By: This Kind Of Punishment
From: A Beard of Bees (1984)
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— Fratley... – she spoke. Finally, she spoke something. I had done something. My name, the least of her concerns, or the highests of them all. However, that wasn't the only thing she was going to say. She had more, and I wished such. She watches over me, a first and quick glance to the broken tea remnants, then her vision points to me, and prepares to say something, unlike me, who only watch and see her, with the same dull expression of mine, if I could call this by expression. Nothing seems more suitable, or less. Whatever, I'm all ears, and I admit. I'm willing to, somehow. I can't lie to Freya, as she already knew I've screwed up – is this what happened? You seem to be a bit upset, Fratley...
Was I upset? I'm not that kind to be upset, am I? No, maybe not. I'm the one who remains quiet instead. And it's rather easy to give suspicion for the quieter ones, like me, and sometimes, Freya. She remains quiet, on her own, as much as me, even when we are together, that silence remains. But now, after a small talk, less than one talk I say, this silence is disrupted, thanks to me, and this attitude hid of mine. She looked over me, and said. Now I am kind of upset, yet comfortable by those green eyes. Besides the eyes, I am comfortable by her presence.
— And why would I be, Freya? You're the one who seems to be the upset here – and of course, I am lying. Thought, there's some kind of truth in my words. Not in a full state, but a bit of it seems related to how Freya is. She and me had been in this castle for such days. Not a single week had passed, but we stood there. Freya has been struggling to find answers for why I had lost those... moments. Memories of mine, who dissapeared from my mind, or so she says. Freya looks, straight at me, knowing that I was trying to avoid the conversation she pretended to do into another I pretended to roll with. However, her look seems menacing, but somehow, I feel the one who's been menaced is Freya Something.
She seems to be holding herself to not frown at me, despite what I had done. To accuse someone, who had the efforts to turn against all the possible ways of being blocked, departed from the truth, of leading itself into a waste of time, a time that goes on and never stops, is an unforgivable thing. For anyone, and for Freya. Also goes for me, who's been wasting her time into such silly thing as a distraction. Why I kept insisting for this to happen? Why we're both so awfully quiet? Why we are not talking with each other and accepting of our mistakes, first my mistake of judging Freya's acts in favour of my safety, and potential cure for this... this head of mine. Come on, say it, Fratley. Can't say the right thing?... Or do you wish that pathetic look of yours and Freya's face won't dissapear? She doesn't want to do it, neither do I want to keep her doing this. It's wrong, somehow. Wrong for both. That was worse than lying. That blue guy... He would let what I said on the way it is, no matter how... how does Freya feel about it. Tearing her apart... no. Even if I do changed, I'm not this kind of person. Say it.
— ...I'm sorry. I did not wanted to say such thing – there, I said it. Now, say more. Squeeze it out at once – for you, the word 'upset' may have sounded like an insult. You... upest? Of all you had done for my sake, and still do, then comes me to say such thing. Don't feel ashamed, my dear. I should be the one being that feels this way.
— Fratley...
— It's normal to become a little tired – I interrupted. Sorry, but I had to keep going in. I need to clarify the matter – Tired, exhausted, anxious... but 'upset' is the wrong word anyone would choose to define you, and what you had done so far. It's an attack to your dignity. They say you, you and only, spent five years to search a man such as me, such as the knight, for five years... I can't even remember a word... a single word that defines you...
Freya stood quiet. My confession must had affected the words she was about to say. Now, she's coming up with another, I see. And this face of mine still stood the same still of before. But Freya's... There is something come up from her eyes. They tremble, as her left arm raises to touch above the chest, the coat of arms from my homeland, our homeland, as frigid as the helm wore up the head, and cold as the look she gives me, the same of mine, I believe. But beneath the thick metal, lies a source of warmness. That's what Freya seek, and so do I had with that tea. She deviates such look away from me, as I can only see that white hair of her left side, and the direction her eyes look into. The empty area of the library, the darkest corner... or just nothing. They say silence is peaceful, but for Freya and me, is painful. But thoughts grew up with a kind of pain, don't they? Now that I found it... I regret what I had said before. Now, it's up to me to say more, more words to keep away such regretful ones. Now, which word does really define Freya Something?
Well, let me guess which word rightfully fits with you – If there's a word that belongs deep within your heart, it... it is... uh, yes. No, devotion is too much for you, yet less than what you feel for this me. The right, better word that describes you a lot... more than others... is... is... oh, which word do I have to choose? I said. Yet Freya couldn't listen to my words. My lips didn't moved a single inch, alike same Freya. How could I forget that name... Only a few can see what lies inside that helm above her head. Green gems... Whose gems are green to compare with Freya's? Jades, emeralds, verdelites... nothing can be compared to those eyes. My eyes as well. Pale they seem, no expression whatsoever, but for me, they sound, unlike the silence kept shut of the owner. The sound I can hear is the sound of distress, the sound of someone who has been interrupted, the way someone talks when the unnexpected came in. However, the voice doesn't want to harm me, like many had done. Instead, the voice wants to be heard, it calls for someone, and so do I want to listen, not because it sounds gentle, but because it sounds important, as Freya is.
— ...I am optimistic, Fratley – she said, now looking clearly at me, instead of the nothing from before. Optimistic? That is what she said, and kept telling more. Freya needed to tell more – While it seems most of them gave up from you, I still stand for you... your sake. I believe you might remember something, even if you say or said otherwise. I just can't give up that easily. I just... can't.
I won't give up for the sake of others. I won't give up from you... Fratley. I'll do it, for my sake, and for the sake of yours, no matter how hard I try. If there's a reason I won't let you this astray is that I do believe you, at least, can remember something. You do, I know you do.
— Freya... – is that what you think of me? No matter how I dissapoint you, you still... still live for me? he noodled. We both had no words to say, but agreed at least. The look of that face changed. The eyes were open, not fully as mine, but they opened, like when a curtain covering a window made of glass is raised; frightening as the giant wings of a moth. Less than a smile, but I saw a curve showed up on those lips, instead of a line alike the horizon. Even the horizon had gotten some curves, of the hills, of mountains, but my lips just stood on the same plains.
There's always someone at this castle that reminds me of Freya, but none can be compared to herself. This place may be quiet, alike her, but it's neither dead, or even alive, like the eyes of that face, that same face of each day. Those eyes... I noticed these days that they appeared more promimently. This because that helm used to hid such both of them. Now, it seems Freya is willing to show them, despite how they were kept in hiding as before from everyone. They are still kept on same way, well, except when we are on our own. Day and night, this and other rooms and times, they are shown at me, gracefully. Freya allows me to see and do more than anyone can or could do with her, like stare for too long.
Those who look at Freya may notice firstly the crimson of the cloth she wears, but I am one of the few that know she wears orange trousers below that piece of clot everyone mostly see from her. She allows such stare to penetrate beyond the limit of anyone's vision. I'm looking into her eyes now, thought I may look below her face and see... a cravat, a blue one. Cravat... Is that how it is called? Maybe. There is the same cravat wrapped around that neck. I am the only one, besides the mirror of the bedroom, that can see what is under that cravat. I recall that she also wore that coat of arms, and took it out each night. It may be on a light weight, but somehow it's still heavy. No one can sleep with that thing above the chest, not even a woman like Freya. As I may had thought, she doesn't sleep alone, neither do I. We share of the same bed, or anything that serves as one. Currently, we live at this castle. There is a room like many for lodgers to stay, like us. It's nothing alike Burmecia, but at least it's comfortable. I can't remember where that room is located, but Freya does know, as much as she know everything about me, and I know far more than anyone know about her just by the look she allowed me to do so.
— Are you alright, Fratley? – she asked. The tone remained the same, and so did my way to listen and see Freya. She demanded an answer, like a knight demands a fight against another. She sounded serious, yet didn't wanted to. By how far she is serious, she looks older. But that's just the hair acting on such way. In fact, Freya is as young as me. I am older than her, if I recall.
— I am as much as you do – well, if she asked so gently, why not answer? Freya didn't answered on the same way as me. The only sound I could hear from her was the one coming from the feet, as she came near the shards of the broken cup, and holded of the same part I used to hold with the finger of mine. I noticed that mostly the things Freya do interact with she does with the left hand, whereas I do with the right one. Interesting... I don't think anyone had the time to perceive such thing, like many Freya Something does kept locked to herself, away from the others, except me, whom she cares most, as seem with the worry she felt after I broke a single cup of tea.
— Fratley... – Freya said my name, as briefly she turned in silence to show me that same shard of the cup I dropped. – Are you really alright? You seem awfully quiet, for someone standing near those cracks, as if she saw my blood between those shards. The carpet, alike that outfit, is red, yet I can't see mine, or even remnants of his blood on both – the tea... You drank it all – she said, looking again at the shards on the floor. They are me, as well. I was the one who broke of that fine piece of porcelain. Alexandrian porcelain, to be served with any tea.
— Yes. I guess I did – there's no smudge over the floor, just the small and big pieces of what was once an entire cup. I drank everything I could take from that. The tea had flavour, so do I took it all. Besides this tea and only, another remained on the table. A taste of flowers, alike lettuce between the teeth, remained on my mouth. White flowers; chamomile, isn't it? Freya... she didn't drank it. It was for her. They made it for her, not only me. Pairs... tea... cold... Freya...
— Did you said something, Fratley? – my whisper, somehow, reached into her ears. Doubts remained into her head, like mine. Why I whispered her name, of all names? Is that the only name I know about, besides mine? Her name...
Freya... I said, in a whisper. Even thought it was only a whisper, it was and sounded formal, alike in a conversation, though, if it truly was this kind of formal, why didn't I looked into her face? At least, she looked at me. Like her, I also wore a helm, a hat to be exact. Like Freya, I don't usually took it our, but it seemed now that I agreed on taking it from the top of my head, and put it over the table. Strands of yellow, a pale yellow of a colour whose name I forgot, thought Freya may know it's name, become not only the visible thing once hid, but my hair as a whole has been showed, besides the ears who came from twin holes of it. I also share of a green in the eyes, thought not the same as the ones who belongs to Freya Something. The one greens I see... I must spoke to them... to their owner.
— Freya... – I said, once again, I guess. But now it's for real I'm going to speak of the matter. I'm looking into her, above me as I sit on this same chair, who did nothing, besides allow me to sit above such pieces of wood. Freya had no time to sit, she only stood on her feet, as always. No time to sit? What's wrong with me? I'm putting my lips to do the words, and now they don't seem to show up so easily as she does.
— ...What is it? – once again, I heard of my name. It was hidden from her words, though. The voice who said it was rather in a different tone. The speaker was the same, but the voice... I know Freya is a serious one, but sometimes, she let herself to be opened. She doesn't seem to do the same with other people, not like this. Not with this tone. Not with this shiver. Not with these eyes. Not without the hat. Not with anyone else. Only with me, Fratley, and only, as it seems.
There's only us in there, at this room, right? I know I had no time to drink of the tea with you. I have no time for such. I don't. You already know why, don't you? I know. I know. You're working so hard. So hard for me, his possessions... his sake. My sake. But... can't anyone else do it as well? Why only you? I admire the work of yours, Freya. It seems nothing can stop now, except... me. What about you? Your life? Are you dependant of solving of this problem and only? Freya looked at me, and as usual, said nothing. She pretended to say something, but as soon as she allowed herself to be overcome by same silence of mine, I heard nothing, but footsteps. A slow walk, then, a pair of claws came up to my shoulder, to hold such tightly, yet not so much, but enough to be felt by me. That was Freya's left arm, which seems to do most of the actions of her. With both hand and arm, came the words out of such once quiet mouth.
— I...I can't live. I... I will only truly live... when this all be over – she spoke, with a look of sincerity, the one who seems to belong mostly to Freya, and the things that say she is such person – I fought so many battles. Many followed by people whom I call by allies, and uncountable ones on my own. Alone, like now. I won some battles, while others I felt, in the ground, in the air, in despair... not only me, but those whom I had been following. Those battles are over, but this one... it ain't over yet. Fratley... could you ever live after you saw someone in a worse condition than yourself? Don't answer me, just think and answer to yourself. You may find what I think about those moments I spent, like the ones on this library.
And so Freya Something had said. As she turned against me and crouched near the cracks of the cup, I thought for myself, and only. To deal with the problems of others... Problems that first you don't hold on yourself, but later let them become ours. This day, the day before this, so many days before those I mentioned... I thought for myself if you could stay with me during such times. You spend so much of the time on that book, talking with people other than me. People who say to know about me. Do I know... about me? Don't? Why? Is that my problem, the one you seek for a solution? Freya? Yes, that's right. I have a problem. We have problems, and who does solve them, if ourselves can't? I wanted attention. There are people who need of attention. That's their problem; my problem. For this attention I needed, I led Freya into this. Now she decided to clean the mess of mine, my problem. She took out that helm, once filled by that white hair, and planned to fill it with such white cracks. To where they were supposed to be discharged, this I didn't know. Not even Freya, I guess. She may guess, but I don't know what is within her mind, but she does know what is within mine. Not the blank they speak of, but there is something in there. Something that makes me alive, like the rest. Like Freya. The thing that makes her alive as well.
I get up from the chair I was sitting all along, just to watch her taking the cracks, few by few. I can't stand on my feet. My legs... both of them. They feel numb, so I sit in the floor, cross my legs, sit above the carpet, in front of her. With both hands tied into the ground, and the tail on my back slowly flowing into left and right, she allows such closure, such gaze, from such as me. For me, or for her, Freya decided to clean of this sudden happening caused by mine, but she looks over it as if it was her who had done, who had been anticipating for the fall of a single piece of porcelain, now spread into more pieces, of same and not same sizes over the floor. The lady picks up the ones shards she can, holding them each on a position so her hands can't be cut by those pointy locations. Noise couldn't be heard, beside ours, and only ours, and only made by ours. I know she did went cut, after all the efforts taken. I could see it happen, that was supposed to, with both eyes of mine, who could see something, alike a bubble, from the tip beneath her claws, atop the fingers belonging to same hand. The right one. With a small portion of blood flowing from the inside of two of her fingers, I felt sorry for Freya, for all I could have done instead of her, but instead, I said a kind of 'thanks' with a smirk. Yes, a smirk. Who would show the teeth of a smile for another after seeing the same someone struggle for you, and end up bleeding?
A smirk was enough, I guess. Enough than words. I could have said 'thanks, Freya', but that wouldn't be enough. There is no such compensation for me to give to Freya, not even that smirk was enough. But I did smirk, and I don't see how relevant it is such random smirk. I could have said something, but I guess it would be better to remain of this silence. Not the silence of before, but a kind of silence. Now... Did Freya saw it? The smirk of my face, the same face? Yes, she did. ooked over me, as carefully she moved the last piece of what was once a cup into the inside of her helmet. Now that I remind there are two cavitys in front of same helm. Alike her eyes, but there are no colors, just the hollow of its inside, black as coal. A helm as red as the blood of Freya, as red as the uniform she wears, a red unlike her pants, no, trousers. Forgive me, if you can hear me, or see me, Freya... Freya... She has a surname, does she? Is it... something... alike... like... Freya, Freya... no, wait. Look at her, and deduce. She is Freya, right? Freya... what? White hair... green eyes... orange trousers... spear... spear!... What? spear? I don't see such. Oh, yes... Freya carries on a spear, she left it on the bedroom, somewhere else than her back. Back? Yes, when her hands are tired with something, where does she put that spear? On the back, but how? I know the why, and... that coat of arms. How is that sustained by Freya? Attached to her...
There is a pair of buckles seemingly jutting out, or rather, wrapped in front of her, holding of the coat of arms, and at her back, which she uses to carry on the spear. How much tightened they must had been this and other days, I think. To have to carry both weights, above, in front of, at the back, must be... kinda unpleasant, and so does the first look mostly they see from Freya. If they were on her place instead, who would not be into such mood? But, as you know her, you see she is like any other person. Other person... Freya is a knight, isn't she? The armory she carries with her, the way she stands, bearing of such weight, and the expression of her face sometimes resembles the same of... a person who fights. A knight... I know not all the people who fight are knights. There are some who fight because it's some kind of a sport, there are others who use of same force to attain something for personal glory, but Freya... There is some kind of noble attitude in regard to what Freya had done until now. Is it because she is a knight, a knight from Burmecia?
There is a pair of wings on her helm, I see. On the back of her helm, the knight helm. A wing... a wing... birds... knight... wings... dragon... knight? Dragon Knight? Knight Dragon? Freya... is she a Dragon Knight? I suppose she is. She can fly as one, she can be as fierciful as one, but unlike dragons, Freya seems to care for other sakes. That's the reason why she is a Dragon Knight, not only a dragon, nor only a knight. There must be a mirror at the bedroom, so I can see my clothes to compare later with Freya's. But the matter here now is not me, but the one I see. She must be a knight, I know she does. If there is such dignity, the way better kept is by preserving it on the way a knight does. But... what is her full name? All I do know so far are things unrelated to such matter. Fratley... why don't you ask her instead? Who is there to relief this pain of ours more than Freya? So, do ask her. No. No, I can't. Freya seems occupied with something. I don't want to disturb as much as I had done, at first place. Let her be this way. Also, if she is occupied, she won't be able to see me, and I won't see such face.
This way... If there was another. Another way to know who Freya is. Should I let another cup share of the same destiny of this one? No. This time, I was lucky I didn't end harmed. Only Freya did, for the sake of me? We both went harm, but only one was able to show the wound to another... or to prove something to another. Something that knight would understand, but me? Who am I, compared to his? Do I deserve the care of this lady, his lady? As soon as I remain like this, like his, maybe yes. Oh, can't I do something, only be a witness to her side? What should I do? Remain like this doesn't sound amusing anymore. Never did. Who would think of watching someone's efforts and enjoy as they even cut themselves in the end?
I should have been the one who went cut, instead of Freya. I should have been the one to be cleaning of this mess of mine. I should have been like... his. They say I was. I was... a knight. That knight. Freya is a knight, she knew about that knight, who he was... I was his. But... why? Why can't I remember? Why can't I act like his? Why can't Freya realise at once I'm not his, even thought she keeps insisting. Others do no insist like her, because... because... Optimistic? Yes, Freya said she was. She is optimistic, while the rest seems to have gave up from me, that me, or so do I think. She keeps in, trying her best, all for the sake of mine. Admirable are such efforts, thought... had I ever gotten such efforts like Freya has with me? Or did I...
"...Listen..." "...you..."
"...I... love..." "...hurt... you..."
...No. No, I would never think of saying such things. Did I? Freya?... Did I told you to gave up from myself once? Two? Three? How many times? The rest insists on stopping you, your efforts. So did I. While one part of me say 'yes, keep going', the other once said 'why don't you rest?' Maybe I did said, but I had a reason, a good one. That time... what did I said to you, Freya... Freya? She's gone. Guess she has left for another place, on this same castle. Don't know where, but there may be a place to dispose of such thing that became trash into my hands. I stand on this same posion. She might return, like always she does. Always... she. What she does... Freya... Freya...
"...Listen..."
"...I think..." "...you..."
"...I... love..." "...love..." "...yourself..."
Does she... love me? Why? I do not know who Freya is, but I know she knows me. She cares for me, and I do care for her. Not on the same way, but we both feel it. To be taken care, or to offer care... to be near the other, to be the other. I am no friend, no lover, then... who am I to Freya? Who is me for her to take care, for her share of love? Is there anyone else for Freya to love? That knight... she loved him, didn't she? She still loves him... on me. She used to miss him, until I came to her, did I? How so? Why? What we both saw on each other to be kept this close? What she saw on that knight that she sees on me? Me... used to be his. Over? Is it... over? No. Please, no. Does I... Fratley... still love her like his, does I? Yes. Please... yes.
"...Listen..."
...Listen. The door. I heard someone open the door of the library. No, it wasn't someone. Freya... yes, I know it was her. Only she, and nobody else than her. Freya needed to return to the place she left both of us. Me, and that book; that ''dreadfully boring'' book. Not that I like to read, sometimes I do, but Freya... Yes. She still ain't familiarized with such, unlike this place we are, this land we stand. There, at Burmecia, home, is different from this place in many ways. The only thing that resembles this place and the home of Freya and mine are the clouds, that do not appear permanently in the skies, opening themselves to allow the sun to shin, and a few of us, who live here and other places, besides home. I needed attention. For some reason, I needed of such, that only Freya would be able to offer me. And offer that book, besides me. Now that I'm standing on my both feet like her, wearing of this hat of mine, like she wore once again that same helm, I walk downstairs, aware of what I am about to say. Yes, I am. Still occupied... No more occupied, I see. Now, it's my chance. Not the first, and I don't know if it'll be the last one, but given this time, this opportunity, I am going to ask her, now that I can see her face and eyes, and the same for her.
— Freya... – I was about to say 'thanks', but I had none of them, or even a reason, to say that. Even if I uttered a single one for her, what would be the results? I did nothing, but stare and worry about Freya, and the shards who had cut the tip of her fingers. The fingers of Freya... the... did you forget her surname? You did? Maybe I did. Many call her by that surname I forget, althought mostly they prefer to call Freya just by the first name. She also calls me by Fratley too. Lost by an only word, this Freya looked throught me, as if she already knew what it was meant for me to ask her, and what answer she would choose.
— What else is bothering you, Fratley? – she asked. As if I had been given a task for her to realize, instead of me, it may be tough to ask her about that, but... it's needed.
— ...What else? Ah, yes... – I'm ready to ask you this. Don't look at her as if you're sorry, Fratley. Just... ask – I wonder... what is your other name, you know, the one that came besides this Freya of yours... I'm sorry, but I forgot this other name – see? Did it harmed you to ask? I'm struggling to not forget such name of yours, Freya, nor this name of mine. Most people I heard had an other name, like that thief who became a king, or sort of, has a 'Tribal' on the back of his name, or that cooker, don't know if it's he or she, but there is a 'Quen' alongside the name of he, or she, whatever. I also have another name that comes closer to this Fratley, so does Freya.
— You mean... my surname? – she asked, and I could see a sparkling in her eyes. Sparkling... yes, or maybe. I don't know what I saw, besides a blurred image of my reflection, but it was more than a mere look those eyes gave to me. Besides the look, they wanted to give me an answer as soon as they could, but they couldn't. She looked a bit dissapointed, seeing how those eyes suddenly were kept close. Freya was tired of looking, since she had been focused on that book and only, yet those strands always seemed to be above her face. I thought their pages would be white, instead of being smudged in by a coffee alike texture. As usual, Freya spoke with her distinguish voice, on the same tone – You have no need to worry anymore, Fratley. Just for you to know, I am a Crescent. Freya Crescent, if you prefer – Crescent... Freya Crescent, or is it Crescent Freya? Either way, both sound alike. Crescent... sounds better than Something – And yours is Irontail, just so you know.
Irontail... Fratley Irontail. At least, sounds better than Nothing.
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