
The magic he had used to annihilate the troll was the other, of course. Up until that point none of his spells had worked, then in a blinding flash of light he was granted powers so strong they had almost killed him in the process. And now they were gone again.
Absently scratching at the still itching skin of his left hand he frowned in irritation and tried casting a simple light spell once again. A pinpoint of feeble light, so weak it was barely visible in the daylight appeared soaring above his palm. With a grimace of annoyance he closed his hand over it. The magic was there now, at least, but still oh so weak. The fireball he had tried a few minutes ago didn't even have heat enough to light a candle.
Downright embarrassing.
He sighed and returned to the window to reflect upon the events of last night. It was obvious Flagoon had been a part of it all. He remembered the crystal clear thought that had crashed through his mind a fraction of a second before his attack; 'the girl must not be harmed'. Not his own sentiments, for certain. But Flagoon had appointed the blue-haired girl its guardian, it wasn't too farfetched to imagine it wouldn't want her harmed. The magic he had channeled was the same magic Flagoon wielded; the raw life-force of the very earth itself. That was an explanation to the 'how'. The 'why' seemed far more complicated.
Perhaps he had just been a convenient pawn for the ancient spirit to use. Perhaps his purpose hadn't only been to bring the seedling to the surface, but also to protect the girl. The thought made him smile, somehow he found the concept very amusing in all its absurdity. How utterly ironic. To choose him, the destroyer of her life, to become her guardian.
That was a reasonable enough explanation to the 'why', at least for now. All that remained was to see for how long it would last. Had it just been that single incident in which he was needed to protect her, or would the strange arrangement continue? He rubbed the bridge of his nose; it was all quite a mess to try to untangle, and its complexity gave him a headache. Since the spirit of Flagoon obviously didn't intend to drop any hints on what was really going on, there wasn't much to do about anything but to wait and see what would happen.
Sylphiel sat on her bed, chin leaning in her hand. She was fully dressed, her silky hair brushed and neat, yet she was reluctant to leave her room.
She felt confused.
He was evil. He had to be, considering the monstrous things he had done. Heartless, unmerciful, cruel; not even entirely human...
So why had he saved her life?
She frowned thoughtfully and absentmindedly chewed on a lock of smoke-blue hair. It simply didn't make sense. Nothing did. Ever since she had found him in the ruins of Sairaag his behavior had been faultless, even submissive; he had done whatever she had asked him and had never once revealed any trace of the insane cruelty that had frightened her so all those years ago.
And he had saved her life.
She shook her head and stood, walking over to the plant in its glass jar. It had grown even more since last morning; the jar was quickly becoming too small for it. She stared down at the accusing envelope resting on the bureau. If Lina was to find out about the copy's return to life she was as likely as not to solve the problem her own way. Considering the power she had seen her unexpected savior use the night before, a battle between the two of them would be extremely ferocious, and in the end someone would undeniably get hurt.
Sylphiel bit her lip and picked up the envelope, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time. Perhaps it would be better to wait. At least until she had gathered enough information to make the right decision. The entire situation was rather delicate, and letting Lina into a delicate situation was like inviting a tornado into a glass shop.
She hesitated for a moment, then sighed. Giving up all easy solutions she put the envelope back down, tucked it safely under the water-filled glass jar, then turned and reached for the doorknob.
As the stairs creaked he turned away from the window to face her. She entered the living room slowly, a hesitant expression on her face. He blinked in surprise as he suddenly realized she was not carrying the Bless Blade with her. For the first time since that cold night in Sairaag she dared to approach him unarmed, looking very small and vulnerable as she did so. For the briefest moment the thought of killing her now that he had the chance flashed by, but he angrily swept it aside. The time for that kind of thinking was past, the reasons for violence gone with it. That she dared leave the sword behind to face him on equal terms meant she was probably not about to do anything provocative, and also hinted at something else, almost unbelievable. Trust.
That realization sent a strange feeling tickling through him. He couldn't remember anyone ever having dared to show him trust before. Even Eris had kept him under tight control, making sure his actions were an extension of her own will, not even trusting him enough to grant him the right to his own thoughts. And now, despite everything, this little delicate blue-haired girl came to stand unarmed before him, knowing he could kill her with a single move, yet somehow convinced he would not.
Her faith earned her his respect, but it was also strangely frightening. Violence and antagonism he knew how to handle; kindness was something beyond his knowledge; unknown and unfamiliar.
Without a word she joined him by the window and looked outside, golden sunshine giving her dark smoke-blue hair sparkling highlights of opal color. One by one the drops of water fell from the icicles lining the edge of the roof outside, catching the sunlight like plunging diamonds.
Far more intimidated by her thoughtful silence than he ever would have been by a hateful outburst, he remained silent, glancing at her pensive face through the corner of his eye.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she reflected. Uncertain of whether she expected an answer or not he simply nodded. She kept looking out through the window in silence for a moment, then sighed.
"Hadn't it been for you I wouldn't have been here now to experience this day, beautiful or not. You saved my life last night. I'm grateful."
Unable to see the emerald eyes hidden by her bangs he could not determine what kind of reaction she expected. To reveal he had actually considered taking her life himself not too long ago would probably not be a very clever move, yet that dark little secret made him feel somewhat sordid. She would hardly have shown him this rare, fragile trust if she had known. He settled for a half-truth, gesturing slightly.
"You should thank Flagoon. The power was not mine."
She nodded once, accepting the truth in that statement, yet it didn't seem to change her opinion. She remained standing by the window, only a few feet away, not shying away from his presence like before. Her behavior confused him, made him nervous and fascinated him at the same time. With a thrilling start he realized she treated him like an equal, a human being. No one had ever done that before either. To his surprise he felt a sensation of restless yearning; he wanted this. Wanted her trust and appreciation, understanding. A precious gift not easily earned, one that he didn't want to let go of now that he had achieved it.
How strange, he mused. Yesterday I was prepared to kill her, now I would fight to keep her alive. Is it Flagoon tinkering with my mind again, or has this been in there somewhere all along?
She tore her gaze from the sunlit scene outside and looked up at him.
"Would you like some breakfast?"
After having finished breakfast they both remained sitting in silence, the occasional clinking of a teaspoon against china the only sound to be heard. They studied each other imperceptibly, both aware of the other's attention but politely ignoring it. The situation had changed abruptly, and now they were trying to adjust to the new scenario.
Back to square one, she thought to herself as she sipped her tea. And at the same time, not at all. Back to square one, but minus sword, threats and fear. I suppose that's progress.
Along with the thawing of the frost and snow outside, the air inside seemed to have become lighter, warmer. Not at all as stiff and cold as before.
Is this right? Is it right for me to not hate him? Would Father be disappointed in me if he knew?
She studied her guest through the blue-tinted curtain of her bangs.
My father would be happy that I was alive, she decided. That would have been all that mattered to him. So I suppose it should be to me as well.
Leaving the memories of the past she pulled herself back to the present.
If possible her guest looked more confused than ever before, although he hid it well. His attitude had changed since she stopped waving the sword around; as she had let go of her hostility he had relaxed somewhat in return. Something about his still wary posture reminded her of what he had said about Eris a few days ago. She had been his creator, a wielder of life and death, forcing him to obey her orders whether he wanted to or not.
And I did the same thing, she realized. Brandishing the Bless Blade and my magic about like a constant unspoken threat.
She couldn't help but wonder what difference it would make to try kindness rather than control.
The quotes are from Oshiro-sama's Letters to a Red Priest (in other words, I made 'em up) and can't be used without my permission. If you ask nicely and give me credit you'll most likely get my permission, but anyways...
Let's close yet another circle here, return to the beginning...
Once again I have to thank my wonderful fellow Swedish weirdo Jen for encouraging me every step of the way on this, and providing me with endless inspiration through our mature and civilized conversations...
Also, thanks a lot P-chan, for actually liking this thing despite the lack of Gourry in it, and for making me the insane person I am today. Kram!
And finally, we should all thank Syrena, for taking the time to beta read every part of this story even though she was often strapped for time, making it all readable...
OK, show's over. Nothing more to see here. Shoo, off with you!
18 | Story Index | Fanfiction