Bodyguard 9

With dialogue from @the_realSammyP

Looking back, Alexa would always remember her seventeenth birthday better than her eighteenth. By eighteen it was hard to focus on anything, much less attention from those in court who wanted her attention to mock, flirt or be seen with her. By eighteen she had gained, with Chevalier, object-status. By eighteen Chevalier had replaced Emily as Bodyguard nine. La Chanson was louder now, becoming insistent. Distracting. She loved Chevalier, of course she loved him - she’d been climbing the seven foot automaton since she could climb. He’d been present her whole life, there the day she was born. He was, in every sense of the word: family. Just as she would do anything for Grandmère, Maman ou Papa, so too would she do anything for Chevalier. 

She loved him, so she’d only run away from him a few times - a few dozen at most. With Emily gone, she’d just wanted to be alone. Unlike Emily though, or any of the others, Chevalier hadn’t chased or hunted her, or even seemed to be concerned when she hid from him. No, the most frustrating thing about Chevalier was that he always seemed to know where she was going, even when she did not. There were days she would disappear across the city, only to be drawn to a temple and…there was Chevalier, sitting outside, seemingly unconcerned by those around trying not to look at him. Sullenly turning a corner, she would be approaching the gentle sound of a flautist and there would be Chevalier, dropping coins in a hat. Swing between trees closer to home (very much forbidden these days - she was grateful he never told Maman) and he would be sitting in a clearing nearby, patiently waiting for her to decide she was ready to talk to him.

He wasn’t Emily, but she loved him. So one day she simply sat beside him on a low wall outside the bounds of home, bells pealing in the distance, and sighed. The Song had taken up permanent residence and hummed to the sound of the wind in nearby trees.

“Chevalier,” she began. He tilted a white masked face toward her but said nothing. “How do you know?” The mask didn’t change, but in the time it took him to respond and the further tilt of his head, she could tell he was amused. A cluster of boys her age looked on appraisingly, but her attention was on Chevalier, and she noticed nothing.

“You bear a remarkable resemblance to your Grandmère,” he intoned. One of the young men leaned against a nearby wall. Chevalier likely noted his distance and intent. Alexandrie noticed nothing of the sort.

“Did she come here?” Alexa looked out, looking at the architecture, enjoying the acoustics of the space. The boy, seeing his chance, flexed. Alexa smiled faintly at him and looked away. Victory. For him, anyway.

“Your Grandmère loves nature and music. She has been to all the same places you run to.” Alexandrie frowned at that.

“All of them?”

“Yes, she used to climb that tree. Why do you think it is there?” Alexandrie had heard so many stories about Grandmère’s travels, about the adventures she’d had. She had rarely been told, or asked for that matter, about things back home.

“I didn’t know she was the reason it’s there.” She thought for a moment, her gaze drifting off across the square. The boy moved closer. Alexa frowned slightly. He moved back.

“When she got back, after… and La Chanson was gone… how did she manage?” The masked automaton dipped his head slightly, almost but not quite nodding.

“It was… difficult. Your Grandpère helped a lot.” Her frown deepened and she clasped one hand in the other, worrying at a nail.

“What if…what if she didn’t have Grandpère. Do you think she would have been alright? If she hadn’t met him?”

"I don't know. After your Grandmère returned home for good things were... hard... for her. She hid it well, but we, her friends, could tell. I didn't know what to do. It was like she was slowly sinking into a pit and all I could do was slow the decent, but no matter what I tried, I could not help her out of the pit.

But then your Grandpère came into her life. I was wary of him at first. Many people were interested in your Grandmère for her wealth or her status or her fame. But he was different. He didn't care about any of that. It was… it was like he got into the pit with her and just stayed there until she was ready to come out. So I don't know what would have happened if she hadn't met your Grandpère and to be honest, to this day I am grateful I did not have to find out."

Alexandrie sat in silence for a long time thinking about this. Everyday La Chanson made her more aware of the bounds of the city. Every day it felt a little smaller, as if it was closing in on her - or perhaps she was outgrowing it.

If - when she left, she could not guarantee she would return, but if - if she did, and she failed in what La Chanson asked, she could also not guarantee she would have someone like Grandpère who would sit in the pit with her.

These were the days before she knew Chevalier would come with her. So she said nothing in reply to his words, instead taking his hand. The boy knew better than to try his luck. Perhaps another day.

“I’d like to go home now, please.”

Seventeen

Alexandrie Donadieu was always a little strange. So when The Song first drifted into her mind, she hadn’t questioned it as deeply as any other seventeen year old might. It was her birthday, after all, and nice things always happened on birthdays.

Especially hers. 

On this day, of all days, Maman had allowed her to sleep in, so at first she thought the music, La Chanson, was to be a gentle nudge to get up. Thinking that perhaps she should greet the day and see what was causing the strange music, she slipped out of bed and padded across thick carpet to the windows and unlatched them. Her birthday arrived just as the leaves decided to begin their change from verdant greens to bold reds, so colour greeted her in return. The sun burst from the sky as if serenading her with its light, the air just on the cusp of smelling cooler. Looking out, roses - in pinks and reds and yellows, tilted their faces upward, bushes hiding their dangerous thorns. Beneath her window, thorned climbers curled. Maman knew better than to leave easy escape routes - though Alexa hadn’t tried to sneak out in…months.

Beyond the rose garden, a pond, large and round. Perfect for swimming at the height of summer. Almost too cold now. 

Beyond that? She could see the shining spires and gleaming stone that gave Shining Capital its name. Progress lived here. And so did she. Smiling at the view, the curve on her lips dropped away to be replaced by a frown as she realised there was no one, in fact, serenading her. No instruments outside the window. And yet the music played, distantly.

As a breeze rustled through the trees and caressed ripples onto the pond, the music in her mind softened and dissipated a little, as if it had moved. As if it had moved further into her head.

“Odd,” she breathed, and left the window, crossing to the basin to wash and wake fully. The locket around her neck nudged the basin, and she caught it. Smiling to herself, she began to hum as she looked through her (extensive) wardrobe and dressed - a red summer gown with gold edging. She’d had it made for today. The day was for her, not the family. Still humming, she opened her bedroom door and wandered toward the dining hall. She wasn’t trying to be quiet, and so assumed that if the servants didn’t hear her movements, Chevalier would. If they were trying to prepare a surprise, they would have a lot of time.

She didn’t get far before Emily: a dark-skinned, sharp-featured cloud elf appeared, falling in behind her. 

“You’re loud today, Sanjuio,” she remarked. Still walking, Alexandrie stopped humming, her face broadening into a grin, a bounce in her step.

“You know what day it is, Emily. I’m giving them time to prepare.”

“After last time, I don’t think they would dare try to surprise you.” Indeed, the last time they’d surprised her had been her 12th birthday. They’d surprised her with her first corset and gown, and a ball to attend. Unfortunately, the trellis outside her room hadn’t been thorns as yet. When no Alexandrie had appeared, a great deal of embarrassment had ensured. That had been the end of Bodyguard 3 at the Donadieu house, though it had been the start of the frogs. Twelve year old Alexa thought the foam interesting and washed it off her hands in the pond - at which point she was found, dressed and promptly shown to her birthday ball. 

Incidentally, Bodyguards 1 and 2 had tired of a contrarian 11 year old (they hadn’t lasted long). Bodyguards 4 and 5 were too easy to lose - they couldn’t follow her through crowds. Bodyguard 6 was too directive, and she’d simply despised him; Bodyguard 7 had no fashion sense for the courtly adolescent. Emily was the eighth. Conservatively dressed in a dark tunic and tight leggings, Alexa knew she was armed in some way. She always was. It wasn’t visible though. And despite knowing the elf was constantly surveying their surroundings (even now, at home), any time Alexandrie looked at her, there were brown eyes gazing evenly back at her.

First she’d run from Emily. Emily had kept pace, even tapped her on the shoulder and overtaken her. Before Alexa could think about what to do next, the elf had climbed a tree.

“I hear you like to climb, Sanjuio,” she’d said.

Alexandrie did not want a ninth bodyguard. The eighth was perfect. She stopped, turned and looked at the elf looking, as always, right back at her, expressionless but for the amused twinkle in her eyes. 

“You’re not wrong,” she said solemnly, “I am not easy to surprise.”

“Happy birthday, Sanjuio,” Emily said simply. Alexa frowned.

“You know you can call me Alexa.”

“I’m aware, Sanjuio. I appreciate it.”

“Why don’t you?” 

Emily smiled faintly. “Your father would prefer I didn’t, Sanjuio.”

“But you’re my guard.”

“And I’m paid with his money.”

Alexandrie huffed. “I shall speak with him. That is absurd.” Emily raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Alexa turned and continued on her way to the breakfast room, heels clicking lightly on wooden floors.

She forgot about the discussion with her father, however. As she opened the door to the airy glasshouse in which the family had breakfast, her eyes widened. Maman et Grandmère were there, as usual, with Chevalier stood by Grandmère, a lanky seven feet of automaton. Despite the lateness of the morning, Papa was also there. This in itself was not enormously surprising. What surprised her were the other faces in the room.

The Anvil Heart Company. Grandmère’s adventuring party. 

Squealing, Alexa ran to Marcus and threw herself into his arms. It had been a long time since they had come to visit - longer still since the remaining members had all gathered. 

This would be a wonderful day indeed.