"I cannot claim to do so!" She shouted back, losing her cool. "I cannot, for I tried, and it did not happen! You accuse of madness, but I accuse you of the sa, Ser Patrick! You put on the burden of having healed you, but even with the accursed power, I did not manage it. If I had to guess, it was you yourself that did so – you no doubt uncovered sothing by your loneso.
Perhaps you react to my power as I attempted it, but I assure you, a thousand tis over, that my foulness had no hand in what happened to you."
"And what has happened to , Princess?" Oliver said, his voice just as loud back. "An incorrigible sickness that even you can't identify, with your power, as well read as you are. How many sicknesses has that been the case for? What things have you struggled to heal?"
"Ah," Asabel sighed, growing sadder. "Those words reveal an inflated image of , sweet knight. Yours is not the only sickness that I have failed to cure. Power that it is, it is weak. As is my knowledge. It's enough that it so cruelly gives an edge over others that try their hand in the sa field, but it is not enough to truly save the lives that need saving.
It is a blight, and an evil, and even though it failed you, you've seen through ."
"How can you claim it a blight and an evil when you so freely admitted it?" Oliver said. "What sort of evil is so forthright and honest?"
"I cannot choose to rid myself of this power, no more than I could choose to change the colour of my eyes. My choices otherwise govern how I might act. As justification for my cowardice, and my refusal to turn myself in, I have told myself that if only I hold my morals to good account, then perhaps I might be allowed to live a little longer," Asabel said.
"I had thought that, perhaps if I aid to do as my dear Uncle did, then I might have lived a little longer."
"Lived a little longer?" Oliver said. "This church that you so believe in – you imply that they'd execute you, for such a gift? For the blessing of healing? Is that what you surrender to? I would not. Not to that.
If you would throw yourself down at their feet, and allow them to pass judgent, then I will pass judgent on them, whether or not I have the right to."
"Oh, dear Oliver," Asabel said, smiling gently at him. "If we had t earlier, I do believe that those words would have convinced . But Claudia's Church is to this kingdom what my uncle Arthur was to . It is the very backbone of this country – it is the very reason that we have continued to hold strong for hundreds of years, and birthed the heroes that we have.
Under Claudia's Blessing and guidance. No other. We surrender to her. As a Princess of this nation, to have risked such a precarious balance for sothing as fleeting as my own life and reputation – I have done nothing but sin."
Oliver could listen no more. It was madness to him. Drivel that he could never understand. Espousing the likes of religion as a reason for which to fear a power that she'd been born with? He couldn't understand it.
He'd spoken to the fragnts of those great beings that were worshipped as Gods, and he didn't see or hear anything from them that could possibly encourage a young girl to be so ashad of what was most clearly a power for doing good.
"I do not like it," Oliver said, his voice quieter now, and more dangerous for it. "I do like these traditions, odd as they are. To hide Blessings – I have endured it, for it seed logical in so parts, whilst so vague in others. Still, what harm could I cause, I thought? That was endurable. The likes of this.
You fear for your own death because of a power that you were born with? What of talent? What of your Uncle Arthur? Do you not think he was likely born with sothing special, sothing that eclipsed all others? A power of his own?"
"Oliver," Asabel said, angry now. "Do not speak of Arthur like that. Do not degrade his accomplishnts."
"Degrade them? However so? It's your definitions that degrade them. If it turned out to be true, would you too cast him aside?"
"Oliver!" Asabel said, shouting again. "You will cease to speak."
"You command m again, do you?" Oliver said. "Even after that show of weakness, you command ? You all but ask to turn you into these madn, and then you command to stand down, the mont I try to speak sense?"
She flinched. "I… I leave it in your hands, Ser Patrick," she said eventually. "I trust that you will do what is right, and turn in, for I do not have the courage to do so myself."
"And what will you do whilst you wait?" Oliver asked, bitterness in his voice. "What is it that you mad nobles do?"
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"You again speak as if you aren't one of us," she said sadly. "You seem as alone as I. Until it cos that you put in the chains I deserve to be in, I shall do as I have spoken that I will. I shall build what I can, as hurriedly as I can. For of all the houses, even the Pendragon, it's the tiny House of Patrick that has never forgotten its honour. I do not think you will forget your duty."
"I am not one of you," Oliver said. "You have assured of that, Princess. Just when I see sothing human behind your eyes, I find that once more I will never be able to truly understand your ilk. Fine, you may wait for it – but you will be waiting as long as you wish."
"I do not think so. That is not the man that I think you are."
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