Hidden Intentions
by Lynn

Hidden Intentions

by Lynn

Gently swaying blossoms sprinkled the vast green field, surrounding a sparkling pond upon which moonbeam diamonds reside. The faintest glimmer of the shy, waxen moon rippled on its surface; whispery wisps of clouds almost hide it from the sleepy eye. Songs of crickets pierced the quiet serenity at random intervals, lending a fragment of life's imprint to an otherwise ethereal setting.

And on the other side of the field, nothing could be a starker opposite.

Brimming with life and gaiety, humanity padded along at a merry pace, their footsteps merging effortlessly into the background of string and wind instruments played by nameless bards and hollers of bargain goods from nameless vendors. Red lanterns hung from thin strings woven through many tall poles, the small orbs of yellow light illuminating the darkness, blocking out the stars above and the ominous presence of ever-nearing midnight.

The week-long Great Market was a grand event to behold, more so for the sleepy town of Lacus wherein the most exciting occurrence tended to be a stolen chicken or runaway livestock. Merchants from all parts of the country gathered at what used to be, in grander days, the most influential city within the region, now reduced to a small town of farmers and their kin. Yet tradition stood well the test of time, and the custom of the Great Market continued to be upheld to this very night.

Nearing a vendor gesturing to his display of exquisite jewellery ("All the way from the Land of the Sultanahs!"), a young swordsman adjusted his travel-worn scabbard, noting wryly the faded silver upon it that had turned to muted grey over the years. The myth of gold-laden warriors was a dubious one, as but a handful of them were ever picked to join the King's Regiment. The rest were left in the cold to fend for themselves, waiting until the next time call-ups were held at the capital city.

Much like this young individual here.

Fortunately, the regular appearances of monsters at a village's frontier kept his skills in demand and his stomach half-full. There was only so much a poor village could pay without hurting themselves, after all. But this was only to pass his time while waiting for the day his services would be employed by the King. In the end, the young swordsman wanted desperately to join the revered Regiment.

As dark lavender eyes studied the assortment of ornaments before him, dutifully listening to the vendor's pitch and discarding most of it away as exaggerations, the young warrior fingered an intricately-engraved necklace in front of him absently. The markings certainly looked similar to those used in the desert, the legendary domain of the austere Sultanahs, as beautiful and deadly as the snakes they reputedly kept. It would make a wonderful gift to his sister.

A part of him was sorely tempted to buy it, but the light weight of his money pouch said otherwise.

"A little out of your league, wouldn't you think, Cellias?"

His attention wrenched back from his inner musings, the swordsman turned around to find a very familiar redhead standing just a few paces behind him. Draped in a full-length, forest-green robe with black pads and gold lining, the infamous priest of noble blood from the High Chryseus Church gestured towards the ornament, a knowing smirk on his face.

Dropping the necklace like hot steel, Cellias glared at the redhead momentarily before quickly shifting to sheepish embarrassment.

"Very much out, you should say," he muttered, eyes downcast under strands of black hair, trained on an infinitesimal spot behind the priest.

"I was being polite."

Right. And gold dragons randomly dropped out of the sky.

"What are you doing here, Traum? I didn't think such events were of your tastes," Cellias immediately switched subjects, preferring to focus on something other than his very apparent poverty.

It was certainly a valid point, however desperate. Busy markets and loud merchants weren't the sort of company a high-born priest such as his friend regularly kept. The youngest priest of the Holy Church preferred to remain elusively hidden within the confines of the Inner Halls, venturing out only on exorcism excursions and the human need to eat.

Shrugging carelessly, Traum sauntered closer to the jewellery display, ignoring the gleam in the vendor's eyes at this walking source of gold in favour of picking up the discarded necklace and scrutinising it.

"I heard about the Great Market while passing by... figured I should see what the fuss was all about," was his nonchalant reply.

"'Passing by'?" Cellias snorted, incredulous. "The Capital is west, but Lacus is due east. You're going to have to do better than that."

A shadow of a smirk plastered itself on Traum's lips at the younger one's words, his jade eyes reflecting the colourful glow of the jewel-encrusted necklace. Half-lidded and darkened, they turned towards Cellias before the necklace was dangled in front of the latter's face.

"That is too bad. I might have repaid your trust in me with this little... trinket," he murmured, uncharacteristically playful, throwing the necklace up once and catching it deftly with the same hand. A snicker was given in reply to the sheer indignation that appeared on Cellias' face. "Try again."

"I don't need you to buy my things for me," the lavender-eyed youth replied heatedly. "I could afford that if I wanted to!"

"And I'm sure you picked it up just to look," Traum patronised with a somewhat half-sneer, although the grip on the necklace tightened almost minutely.

"I..." Cellias bristled visibly, feeling that familiar frustration that cropped up every time they spoke before resurfacing. It was hard to read what the priest was trying to gain out of this confrontation, but he knew better than to try and guess. God only knew if Traum was doing it because he was bored. It was certainly an option.

Folding his arms with barely hidden aggravation, Cellias continued curtly, "What does it matter to you what I look at, anyhow? Finish up whatever it is you're supposed to do here and leave me be."

Several women gasped as a finely gloved hand slammed upon the wooden surface holding the jewellery display, throwing earrings and small bracelets around. Cellias and the vendor stepped back at the priest's unexpected reaction.

Ignoring the flying trinkets in favour of the dark-haired youth, Traum moved closer towards Cellias, his movement fluid as water as the ends of his scarlet hair just touched the latter's nose. Hardened jade eyes glared down, one hand placed firmly upon the display while the other gripped the necklace tighter.

"What matters to me is my business," Traum growled lowly, eyes intermittently defocusing and refocusing upon the lavender pair. "And for now, what matters to me is how inconceivably rude you are being for a fallen noble. Others have lost their heads for half the improprieties you have committed in less than five minutes."

"Traum--"

"The King will not miss one less struggling swordsman, Cellias. You'd best remember that."

A blink as the youth processed the uncharacteristic insinuations, moving back only a hair's width before freezing at the jade-eyed glare. Traum may say a lot of things to him, but the priest had never uttered such threats before. Flaunting his nobility in Cellias' face was not his style; flaunting his superiority over him was.

Footsteps shuffled around them as the group of women began retreating from the two. Even the vendor remained still as stone, not wanting to attract the attention of an insulted nobleman.

"Traum, you..." Cellias trailed off, frowning slightly as he studied the listlessness in the older priest's eyes, the hint of thick alcohol in his warm breath. A realisation dawned on him, and the young swordsman asked in a lowered voice. "Traum... are you drunk?"

"What?!" the priest hissed, eyes firing up at the accusation as he recoiled... and almost lost his footing upon the gravel path.

"You are drunk!"

"I am NOT - "

Cellias wouldn't hear anything of it. Firmly grabbing his friend by the shoulders, the swordsman quickly led themselves away from the store and towards the inn, Traum glaring and cursing at him all the way.

* * *

As Cellias expected, every room in the inn was booked to the maximum. All efforts at convincing the innkeeper that the snarling redhead - muttering colourful phrases priests shouldn't know about - was a nobleman under the name of "Traum Phillipe", who had probably already booked three rooms for himself earlier, was in vain. The end result was a blanket and being shown to the barn.

Hours after the scene at the market, Traum had seemingly recovered his bearings, moving on to muttering colourful phrases about the hay that would make up their bed.

Leaving only one ear trained upon his friend, Cellias was content to lie on the hay, which in his opinion made a far more comfortable bed than the cold, hard ground. A part of him found this entire scenario to be somewhat amusing, in a very strange way, but the other part still wondered at Traum's reason for ending up at Lacus.

"Here."

The necklace which started it all landed on Cellias' head, before sliding off his hair and falling onto his chest.

"What the - how'd you get it?!" he exclaimed in shock, sitting up to stare at the redhead.

Traum merely shrugged, gingerly perched upon the sharp, prickly hay, "I had it with me the whole time you dragged us here." At the aghast look on Cellias' face, the priest waved it away like one would swat at annoying flies.

"Don't start. I'll pay for it tomorrow. Fool of a merchant wouldn't think of starting a scene with someone of the Church."

The horrified look melted into one of gratitude. "Th-thank you - "

Another wave of that same hand. Traum grimaced as the hay continued poking at all the wrong places, "Think of it as repaying your favour for finding us this fine... establishment."

"Sorry. She wouldn't believe that 'Lord Phillipe' would be some sort of raving lunatic - Ow!"

Cellias winced as a handful of hay was thrown at him, couple of which hit him square in the eye. Rubbing at them desperately, but only succeeding to make it worse, he felt something settle upon his legs. The young swordsman gaped in surprise when he squinted through the tears and saw Traum's head resting on his lap.

"What're you doing?! There's plenty of space in the barn; go sleep somewhere else!" Cellias exclaimed, stopping short of pulling the priest by his chin-length hair off him.

"And get bits of hay in my hair? You had better be joking," Traum snorted, throwing the rough blanket over himself as he made himself comfortable on the swordsman's lap. He ignored the embarrassed flush racing upwards and staining Cellias' cheeks a bright red. "Now stop squealing like an overgrown princess and sleep."

"I am NOT squealing! Get off me!"

"Sleeping..."

Any further protest slowly died down as Traum steadily ignored Cellias' retorts, until eventually pure silence reigned over the barn save for the occasional neigh of the horse in the neighbouring room. With a sigh, Cellias lifted the necklace against the darkness, fragments of light seeping in through the creaky doors to illuminate the jewellery.

His sister would be overjoyed to receive this when he got back.

Looking down at Traum's still form, who was now really asleep instead of pretending to be earlier, Cellias wondered if the former knew why he had looked at the necklace earlier. Traum's instincts were usually right on target, and they both knew it.

No sense in over-thinking it. God only knows how his mind works.

As he prepared to turn in for the night, shifting gently to avoid waking the priest up, Cellias caught sight of a rolled-up parchment partly hidden under the latter's overcoat. He needed only half a second to debate it in his head, before quickly pulling the parchment out from the priest's belt. Unrolling it carefully so as to not wake his friend, lavender eyes narrowed as they tried to make out the writing upon it.

It was an announcement about the upcoming recruitment for the King's Regiment, to be held in a week's time at the capital.

Had Cellias continued on his path due east any longer, he would have completely missed it.