The day's were short and cumbersome, full of nothing but waiting and the bitter,sweet cold. It seemed this winter would be far worse than imagined, yet she tried not to let it strain her face, for fear more creases might show or another grey lock of hair. Pulling the brush through her blonde curls, she stared at her face, her expression placid, lashes hanging low, and lips just with the slightest of pout to make them appear fuller. It was after she pulled the brush through for the thirtieth time she did pause to stare back at her face, which seemed to grow more gaunt and hollow as the winter progressed. But with such limited food supplies after her house had been ransacked, the fact she was prisoner here and could not leave- in fear of both death from the elements, and from the few men stationed nearby to over see her imprisonment, Lady Helaina Boehman, only surviving blood child to the currently deceased Duke of Ajhfeld, found herself in the grandest of tombs- for the small palace her father once ruled, though decadent and grand, felt more and more like her stifling coffin as she fitfully lived, day after day.
It was too cold to bathe, but bathe she did, in frigid waters to keep her self fresh, and afterwards she had powdered her nose and wrapped herself in so many cold towels until her lips were less blue, but then they would become painted over when it was time to decorate her face. And though her supplies for eye painting make up and rouge and powder were dwindling, she tried to live day to day as close to the ritual of her life from before as she could.
They had taken most of her wood, leaving her with limited supplies for herself, and she had not yet grown desperate enough to use the furniture of the house as fuel. What lumber she did have she used sparringly, and only at night, on the coldest of days. But even still, the hours ticked on mercilessly until even the grandfather clock in the hall ceased, and cobwebs seemed to grow more wide spread, and her palace, nearly buried in snow.
It was the worst winter yet, not only for the fate of Ajhfeld duchy, which fell to the army of Turgall, no less! But the temperatures were well below freezing, and there was hardly a day that passed where it didn't snow.
Several feet were piled high all around the castle in which she lived, making some doors impossible to open, and she wondered if the snows would ever cease. How many months had it been since everything collapsed and went to this frozen hell? How long when she had sent out the letter, begging her brother to come rescue her- begging him to return home.
But as the weeks went on, she grew desperate, and thought for certain she would die here- and there was no convincing herself other wise. So one night,s he penned a letter by candle light, her last candle light (minus those of the chandelier's she could not reach) and wrote an epic to the man she had once loved- Lord Havvick Mason.
It might have been foolish, he was still wed to her sister, yet being so captured in dire straights she even wrote to him- confessing so many things how she loved him, wanted him, missed him and wanted to let him know this before she died. She wasn't even sure if he were alive, but attempted to send this last letter for help-
So that somebody, anybody might find her here...
Alone and trapped inside her family's palace...
Not a soul in sight, just her...
the howling wind...
And the snow.
A lone rider approached the frozen castle. In the distance and in the blizzard, it was but a blurred dot, and the tired trudge of the horse lumbering with every step until they grew closer and closer to their destination. Julius was grateful in the final moments he'd gotten out of the cold. Frost bite was all ready starting to set in, and he'd made it into the rear of the estate. It was strange there were no guards here.
But in the wake of the battle and the sacking of Ahjfield, and the trapping of his friend... Julius had decided to make the journey despite the risk. Enemy soldiers resided everywhere, patrolling the heaping snows, the paths well-trodden, and he took great pains to avoid them. Few people decided to take the risk, no matter what money Julius had offered them.
Only one smuggler agreed, taking him two thirds of the way before turning back. He'd bought the horse, and gone on alone from there on out. He wanted to forget what he saw, the images of ash and dilapidated buildings, piles of corpses being scorched.
It made him sick to his stomach. "Please, Helaina," he said to himself, closing his eyes as he approached the rear stable door, housing the horse with what hay had been thawed out. "Be alive."
Pathing through the snow wasn't easy, and the feet made every step more difficult. He found the rear entrance, and pounded heavily on the door. The sound echoing up through the chamber of the house.
At the pounding on the door, Helaina paused in midstride. She looked around, to see if anyone was around, naturally nobody was, before straining her ears to see if she heard it again. She then moved, with some haste, towards a window to look outside. She could see nothing, just snow. There was always snow when she went outside, and at times, especially in the past few weeks, she had to wonder if the soldier's on duty were even still there.
The banging on the door could only remind her that they were. She moved towards her dresser, checking her face one last time to ensure her make up was still pristine. She then moved to grab a slim shawl from her bedside, and wrapped the silk garb around her arms and began to make her way from her room down the hall.
The only nose now was the clicking of her heels. She thought she had heard the knocking coming from the rear door. Although as she neared it, her stride began to slow. She never locked that door, or any door. She had been... punished by the soldier's when she had tried. However, the soldiers, she was recalling, never knocked and waited to be let in. They knocked and simply charged inside. So there she stood, studying the closed door with a furrowed brow. Uncertain if, perhaps she had mistakenly heard the loud banging, or not.
When there was no response, Julius chewed on his lip, hesitantly reaching for the door again and pounding on it a little louder. Was there anyone left alive in here? He could only hope.
Julius paused before he knocked a third time. He reached for the knob and opened the door, the wind pushing the snow in as it shoved the door ajar. Flurry-swept, he stepped. "Hel?" he called out.
She couldn't believe the audacity of whomever was banging at her door. Perhaps it was a green soldier, of which made her blood boil they'd send someone over so inexperienced and rude. Then again, as far as she'd seen, most soldier's themselves were rude. She supposed most of the civilized men took on civilized tasks during such exertions, however, she would think, even her enemies would remain political enough to send her representatives worthy of her status!
It was her own drowsy, egotistical drawl that held her back from immediately barking out some reply to the fiend who dare disturb her, but as she steeled herself to do so, the door floor open; and she found her fingers digging into her arms, and her shawl, as the wind cut past her.
The figure, or man, whoever it was, was just that- some figment, be them true or not, that was cloudy at best in her current condition and she gave a small tug to secure her shawl tighter to her body. Her expression, though placid, did hold a fiery arrogance and agitation.
"How dare you come into my home in such condition at such an hour, at such a time; and keep the door open for all of Hell's winter to come in! Really, have men become such dogs they forget simple etiquette?" she asked, from where she stood at the base of the grand staircase, heavily cloaked in shadows, except for the long reaching grey light coming in with the storm.
The response echoed in the hallway the wind deafening all around him. Julius rushed into the building, turning about, fur-lined boots sliding on snow as he pushed hard on the door. He fought against the screaming storm, eventually slamming the door shut and breathing heavily in the congealing darkness. Julius turned to face the woman who spoke.
"Helaina," he panted. "It's your friend, Julius. Why is it so dark in here?" The tomb was almost black and contrasting against the frozen hell outside. Julius ruffled the fur against his coat, whacking snow off his sleeves. "Helaina?"
Helaina stood there, saying nothing to the man before sighing and turning away.
"You must be new. They took all my wood, my things, most of my gold. In here won't be any warmer than outside."
Julius fumbled with the coat and pulled out a box of matches, finding it a little difficult with his freezing hands to ignite it, but managing to do so without burning himself. He lit the small wood match, which burned brightly and widely even for a brief time. And he moved toward her, looking at the ghost that his friend had become.
And she stared back at him as if he were a stranger.
"So is that why youvr come here? To use my fire?"
Before the match went out, Julius pulled out the carefully folded but worn letter.
"Your letter..." he murmured just as the match extinguished.
She looked at the letter, and the open seal.
"I sent that to a friend," she went on defensively, seeming not at all to register the familiar traits he had. All she could see was a worn soldier looking to use her and her home in this battle torn land.
"Helaina? How could you not remember me? I'm your old friend Julius. Helaina what is the matter with you?"
"Julius?" the name came off as foreign on her tongue. She looked this 'stranger' over, who was rugged, unkempt and wind blown. Surely her friend would not look so pathetic, even in this terrible winter. "I don't have 'friends' who are.. are... so rough." she told him curtly. To think, he could fool her! But even still, a part of her repressed hope stirred-
What if it was him? What if there was a way out of this maddening place? Or, at least some lighter, well known company...
But she was no fool, and would not just take his word for it as she glared at him.
"Prove who you are then," she commanded.
He winced when the match singed his fingers and the fire went out. There was little to no light to see and he made her shape out vaguely in the small light that came through the upper door windows. But the storm left shadows across the glass.
"Prove myself? To you? You're not the Helaina I remember...that you forget me so easily..." He frowned. "I came as quick as I could I swear."
He sighed and brushed snow from his hair, shaking his head. "How could you not remember me? We used to write puzzles to each other, word games, remember? Tease each other in little poems, scathing retorts." He chuckled. "We grew up together..."
Her gaze hardened as she looked at him, ignoring his pleas as she told him, "Everyone I knew and loved is dead."
Everyone.
"My mother died trying to take sides against your father. She was a traitor...but he raised me like a son anyway. I am your friend Helaina, whether you remember me or not. Feather-brain."
At the history lesson she could have scoffed! Anyone might know such information. And she was about to tell him so when she tensed at his words.
Feather-brain.
"Here's your letter back. I can plainly see this was a waste of my time. Good day, Helaina," Julius muttered and pulled his coat tighter around him, turning back toward the door.
And when he did, Helaina stood there, simply staring off- not to the letter, not to the door, not at anything.
[Lol. This was a short thread. xD Not sure what else he could do to convince her.]
Julius pried at the heavy door, bracing himself against the cold wind and fighting to secure it close behind him. But the gust wouldn't have it and a heavy flurry of snow shoved him back into the house, tumbling to the floor.
OOC: She's kind of lost herself :P He's going to have to try harder than that to get her to 'remember' :P
If the wind or failed attempt to leave by this man were of any consequence to her, it did not show. Rather, she remained still standing there with her letter in hand, and that same lost vacant stare. After a moment, she tapped the letter to her lips and began to pace in front of the now snuffed out fire.
"I wrote my friend this letter. A fool's hand who penned it. He lived so far away he might as well have become a foreigner... and myself a fool for thinking he'd even receive it."
A lot of help she was, the bird brain. Julius climbed to his feet and scrambled for the door, pushing it shut and holding it closed as he sat in front.
"What did he look like, your friend?" He asked, panting and watching her.
She looked at him only briefly before looking away. The question made her frown.
"I... don't recall."
Julius sat up, rubbing his head. "Do you remember his name at least? It seems awfully foolish to send a letter to a man you clearly can't remember."
She glared at him with authority.
"His name was Julius Vanghard, a man of which could be as infuriating as you are today."
"Hah! And I'm sure a man as brilliant as Julius Vanghard is infuriating to feather-brains like you because he's just too eloquent and handsome for you to compete with. Windbag."
She could not believe the audacity this man was spewing, and her eyes widened as she moved a hand to strike his cheek. The cad!
Julius caught her striking hand and gripped her wrist. "That's no way to treat a guest, Lady Boehman. Especially one as esteemed as I."
"Esteemed!?" Her nostrils flared as she glared at him. She gave an impatient stomp of her foot. "You are not a guest! Certainly, you are not esteemed! I would like to see to it that you're thrown out!" But his grip, as she well noted, was impossibly hard and that look he was giving her...
It irritated her to a more personal level.
Eventually he did let her arm go and he chuckled a little. "Still the same uppity Helaina," he said, laughing aloud all of a sudden.
Her eyes went wide as she stepped back, rubbing at her delicate wrists, which would surely were bruised by this brute! But there was still something that itched at her, something that was making it's way through her misted delusions.
But it was that laugh. Not just that it was a laugh, but the manner of it as she looked the man over. There was no way.
This couldn't be her Julius. This man looked like a savage!
Julius smiled and his chuckle relaxed. "What's the matter, Helaina? Did I finally win one of our battle of wits?"
Not able to believe any of this, she took a step back.
"Stay... stay away from me!" And her expression really did show traces of fear. It was too much. This couldn't be Julius... but at the same time, it seemed as if it was! But clearly this man was a devil! She could see the horns, knew they were there!
"Oh don't back down now. Not when it just was just starting to get interesting," Julius sighed and moved toward the antechamber fireplace. There was little of anything to burn, and as she'd said the soldiers had taken just about everything. Still, he had something and he took a book from his bag and set it into the fireplace. It was a blank one, but would provide some heat nevertheless.
Taking a match to it, he set it to flame and he stepped back once the fire took to it. "You look like you need a drink Helaina. You look like hell."
At his comment about her looks, only then did she tense up and throw her chin up in the air.
"There is nothing wrong with how I look!"
"You look as devastatingly beautiful as ever," he said with a chuckle.
And that's when her temper came back to broiling.
"GET OUT!" she shouted, finger pointing and nearly striking him as she directed it at the door. "NO ONE INVITED YOU! AND YOU MOCK ME IN MY OWN HOME! GET OUT!"
He sighed. "I didn't do any such thing," he said and bowed to her.
"Helaina, you always did look devastating when you're flushed with rage."
At that this, she had no idea how to respond. Her mind was in a whirl and suddenly she crumpled to her knees and began to sob.
Julius frowned and rushed to her. He wasted no time and wrapped his arms around her, sweeping her into a tight embrace. "Hel. My darling Hel, don't cry. I'm sorry if I upset you."
Too much had been taken from her, from status to mind. This was just one more thing she couldn't cope with. They had taken everything under the sun. She tensed in his embrace.
"When have I become your darling?" she challenged, eyes shining with tears. And all she could see before her now was the taunting ghost from her past. "I was never yours! We were never lovers!"
"You're my darling friend," Julius pressed. "I cared for you enough to brave this awful winter, those dreadful soldies. I came for you Helaina because you called for me. I'm here now."
So consumed with emotions she shook and grit her teeth at him. And while tears continued to stream down her cheeks, she told him through angered sadness, "You're too late."
"I thought I was right on time," Julius murmured and hugged her close to him.
She trembled at his words and told him angrily, thankfully; "You always had to have the last word."
"Hey, now. Does this mean you...know who I am?" Julius muttered, turning his head in to look at her. He wiped tears from his face.
And at those words, the way she looked into hsi eyes, she suddenly gave him an exasperated shove.
"Yes and I still want you out of my house!" she huffed, and rose indignantly.
He rolled back. "I don't think I can. You see I have a horrid pain in my leg. And in my arm, and in my head and you wouldn't be a very gracious hostess for casting a guest out in such a condition."
Her eyes flared, as did her memory. She gave him another hard shove.
"I won't fall for it again!" Her eyes filled with tears.
The last time he said that to her...
Why could she remember it?
The last time...
He had came into her room... and stole her diary!
"Get out!" but her words were whimpered, and the sobs were there.
He stepped in and shook his head. "No," he murmured and took out a handkerchief from his coat. "Here, for you."
She took his handkerchief with little grief.
"You never listen to me," she said, sobbing into it.
"I won't leave you alone, Hel. You're my best friend." Julius put arms gently around her and pulled her in close.
She continued to weep until she felt her tears run dry. Her head was throbbing, eyes and nose red as she breathed against him.
"How did you get here? I've thought the whole world had turned to ash."
"I had to pay a smuggler to press through the lines. It was a wasteland...all of it burned or ruined, animals slaughtered. It wasn't an easy going, and when I finally arrived, I had to go to great lengths to avoid the soldiers roaming the estate perimeter. I just hope my horse is safe for the moment. Although I don't imagine for long," he said. His hand rubbed gently at her back until she felt secure enough for him to let her go.
"You... Went through all that?" she asked, looking up at him and moving her hand to his to remove it from her shoulder. "You make it sound like you've walked through Hell."
Julius removed his hand and gave her a bit of distance to allow her to gather herself. "I guess you could say I went through all that to get to Hel. You being my beloved Helaina," he murmured, smiling.
Despite her heart fluttering... A little, Helaina bristled visibly.
"I was never your beloved anything."
"Very well, Hellbender. Let's get out of this depressing antechamber," he said after a second, tucking his hands behind his back. "Let's go and warm up. Do you have anything left to eat or drink?"
She looked him over haughtily before huffing through her nose.
"What little I have I keep rationed in the cellar."
And it wasn't much left- which gave her all the more reason to remain grim.
"Then we can share my rations," Julius offered and walked along with her back into the semi-warmer part of the house.
"What I don't understand is, how do the soldiers intend to keep you trapped here with no food or wood to keep warm in this harsh winter and still worry that you're alive?" he asked aloud. "That doesn't seem to make sense."
Her face skewed at his question, and she found herself following him.
"I don't think they worry about my life like you seem to."
"Well, they don't know you like i do." Julius smiled and pulled out a small flask of liquor. "Would you like a sip? It might help you warm up."
She raised a brow and looked from the liquor to him.
"Don't you have anything else?" But she supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. She reached for the flask. "I might need more than a sip," she grumbled.
"Only you would look at the offering with disdain then accept it anyway," Julius laughed, taking it back once she was finished and downing a sip himself. "So Helaina, shall I offer you my handkerchief now to soothe your tired eyes?"
She yanked the drink back and knocked back more.
"Did you come all the way out here to mock me?"
"You always were so sensitive," he said and grinned a little. "Is there anything I can do for you, friend?"
She huffed but continued to nurse at the bottle.
"How about giving me a moment of peace? There's been so much noise since you've come to visit..."
"Okay," Julius murmured and sat quietly in that moment, watching her drink and warming his hands lightly by the fire.
This situation didn't sit well with her at all. And the drink only made her feel more flushed as she rushed to guzzle another mouthful down. However, the second she swallowed a distant roll of thunder shook the ground as her eyes lingered on the southern windows.
It sounded like thunder anyway, and Julius watched her reaction. He would have asked her if she was well, but it was clearly evident that she wasn't. He kept himself distant and only after she drank did he take the liquor from her and recapped it, placing the flask back into his coat.
"My dear Helaina. Why don't you please sit down?" he said gently.
At his voice she nearly jumped from her skin, but she turned to him and obliged, sitting delicately and on the edge of her settee. She worked at smoothing down her skirts, frowning at how filthy they were and muttering things to that nature.
He turned to face her, just so slightly. "Helaina, would you give me your hands? Palms up please."
She blinked at him, wary at first before she obeyed.
He gingerly cradled both of her hands in his, his touch warm, hands widside and strong. He observed her palms. "My, my, Helaina. You're hands...they've changed so much since we last spoke but they are still beautiful as ever."
"My hands?" she blinked, giving him a funny look. "What else would they look like? Just because I'm imprisoned here doesn't mean I'm not a lady."
"Indeed you still are," he said. "Would allow me to read your palms?"
"Read my palm?" she blinked. "What do you think youd see?"
"That's what I intend to find out," he said and gently traced her palms with the tips of his thumbs. "Hmm, you're a strong, independent, fierce woman. You've suffered more than any other woman should, but somehow you manage to hang on... there used to be a brightness to you. You had light in your eyes and they were the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."
She stiffened.
"So you're telling me I've grown ugly along with this war?" she stood suddenly.
Julius just barked a laugh. "Is that what you've interpreted?" He crossed his legs.
"We used to play these little parlor tricks when we were much younger don't you remember?"
"Of course I remember," she went on, eyes narrowing. "But I don't remember you ever implying you thought I was so old."
Her age was a sensitive subject, after all.
"Again, I made no such implication. You're reading too much into this, Helaina," Julius chuckled again.
He turned his hands over and held them out for her to hold. "Read my palm now. And tell me what you see."
She folded her arms across her chest.
"What if I don't want to read your sweaty palm? Did you wash it?"
"Sweaty palms huh? Well you already touched my hands so now my sweatiness is already all over you. Icky gooey sweaty hands."
She drew back in a huff.
"You don't need to remind me." she wrung her hands. "I should look around, to find some water and soaps to wash up with."
"SOURPUSS!" Julius breathed loudly as she walked away. He eased back, crossing his arms over his chest and . Wondering how such a woman could live in such drab conditions.
She had been pacing around the massive, ruined castle for nearly half an hour- muttering on and no about finding some proper soap and water and not having enough clean clothes to last her through the week.