Lady Sabina called early in the morning for Diarmuid via her usual messenger to Sextus's house. She merely gave him two days of rest after his return from the battle before she summoned him to carry on one of her dirty works, as the lancer assumed, seeking probably to ruin her cousin's joy in victory and the new recognition and the re – growing popularity he was regaining nearly from scratch. He was not in the mood to indulge her whims and her incomprehensible commands and headed to her house with the notion of refusal regardless of the consequences. After all, how down further could he fall while rising in the eyes of the citizens, Germanous and even the soldiers who were spectacle of him at first then trusted him and acknowledged his superiority over the techniques of the lances, treating him with due respect. However, the demanded was yet the most peculiar out of her wishes and perhaps the least understood by him. She said she was going to rest from her workload, whatever that was, Diarmuid could not tell exactly what affairs she handled and how far her hands reached inside the palace and the counselors meetings. She was going to her villa by the seashore, and asked him to accompany her for the trip and its rest. The lancer arched his eyebrows in obvious disbelief and mistrust, to which Sabina smiled, a sight he had never seen or expected to exist, and it was not a malicious smile but not a happy one either. To confirm the truth of her words, she suggested.
"You can leave your spears behind if this will prove I am not taking you to fight or kill anyone."
"So you can give me an assassin's dagger in their place?"
Diarmuid disdainfully replied, used to her tricks and manipulation of words but she shook her head promising it was not the matter, so he continued his scorning without respect to her status, neither as the governor's cousin nor as his "owner".
"I thought you wanted my protection, how will I do that without my twins?"
"I do not need your protection, I have as many soldiers as I need to guard me through my trip."
Sabina dismissed the notion waving her hand with a short lived prideful smile flaunting her power, but the lancer did not stop his mocking arguments, trying as hard as he can to escape having to spend time in that loathsome woman's presence.
"Are you looking for company? I am sorry, but I am not willing to satisfy your needs. You stir nothing inside of me but disgust and that's not how I usually go around these things."
Sabina burst this time into a true laughter despite the degrading and underhanded remark she had just received and which would bring the wrath of any normal woman rendering the man surprised and speechless. All what he deduced at that moment, was that woman was immune to insults, soaring with her pride and principles, again whatever these were, above everything, like an untouchable being, a goddess above vulgarity, instincts, and the triviality of the world. He was reluctant to but could only confess this fact to himself. After her laughter came to en end, which resembled a little bit Germanous's own hysteric laugh, she replied without any trace of shame or anger.
"That is right, I seek only your mere company, nothing more. I got bored with my current entourage and needed a new face."
To a stranger's ears, who was not seeing her stoic face as she was answering, he would tell it was a playful tone but the lancer's ears were not deceived as she made this simple admission. He had come initially with the pure intent to refuse, but when he heard her ridiculous reason and saw her straightforward eyes as she asked him to join her, his well bent a little, and he replied with not much reluctance as he would have liked.
"Alright."
Diarmuid convinced himself that he had changed his mind and agreed to the trip because he himself needed a new different place away from Sextus and the gladiators arena, to rest and regroup his scattered thoughts, or perhaps more realistically, to escape them.
Sabina nodded to his acceptance, telling him they will depart by tomorrow's first rays of the morning.
***
The trip took two days to the coastal small city. The lancer, atop of his new horse, feeling freed as he rode pleasantly at the start of the journey, could feel the fresh sea – laden air already warping his body, and taste the saltiness that brought him to these lands. Though coming from a different direction, it was all the same, scratching at old wounds trying to pry them open, knocking at the doors to memories he confined into forgetfulness, and bringing the taste of defeat and longing at the same time. Every time he wanted to think of something exiting about the shore, fountains of memories threatened to erupt and the numerous stitches that maintained his heart together in one beating piece threatened with the possibility of rupturing where no stitch or suture could re - close it again. That is why, despite heading to the sea, he decided to think of something else. He looked every while at Sabina's carriage and inspected with his eyes the soldiers she had brought along. He looked thoroughly amidst the forest's trees and possible hiding places in an attempt to spot the shadow that always followed her footsteps and interfered with the missions she assigned to him, but he could not feel any presence; that man was not there, proving it was truly a chance for relaxation with no hidden agenda.
At the beginning of the journey, the woman was quite refreshed as her features suggested though making no noise or conversation, then after few hours he was stunned to see her face leaning to the side, as her eyes closed peacefully and her stern face relaxed, giving her innate beauty moments to shine as it should, without any deriding retorts coming out of her red lips or cruel commands vilifying the greenness of her eyes. With another glance, he realized she was not alone in her courage. This lack of presence and long hair could only belong to one man, who remained silent like his niece throughout the journey, the soldiers brought probably serving under him. But why was Laurentius there? To protect her? Did he not trust his own soldiers' swords and the lancer's spears or was he in fact, afraid for her safety in their presence, those blood – hungry spears as everyone termed them, except for the governor of course. Did this man even need rest like other human beings?
Finally, they arrived at a humble villa belonging to Sabina, resting upon a hill overseeing the shore and the blue waves that reflected the sky with their coming and leaving, like the pieces of a pure mirror, shattered then re - gathered in an endless cycle. Sabina immediately went to the house, while Laurentius lagged behind a little when he came face to face with the lancer. The two men did not exchange salutes. Then, surprisingly, it was the counselor who began talking, with what seemed like an off handed remark:
"I see you have survived yet again another battle."
Diarmuid looked at the man who stated this fact as if he did not appreciate it.
"I never lose my battles."
The lancer replied, his old pride seeping through his new skin without control.
"I can easily tell that, but nothing lasts forever."
"What does that supposed to mean?"
The lancer frowned, hand already reaching to his spears in a challenging gesture, but the counselor shook his head, imitating Sabina or more correctly, displaying the mannerism she had inherited from him.
"I have already lost my bet on you, and I do not fight meaningless battles."
The counselor said vaguely and followed Sabina before Diarmuid could call him on his cowardice, shying from a fight. He could not understand what he meant by his words, but he was smart enough to realize they meant no praise or admiration, contrary to the whole city who adored him.
The lancer was left alone, so much for wanting new company as Sabina decided to leave the lancer to do whatever he wanted, which he discovered was nothing aside from riding a little more or laying lazily, while the servants took care of the luggage and lunch preparation and the soldiers scattered to their positions without the need to be ordered to do so.
When the night fell, the lancer was sitting on the shore, his two spears by his side, as he gazed distantly at the horizon as it surrendered the sun's blinding light to the bright shimmers of no less distant stars that dotted the sky with no particular order, just like the thoughts that rummaged through the dual wielder's mind, trying to extract and free the memories and events he never denied but rather suppressed. He gazed for a long time at the stars, trying to draw a shape or a letter out of them to no avail. He tried to bring a certain figure he wanted to envision amidst the two navy spheres reflecting each other but could not complete the picture in his mind. Even in this darkness, she refused to appear the same way she refused to grace the light of day. He prayed that a stray wave would find her way from the land of emerald and reach him, carrying to him her unspoken messages of longing and missing but all what he could hear was the condemning silence of the night, and the crashing of the tide that beat in the same rhythm of his heart; receding from the stable shores into the unknown, only to crash again violently against the same shore, shattering into millions of frail drops, caged in this chase the waves could not escape despite their continuous trial as they seashore presented them one assurance, their return to him.
The trials were useless, and the conclusion to that chase was clear yet the waves had never given up. Had he given up too early?
Like little kids, he gripped his shorter spears and tried to draw letters in the sand, but whose name should he write? Every name was bound to a sorrowful fate and dragging behind it an enormous load of guilt and blame so he abandoned the idea altogether, giving himself to the darkness illuminated by a shy moon and countless little stars that could not brighten the bleakness, leaving himself vulnerable to the silence of the night and deafening his ears to the chasing waves despite the picture they embedded into his mind… a picture of vast lands of greens, meeting at a sandy brim a no less vivid sea, trapped in the same chase of the moon and sun, to the tide and storms yet extending far beyond what one's eyes were capable to see, yet able to pause them with so many illusions and possibilities.
A picture of a group of knights campaigning after a victorious raid around the fire, toasting to their feats and comparing their wins, speaking of the forests and sea fairies, praying to summon them to complete the bliss of their night which was echoing louder than the waves with laughter and merriment.
A picture of a woman with long red brownish hair, and green eyes that summed all the charms of the isles in them, reflecting their freedom, will, and beauty. Now a vague picture of a woman whose tears had probably blinded her eyes, as she was certain to keep her vows, crying for her lost lover, who was not lost in the heat of a battle or invasion, but lost from his own self and principles. She had the right to cry, but not for his sake, only hers.
A picture of a young lad, no more than fifteen, stammering nervously with his words as he stumbled with the same nervousness in his steps. Trying to attract his mentor's attention, to replicate every movement he does or words he say, in a show of admiration and trust.
Now that picture was colored in red, swept in its ruthlessness and would never be painted again, even with regret and pain, even with prayers and psalms.
These were nothing against death.
A cloud floated the sky, briefly dissipating as it appeared, forewarning no rain or storm. An example of a brief universal power or being. But even with her transient appearance, she managed to bring more pictures to the lancer's mind, ones even less pleasurable and more painful.
Days turned into night by the merciless rain and deceiving fog where the shadows of Fionn's soldiers and the band of the Fianna knights, of mercenaries for hire who lurked at every turn and behind every tree. Duels
that got lost in its route between the memories of friendship and the value of honor and the vilification of vows and nobility. Some of the knights, his close friends did not hate him for what he did, and could understand and speak the tricky language of love, feigning their battle and loss, or losing their tracks purposefully. Others took their vows the way he himself had prior to his unfortunate love, strictly as they should be taken, and had no room for understanding how he fell into that shame, and out of respect, harbored no mercy for his life, and those were the ones he had to kill even when giving them a choice to spare their lives.
Sheds falling into decay with which the princess's quarters were replaced, uncomfortable caves and tree shades that grew warm with their passionate love making and faithful oaths of affection and preservance.
The same places that became more weary by the continuous chase and hiding, of the unjustly shed blood, deeming them into more decay and collapse.
Villages that rejected to shelter the two eloping lovers, the lancer immediately recognized by his love spot, even in the stormiest nights that killed infants and elderly from cold and sickness. Some villages kept their mouths shot, resorting only to plain refusal while other alerted the persuaders to their preys, hoping to gain the king's favor.
It was a survival game for everyone, for the two shunned lovers, for the knights who weighed companionship against honor, even for the villages who needed support and protection, and no one got out of this game unscathed or the same.
Everything changed.
Even the lancer himself changed but in what way, he still could not tell but he knew even when the mirror reflected his same handsome strong features, he was unable to see himself in the limpid glass.
The sound of floaty footsteps splashing gently through the water awakened him from his thoughts and recollections. He lazily leaned on one arm, raising his head a little to see who had at this late hour of the night, decided to wade through the coming and going waves that had calmed down in the last hour or so… he had lost touch of time and his surroundings, until the gentle footsteps brought him back. His eyes widened at seeing Sabine alone, walking through the water, her golden hair let down with no complicated braids or hairdos, in her light blue sleeping gown, transparent at some spots, or made so by the illusion of the moon and the silkiness of the fabric.
He sat more straightly wishing not to lock eyes with her, but she was quick to notice his shift in position and turned her head at him and he could not escape the mystifying gaze of the green eyes.
To say she looked different or more beautiful was straying far away from the truth. It was her, the same expressionless features, the same unyielding stance, the same aura of coldness, but the moon beams that shone upon her face and the nightly breezes that ran through her hair, weaving them in their own style without strictures or complication, her bare feet walking upon the sand then into the water, as the tide calmed down to caress her white legs and drench her dress that she did not lift and allowed to be soaked in the water draw a different more appealing and pure light that still cast the same shadow. Either the lancer was too tired, or these natural unbound factors had truly added or revealed some softness to her mysterious character.
When she realized the lancer was staring in a more analytic than admiring way, she sneered.
"What are you so surprised about? We came here to rest from our burdens."
Diarmuid finally awakened to himself and noticed he was staring for a lengthy period of time much to his displeasure, looking probably inappropriate although the noble woman did not mind at all, she even seemed to be enjoying any kind of gaze that specific man gave her.
"You are in a transparent veil, in the midst of the night, surrounded by your slaves and soldiers."
The lancer commented as if he was chiding the woman who laughed at his poor excuse, even if these were his true thoughts, they were so laughable to her.
"Yet you are the only one here."
The lancer turned around, and her words were true. No one was in sight, which seemed a little neglectful from the soldiers and their lady, but her response stirred the same disgust, or so he liked to believe as he flipped his lips in indifference and laid down on his back again, not forfeiting the spot he claimed first before she came and disturbed the place and its silence.
Waving away the strands of blonde hair that got in her eyes, she looked at him again, refusing to get the hint of wanting to be left by himself and asked him, causing him to erect his stance once more, because the question was so weird coming out of her mouth, and Diarmuid firmly believed she would not care for the answer she already knew or tried to portray with hard continuous dedication.
"Do you believe any man dares to approach me?"
"When men are driven by despair and deprivation they would approach anything."
The lancer stated simply, a fact many of his previous friends had fallen to during long campaigns or prolonged wars. She was not insulted or repelled by the vulgarity, instead she changed the phrasing into a more specific term.
"Would any man court me then?"
"Only if he has some use of your power and influence."
Sabina smiled proudly unlike any other woman in her place would have cried in self – loathing by the cruel truth that had been stated and which the woman knew very well. She opened her mouth to speak again but the lancer, closing his eyes and interrupting her in an effort to show her his lack of interest in conversing with her.
"If your next question is if I would court you, then no."
It was the first time Diarmuid had addressed a woman with such harshness and he did not know why. It was a harmless banter, but since neither of them were drunk or desperate, it seemed out of place and had no meaning, leading to danger more than to fun.
"Indeed you would not."
The words were spoken in her usual tone, devoid of mockery or disdain as he thought it was ought to be. But none of these were present. He wondered if he had hurt her but he also knew she was a woman who would not be hurt so easily, if at all. Still, his curiosity took the better of him, and he opened his eyes slightly to see the expression on her face, the expression that left his eyes open, unable to close till the end of their conversation.
The tender whiffs were still braiding her hair, and the moon delineated her shadow on the water, while her eyes, staring at him directly, reflected with the moon's aid and the moving water mirage the green plants swerving at the surface of the sea. They looked like vernal leafs blown away from their destined seasons into an early winter or a dour fall. A tinge of guilt touched his heart, but it was brief unlike the solemn smile that remained on her face for the rest of the night.
"Tell me about her…"
Diarmuid tensed all of a sudden, knowing to whom she was referring. Oscar must have told her of his legendary yet scandalous love story.
"The princess you abandoned everything for…"
Diarmuid fell mute, words refusing to sprout in his mind or run along his lips. What should he say? That she was an esteemed noble princess, destined to be a revered queen before he ruined her fate and reputation as he listened to her heart's call before listening to his own? That he had dragged her name forever in the mud? That he had made her suffer through nights and days of chase and fear? That in the end he had abandoned her breaking their oath, though it was not in his hand or intention? That he rarely thinks about her now and that she is refusing to show herself in his visions or dreams?
"There is not much to be told, and nothing new to be added."
The lancer replied briefly after a long pause, during which Sabina could see clearly the pain and regret defiling his brazen eyes, yet adding more beauty to his solemn dignified features.
"You two must have suffered a lot, and I can guarantee that she is still suffering…"
Diarmuid quickly knotted his eyebrows, a warning beaming through his eyes, but Sabina continued nevertheless, unafraid.
"Still suffering over you."
The lancer had never doubted that, but Sabina's words suddenly sprang thousands of different possibilities in his mind, though that was not the noble woman's intention or desire. Was Grainne truly still crying over him? Was she still holding any hopes for his return? Or did she already find another man with which she can live happily and safely? Was she captured by Fionn? Did he forgive and marry her? His love for her was obvious, and Diarmuid stole that flame of love and took to himself upon the request of the woman who sat that flame on more furious fire… shaking these ugly thoughts, he stood up, approaching the woman menacingly and demanded:
"What do you mean?"
"I just wanted you to know that I know of suffering too."
"Do you?"
The lancer replied while gritting his teeth, barely containing his anger, and that smile that he failed to conclude its true meaning or origin was still on her face as she continued:
"I believe I do understand suffering. I myself might actually be suffering."
Diarmuid let out a laugh of mockery that did not offend the woman, whose mysterious smile only sank further into her porcelain skin as if desiring to be embedded on that face forever.
"I have inherited much of father's power and influence, and being the governor's niece and Germanous's cousin is no trivial status. I cannot keep count of the twisted and terrible deals I have been offered to abuse my power and indulge the lawless wishes of the nobles and merchants… siblings wanting to pry on each other's inheritances, unfaithful children wanting to take over their ageing parents authority and positions, merchants who want to scam each other under the pretense of the law, deceitful disputes and claims all fabricated in the justice palace for a person's own benefit… I had to stand in their face, alone, half protected, as Germanous did not pay attention or heed my words regarding these issues… where do you think the "Justice Pallbearers" had emerged from and for what purpose? It was the dirtiness and nastiness of this city, its lack of order and justice that paved their path… Germanous did not listen to me, drowning in his useless dreams and ambitions… how can resurrect a corrupted city if not fixed from its roots? What can he build on a fragile web of deception and unholiness that he had strengthened by ignoring it, probably benefiting from all of this as he grasps to remain a governor at every straw thrown in his way, whether it was black or white? I have been fighting too, Celtic… and I have been suffering too witnessing every change I tried to remedy the law with forgotten and neglected…"
The words laced with angry frustration flawed out of the woman's lips with the same persistence and rage hidden by the waves that started to crash more violently against the ledges and shore, as the tide grew stronger pushing their bare feet to stumble on the sandy ground. Diarmuid had not realized or expected to hear these notions from this woman, specifically. That she was, much like himself, fighting her own battle for the principles she held dear, all on her own, similar to the battle he had fought and his subconscious was still trying to flare.
He did not imagine the two of them would be this similar yet that different at the same time. However, on the scale of principles, resolution and persistence, this is where their difference lied.
It was not a cold wind that startled the lancer from his thoughts, but Sabina's chilly hand from the night's cold, reaching to his right cheek as she went on with the same determination:
"That is why I sat my eyes on you… you captured my attention from your first appearance at the arena… I knew who you were and what you still are … a knight looking for justice and unable, no matter how hard he tries to escape or ignore the truth, you remain unable to let go of you true core, your golden core of nobility and justice… chances are given and history repeats itself so we can learn not to fall again… I need your blades, those undiscriminating ruthless blades, the picture of what true justice should be, by my side… I have chosen you to fight with me… I need you to!"
The woman quickly drew her hand away, as her act was not a gesture of affection or a plea of help. She was trying to gain the lancer's, her picture of justice, full attention and convey to him while revealing the truth leading her eyes, her purpose and mission, her fight and principles, which echoed more deeply and loudly inside the dual wielder's heart and soul, more than Germanous's promises and dreams, like a breath of air reviving his dead self and bringing the past in a colorful picture this time along a future that was presented in a more idealistic and clearer vision than the governor's.
And once again, he found himself torn between two people he never imagined he will have to choose between. The governor had the light of the star of the north to follow, but Sabina had drawn a clear path, paved by what the lancer longed for. Still he stepped few steps backward, getting further from the receding hand, as he shook his head, remembering his vows to the blond governor.
"I cannot promise you anything, or vow my loyalty to you… I cannot…"
The lancer muttered, though he did not want to appear weak or wavering in front of those keen pair of green, closing his eyes with a struggling expression relaying the one taking over his heart. But Sabina interrupted him, ending his turmoil.
"I need nothing of what you offer me… because I know when the right time comes, you will know what to do. Your knighthood will lead you, and your principles, though you claim or pretend to have abandoned, will steer you in the correct direction."
The lancer opened his eyes in surprise, that woman could read him like a sheer book, could see through him like a looking glass. None of his recent actions had suggested that he had given up hope on his honor or the nobility his words used to hold, but she reached to his heart, with a single stare, just like Germanous did, only revealing for him another choice, a path of unconditional trust.