Fable - Ask Hope for the Future

[Faramund]

'Probably got more sense out of him than we did the seer,' replied Faramund. Cyd was right, to a degree. Strange shit did happen around here, meaning the Valen. Trees talked, mud effigies became men. The dead came back to life.

Or were brought back.

'Does beg the question of who you think you're talking to right now though,' the dawn-thing continued, unable to keep its annoyance from bubbling over. 'For all you know, I could be a tree wearing the skin of Faramund. But why stop there!' He stood, began pacing. 'Maybe I'm a menhir? See the resemblance?' Faramund wheeled, struck a pose. A few fairgoers stopped to watch events unfold, pointing and gasping like they had just stumbled across the main attraction.

From where he was standing, Cydonia was certainly starting to look quite the clown. Either that or he was the one making a fool of himself.

Growling, his anger abating, the dawnling sent a dismissive wave Cyd's way. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. Didn't want for her to start thinking any less of him than she already did. 'I have a theory,' he said, willing his feet to stay put. 'Not a good one, mind. It involves you, and your ability to enhance a person's magic.' Faramund paused, looked down. 'It involves me, and my... ability to resist said magic.'

His gaze rose to meet Cydonia's. Brown on grey.

'Is it possible she could have fed off your power without you noticing? Is it possible... you're mistaken?'

Syr Cydonia

 

[Syr Cydonia]

They were both standing. Cyd held her ground as Faramund began to step near her, then further away. She cast her eyes downward when he struck his pose, cheeks still flush but cooling.

"I see Faramund, the only one I've ever known," she said softly in response. Perhaps too softly to be heard.

The passersby who had stopped to gawk lost interest in the spectacle of the fighting 'couple', as their anger cooled to a simmer and the antics stopped. The two knights were left standing on their own, stilled, in the dwindling light of dusk. Faramund said some bullshit about her magic, and his lack thereof. Cyd shook her head, then raised her eyes to his.

"Impossible. Someone has to spill my blood to force a connection." Clear and confident, Cydonia's response was too immediate to be a mere theory. A story lay behind the statement.

She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned her weight on one foot. Seemed to let go of whatever feeling had rattled her before, and shook back on her bright aura like it was a coat. "Nice excuse, though. I could be convinced to write it down in the report, if..." Mischief sparked in Cydonia's eyes. I'll give you an out, that look said, knowing, teasing. "...if you buy me another box of sweets."

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Spill her blood, spill her blood, spill her blo- 'I see.' Deflating slightly, Faramund shook his head. He knew he was grasping at straws, but what else was he to do? Admit that Cydonia was right? That he was a double-walker, and that his whole life up until this moment had been a lie? He sighed, stamped his feet for want of something to fill the void in his heart.

His head was full, though. A voice that surely wasn't his kept telling him to cut out Cydonia's eyes.

Cydonia had such pretty eyes, and they shone with a playful mischief that had Faramund smiling despite what had just transpired between them. 'Oh, don't go playing that game with me, missy!' he chuckled, glad for the out she was offering him, almost free of charge. 'You'll make me buy you sweets and then write the report, just as you intended.' He thought about it, shrugged.

What had he to lose?

'Very well! Let's go see the vendor while he still has stock to sell, and pray I have adequate coin to satisfy your sweet tooth.'

Syr Cydonia

 

[Syr Cydonia]

Was she satisfied with his answer?

A smile on her face, Cydonia beckoned to the man. "Come on, then." She turned her back to him, and went on her way.

The scruffy guy at the sweets stand greeted them with a grunt. It didn't take Cyd as long to pick out her deserts the second time around. She spent less time cooing over the cute little treats, and merely rattled off an elaborate assortment of names and flavors. The confectioner dutifully plucked this and that from the trays and packed them up into a fresh box. In the end, she got about twice as much as she'd bought the first time around.

Was she satisfied with that number?

The confectioner was packing away the last of the sweets. His calloused hands were struggling to tie a fine red ribbon round the box. It was such a clumsy display, Cyd couldn't watch. But he was so intent on getting it right that she didn't have the heart to tell him the extra touch wasn't necessary. Instead, she turned to Faramund to let the poor man work in peace.

"It's about time for Lord Renkalk to make his appearance," she said. "Know what he looks like?"

After dark, the mood of the festival was starting to change. Parents dragged their children back home, carrying the sleepy little ones in their arms. The daytime circus attractions were packed up, and earthier signs were displayed between the tents and stands. The only ones left over to whittle away the night were the lovers and the ruffians.

And a couple of Dawn knights, out of their element.

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

The sweets were a small price to pay for silence. Finding a quiet place to sit down, the two dawnlings watched the sun set in peace. 'I know what he looks like.' Faramund had answered in the affirmative, careful to avoid Cydonia's gaze. Taking the confectionaries with a grateful nod, he had passed the box to Cyd before they had wandered off.

To pause, and reflect on all the day had wrought.

Faramund did more than most. Night fell and wrapped him in its cloak. Torches were lit. Lantern bugs flitted between the colourful stalls, their luminescent bodies painting spiral patterns against the dark void. The temperature dropped some, but not so much as to grow uncomfortable. Somewhere, someone was playing music. A lively jaunt, it made Faramund want to get on his feet and dance.

Unfortunately, his partner didn't much want to.

Nor do I, really, he thought, a sudden round of applause drawing his attention away from the star-speckled tent in which the seer wove her magick. Her deceit. Was it, though? The more he dwelled on it, the more he felt Cydonia had been right. There was so much about his past that he did not know. So much that a "normal person" would have. Like birthdays and the name of one's parents.

Where were his? Who were his?

More questions without answers. 'The Lord has arrived,' he said, dark eyes missing nothing. 'Hasn't even brought his retinue. Strange behaviour, for a man of such import.' Alas, strange was the flavour of the day. 'Let's see if we can't get a little closer. Perhaps we might be able to overhear what they discuss.'

Syr Cydonia