G
rinning mischievously Paladin inhaled as Feather Head answered in affirmation. But as soon as the vagrant warriors chest began to puff, it was deflated again. The woman continued on with her confessions and excuses. There was a certain absurdity to it all. How she parried his distraction, offering riposte for attack that never came. And with a thrust she would retreat again, the silent clanging of blade upon blade ringing behind her feathers. It was with this thought that Paladin came to a realization. Feather Head was fighting her self. This was the only explanation, given the information he had. The clarion of war, unheard, was not for defense of foreign invader it seemed. But a call to civil war. She did not offer excuses to he, but she offered excuses to herself.
He had thought, in his ignorance of the girl, she to be as she claimed she was. It was a fair assumption, as that he could offer no counter to her claims. It was impossible to know the mind of another. So in this axiom he permitted for the consideration that Feather Head was truly the perfect slave she implied, despite his suspicion otherwise. But now, with her admittance, she had undone her own claim of nothingness yet again. She claimed now, in some tiny way, a personhood. A Will which that blackguard undertaker had suppressed. This was, in Paladin's mind, the beginning of the end. The first knell of her forced servitude. Feather Head, whether she knew it or not, seemed to be freeing herself.
“Innocent!” the third cawed in gloat, its breast puffing in self satisfaction. It had seen what the Norn could not. It had seen what even Pala could not. Feather Head was an Innocent subdued.
~She is not!~ the Lady of White Fire barked.
“Innocent!” the bird affirmed as it paced the girls shoulder with all the haughtiness of a prince.
'Pala. The Norn is just. Your Reason bound to impossible perspective, have you not stated that you cannot perceive the world as mortal? Is this not why the Norn act as your ears and eyes? In this your Reason blinds you. Feather Head is an Innocent. But one of special consideration.' Paladin had a difficult time holding back a laugh as he watched the ghost bird beat its wings and consider a victory flight around Feather Head's head. Turning his grin to the two of three by the window, both of who remained silent, he could see the sullenness in the firsts eyes.
Despite his philosophical disgust in the girls new owner, as well Paladin finding him on principle a immoral, rapacious, revolting monster, the vagrant could not help but thank this phantom man. Through the connection he shared with Feather Head, how ever tainted it may be, he had done what Paladin thought to do. A seed of doubt. His work, knowingly or otherwise, loosing the very tethers he held. 'Fool.' Paladin thought.
The fertile soil plowed and seeds scattered, what fruits would be yielded? Paladin did not know if he was correct in his assessment, but he did know that if the plot was left untended there may not be a harvest for the woman to reap. So his was this. To water and fertilize, to repel insect and crow. To act as the keeper to the young woman's garden. Sitting once again, Paladin resigned to his sacred duty and set aside the thought to add a song. For now the garden wished to talk to a gardener. Though for why, Paladin still did not know. Perhaps she herself knew in some small way of the change, she had stated so, but Paladin thought she would not know what this change was. A garden does not know the season.
“Feather Head...” Paladin began, his voice silken with concern,
“... you seem to be to me, vexed.” Paladin, despite all his faults, was a caring man. But this often would be fault. So deeply did he care that often emotion was allowed to run wild. Ire, frustration, and sorrow all could control his tone, temper, and often Reason. He wished to yell. To rant and rave. To show the Innocent the writing so clearly visible. To fault her a fool, silly, and to point the stupidity of her way. He would not. Such would be a disservice to her and to he.
“Though I fear you have me at loss. You so willingly confiding in me is... troubling.” The warrior leaned forward in his seat,
“In trouble I thrive.” after giving the woman a wink, he sat back once more.
The Feather Head wished to talk. Paladin would listen. But he would not spare her from truth, for such coddling would only be dismissive to her. Taking the long thin strip of folded paper into his hand again, Paladin busied his fingers as his mind raced a marathon.
“You speak that this man, your owner, that he cares for you. And, to be perfectly frank, I doubt so. Consider this Feather Head. Does not a rider shoe his horse? Does not a herder sheer his sheeps? Does not a farmer fertilize his land? For why?” he paused as his fingers twisted the length of paper,
“Because each is an investment. Each an investor to value of property. How can I, as one who does not know the mind of another, differentiate between one who cares for sake of care, and one who cares for sake of... economics?”
“Does he, your man...” Paladin chose the word carefully. He wondered as to what relationship the two had. Did she think him her man?
“The matter is not if he does invest in your well being. If he has even a sliver of wisdom, he would. But the matter is why? Does he feed you so well because he wishes you happy? Or does he feed well because he wishes you healthy? Does he clothe you so well to show others your beauty, or does he clothe you so well because noble linens are your preference? Does he let you read because he wishes a smart slave that might serve better? Or does allow you to read because he knows you take pleasure in the act?” Paladin paused. She had been fearful that he was disgusted, and he wold not wish to show disgust. Nor embarrass what was a shy topic to he. But nor could he coddle.
“And at night... does he aim to bring you ecstasy because it is a pleasure for him to do so... or does he wish your pleasure because it pleases you?”
The paper folded upon itself again, then circled and formed a band with a twist half way through. A paper mobius wheel.
“Regardless of your status as slave... if every one of his actions is not for your betterment alone, for your happiness alone. I cannot see your owner cares. This is, Feather Head...” the mobuis unwound and turned counter again,
“You are blind. You have said yourself that your experince with others was limited to your owner Jamal... a man who was a sadist. Thus far...” again the mobuis formed, Paladin making a careful fold to secure it to its impossible one sided shape
“Can you claim to, at any point, truly witness what caring looks like? Would you consider, perhaps, that as one who may have never witness what it is to be truly cared for... you cannot recognize caring when it is given? And when it is not...”
The warrior looked up from his twitching hand and to woman with molten steel eyes. His tone was soft, warm, and yielding. Like water. Though still his words were hard, firm, and rough. Like stone. He did not wish to hurt the Innocent, but to coddle her like some infant would be a great disrespect. Still she seemed, to him, fragile. This fragility demanded a careful way.
“Do you understand Feather Head?”
Dialogue Color Key
"Paladin." "Norn." ~Pala~
