[b]Rurik![/b]

"What just happened?" asked Rurik.

Princess Heron could be witty sometimes, but she could also be a conversational brick wall. Moments like this she didn't wisecrack, she just asked basic question after basic question until an obvious target for ultraviolence appeared or was made clear. Whatever Rurik personally thought, the duty he held to the Princess' disguise was far more important than any (scoff) [i]personal flair[/i] he might add(1).

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And of course, anything he [i]added [/i]would be compounding what was already the worst catastrophe of his life. His role was quite simple; he was meant to fill a hole in the world left by the Princess. Just as a bathplug keeps the water from draining out, all he needed to be was the mortar that keeps the dam from breaking. Every part of him was the right shape for this; he had studied for this, he had practiced the art of oratory and stagecraft just so that he could unlearn it in service to the Princess. He had walked along the beach in long rolling strides, letting his voice rise and fall over the crashing waves, until even his stage whispers were audible over the seafoam. He had thought that someday Princess Heron might wish to give an inspirational speech that united the people and dispelled doubt and uncertainty. When he had met her and learned that was not something she seemed likely to do, he had spent just as long learning how to overcome the power of his voice, how to strip confidence and stage presence from his posture, practiced how to mumble through one sentence questions - because the salvation of the world evidently did [i]not [/i]need his theater tricks. It only needed this girl with the soul of lightning and the decisiveness to cut to the quick. And all that she, who could move so fast, ever needed was time. He could buy time. He could tread water. He could stand where he was meant and say what he was expected until the work was done and it was time for that thunderbolt to strike again. That was honour, that was sacrifice, to be what the world needed. Princess Heron had already sacrificed so much; time and again she returned to the world to save it, foregoing rest and peace. She did what she had to for the sake of everyone, and the least he could do on the world's behalf is sacrifice a little of his own impulses to buy her the time she needed. Simple gratitude, that's what it was. Simple respect. A gift freely given, just as hers was. It had involved training, realignment of his mystical energy, having to unlearn how to draw his Heartsword - all so nothing like this happened. All so that he never inadvertently unbalanced a mystical ceremony, triggered a supernatural sense, never broke character. For all his focus, he had never been able to buy her a day [i]off [/i]with his sacrifice, but he had never added to her troubles, and all the problems he encountered as her were still waiting for her when she finished her other tasks. The idea that he might have broken this ceremony - this moment where Civelia might have enlisted additional help which might indeed bring them closer to collapsing Princess Heron's eternal to-do list into something manageable... What had it been? The dress? He'd known that it was wrong for the occasion, Heron would have known, she always made the final decisions on moments like that - he'd just been so proud of the fade transition. That must have been it, he'd let his pride as a tailor get ahead of his duty - fool! Selfish! Don't let any of this show on your face, veil be damned - use all that stage training for something! All you need to do is stall this out. That's all you ever needed to do. Play the part, no more slip ups. You've waited your whole life for this. 
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