literature

RS - Can I Trust You?

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As castle adviser, it was everyone’s business to summon Lucian for a second opinion wherever it was needed – castle finances, relations with the fairy creatures, the reform of the knights – but it was much less common for Lucian to be the one to issue a summons.

Larks knocked twice and entered Lucian’s personal quarters, careful to shut the door on his way, and stepped broadly to Lucian’s desk. The adviser wasn’t here yet. Larks pointedly kept his eyes off of the adviser’s personal journal and marvelled instead at the tidy stack of books on one corner. One of his gloved hands traced their spines while he perused their titles. The History of Tottaus, volume four; The Birth of Algandars; Fort Helencia’s Fall.

“Ah, you’re here.”

His fingertips straying from the books, Larks turned about and squarely met Lucian’s gaze. “There was something you wanted to talk about?”

Lucian walked away from the door, around his desk, taking hold of the back of his chair. He hesitated, released it, and remained afoot. “Forgive me,” he said. “Now that you’re here, I’m not sure where to begin.”

“Take your time,” Larks assured, arms resting at his sides.

“You,” Lucian said, weighing his words before they left his lips, “are suspicious of me.”

Larks smiled wryly.

“Why?”

“You hear too much.” Larks watched Lucian’s gaze fall to the open journal. “You know too much about things that don’t concern you, concerning both the state of affairs here in Radiata, and personal things about myself, Lord Jasne, and His Majesty Jiorus. And yet you have never confided in any one of us the barest details about yourself, where you’re from, who you really are, what your purpose is here… I don’t even know the most arbitrary things about you – your favorite color or drink, or how you unwind after a stressful day. You are a complete, utter enigma.”

“Ah.” Lucian tapped his chin.

“I am suspicious of you, Lord Lucian, and I don’t feel that my suspicions are misplaced.”

Lucian fixed his eyes back on Larks’ own. “They aren’t.”

Larks’ jaw hung open. His lips pursed with all of the words he didn’t have. He pressed them together, instead, as Lucian also said nothing more.

The adviser picked the journal up off of his desk and skimmed its most recent notes. He picked up his quill, too, dipped it, and began to write. Though he seemed altogether aware of the consequences of his words, his expression remained unchanged.

Larks swallowed the knot in his throat. He balled his hands into fists and stalked around the desk. “That’s it?” he hissed. “That’s all you have to say?”

Lucian glanced at Larks over the edge of his journal. The turquoise of his eyes glowed, and every breath sounded with a faint echo. The creases of age on Lucian’s features appeared deeper. While not altogether malicious, the ominous aura filled Larks’ chest with dread.

Lucian’s gaze fell back to the pages of his journal. Though the vague threat fell with it, cold beads of sweat trickled down Larks’ brow. He stepped back.

Lucian snapped his journal shut, and offered Larks a smile. “Can I trust you?”

--

Larks had fled Lucian’s room in such haste he had run down one of the castle stewards. Lucian listened to the steward’s footfalls, shuffling nearer to his gaping chamber door. He smiled sweetly as the boy made eye-contact with him and then wheeled about and dashed after Larks.

It had been nearly a month since then. Lucian had thought at first that it had been a mistake, the worst mistake of his career as an adviser not to have an adviser of his own to caution him against telling the things he had told Larks. He had already taken inventory of the personal effects he would have to leave behind. He had already set aside the few possessions he would take with him should he have to leave the castle.

But the day never came.

What Larks had heard and seen that day went unmentioned among the rest of the castlefolk. What the others had noticed, however, was the distinct way in which Larks avoided passing in front of Lucian’s room; how he never visited the library anymore (he asked that same steward boy if he could fetch any necessary texts); and he spent more time actively visiting the guilds rather than his usual written correspondences with them.

So it came as a surprise to Lucian that Larks stood in front of him now. The sheen of perspiration on his brow, his shaking hands, the dry clacking of his tongue.

“Evening, Lord Larks,” Lucian greeted, though by the moonlight he was sure it had to be midnight.

Larks offered Lucian an unsealed envelope. Lucian gave it a cursory glance, something work-related, something Larks needed a second opinion on before it would be sent away to its destination. The intended recipient was the dwarf chief.

Lucian glanced back to Larks, who was already inching away. Lucian seized Larks’ arm. Larks bit back a cry, wide eyes fixing on Lucian’s expression. Larks twisted his arm to free it, and Lucian’s grip redoubled.

“It would be more effective to discuss this face-to-face,” Lucian said.

Larks lips pursed in protest, but voiced no rebuttal. He took a deep breath.

“I am available now, if you like.”

“Please let go,” Larks whispered.

Lucian smiled. “You do not have to fear me.”

“You are responsible for–!” Larks yelped. After jerking him several steps forward, Lucian released Larks. The door swung shut behind him, and he glanced fretfully from Lucian to the obstacle between him and sanctity. “You are the… the one responsible for the calamity that will kill us all.”

“I am responsible for many things,” Lucian replied coolly. “Foremost, at present, your survival.”

“You asked me if I could trust you, Lucian,” Larks rasped. Larks rubbed at his arm where Lucian had grabbed him. “You asked me. But how do I trust you? How do I know that what you’ve told me, all of it is true? I have all the proof I need to know you are who you say you are, but–”

“Breathe.”

Larks shook his head and glared squarely at Lucian. “–But I have nothing to support your claim that you have come this time to save humanity. It goes against everything ever recorded about you and your purpose. How could I possibly believe you?”

Lucian cupped Larks’ cheek, smiling. Larks shoved away the offending hand.

“You knew that I wouldn’t believe you,” Larks stated hoarsely. “You knew that it would only make me more suspicious of you. Why did you tell me?”

“I trust you.”

“But why?”

“You wanted to know,” Lucian said, “and I wanted you to know.”
Two writing prompt meme answers, ~1100 words, from a couple months apart that kind of go together -- can I trust you and things I wish you hadn't told me.

They were shippy memes, but the fic itself isn't really shippy.

//it occurred to me that I haven't been posting fic, partly because some of it has been nsfw, partly because some of it is short and rough af, but mostly because I forget. :'3

Radiata Stories © Square Enix and TriAce
© 2015 - 2024 RobanCrow
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