Chapter 42 : Potential

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An unfamiliar ceiling greeted Arya as her eyes slowly pulled themselves open. She glanced at her freshly cleaned hands, turning over her palms at the unfortunately foreign sight before shifting her vision to the side of her bed, where Ceres sat in a wooden chair and stared blankly at the corner. Arya was starting to wonder if her pawn was malfunctioned. Besides that, the pawn's hair was short and just as blonde as usual, suggesting that she peculiarly changed appearance overnight. Thinking back on it, most pawns seemed to be somewhat like their masters in appearance - like Ace and Kairo, whose features were eerily alike save for the growth of their facial hair. Ike and Han Na also shared features, like their white hair and pale skin.
With just a suggestion, Ceres changed according to Arya's will. Pawns truly are a strange creation, she thought.

"So you're awake," said a recognizably heavy voice, from her left side. To Arya's surprise, Ser Edward sat with casual attire and a bright smile, handing her a fragrant and vibrant bouquet of flowers, glistening in an array of color. "A gift from the Black Cloaks," he said as he stood up, his crimson hair shining brightly against the sunlight which peeked through the curtains. With a stretch, he waved at Ceres then started on his way out. "Pray, be well and enjoy your reapings. Even the Dragon rests for fifty years."
Arya was familiar with his floral gesture, having dealt with it a lot in the past before Karel ran away from home. An image of the brooch her father gave her flashed through her mind, causing her to slightly wince in disdain.
"I owe you an apology, ser. I confess dismissing talk of Arisen with the other old tales I heard at my nurse's teat," said a thick Teutonic voice, now stepping into the room. "But your actions leave little room for doubt, I am impressed."
It was none other than Ser Julien, the cynical Voldoan aristocrat, whose face she remembered from the court gathering where she first met the Duke.
"Apology accepted," said Arya, shamelessly. "Take not from the sacrifices of the Duke's knights."
  "The duke's soldiers are a hopelessly unwieldy lot," he retorted, with distant eyes and folded arms. "It takes an age to prepare for anything."
Arya honestly cared not for the aristocratic body what governed Gran Soren, learning slowly but surely that nobles are more oft than not corrupt from the inside out - however, hearing jargon toward the knights of the realm was more than moderately unpleasant, regardless of how true it was. "Pray tell, what actually brings you here, Ser Julien?" 

 "I spoke with Ser Mercedes," said Ser Julien, his blue eyes again distancing toward the window. "At times I feel I'm the only one focused on the true task at hand... We came to Gransys not to fret but to slay a dragon, honoring the old pact among our nations. Everyone ought clear their minds of any burden that would interfere." His eyebrows furrowed as he spoke, displaying a foreign sense of passion from the usually callous gent.
Arya sat up, "What does this have to do with Ser Mercedes?"
Julien took a seat, leaning back and staring Arya fearlessly in the eyes. "As I understand it, Ser Mercedes brought no men with her from Hearthstone. The force she commanded here was comprised of sellswords and the like."
"If you have aught a petty quarrel with the Princess, pray, plop it before her," commented Arya, certain that Mercedes was more than capable of defending her own honor. At this point, Ceres was turned all the way around and staring directly at the two.

 "I've no dislike of Ser Mercedes, nor any interest in ferreting out her secrets," replied the Voldoan knight. "But the court is an ever-turning gyre of rumors. Some claim she was sent alone as a conscious slight. Others, that her lord father was simply fain to be rid of her."  
"What concern is it of yours, Ser?" Asked Arya, growing slightly agitated.
"As a consequence, there are many here who shun her company." Julien looked up at Arya suddenly, his glare diverting from the horizons of his mind and directly into Arya's. "I am sure you are a welcome ally, both as the Arisen and a fellow stranger to court society. As a foreigner, same as she, I am in no position to make demands of you, ser...But pray, do as you can for her."
Arya scoffed at the blonde-haired man before her. "My aid is and always has been available for the princess."
 "I'll warrant your aid is a welcome boon to Ser Mercedes, Arisen. Pray, do as you can for her," repeated Julien, as he stood up and left. He stopped for a moment upon reaching the door, but resuming his stride, almost as if he wanted to say something but chose not to.
Mercedes Marten was the opposite of anything involving the word "princess," ready to take up sword and shield before lipstick and blush. It was common knowledge in Hearthstone, her home country, that she would never serve in a diplomatic marriage, causing quite the stir of speculation. Of course, Arya had the sense to defend the integrity of her people.

 Now, it was just the Arisen and her pawn in the room. After all that passed, Arya realized that this was the state in which she was most comfortable. She sat in silence, recollecting her adventures thus far - having slain many beasts and made many a friend and ally. 
"Truly, the life of an Arisen was not the one for me," she said, staring out the window.
"The life you live is the life for you," inserted Ceres. "Nary do we have the choice of what life we live, so the only solution is to live the one you have."
Arya glanced back over with raised eyebrows. "Wow, Ceres, that was impressive."
"Yes, I know. I read it in a book once."
The Arisen had no choice but to chuckle at the quirky ways of her pawn, but something suddenly came to her realization. Ceres appears to have lived an entire life before coming across her master, having read books and acquired different skills and abilities. Arya shuddered at the thought - living in constant danger and struggle, only with no clear purpose such as killing a dragon. Soon, however, Arya would make sure that everyone's suffering would not be in vain.

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