FIVE YEARS LATER

"Morrow," Helga shoved open the door of their cottage.

It was overwhelmed by sights and smells, textures and various clanging. The musty smell of ale creaked in the floorboard, splashed into the woodwork after one too many spills, mixing with a tantalizing scent, maybe turkey, coming from Phoebe's cook top. Helga shirked off her cloak, hanging it amongst the others, the thick tweed one and the one knit of the lamb's wool, and of course, Phoebe's red velvet cape. Tones of autumn hung in their cottage year round, muted oranges, yellows, reds and purples. Warmth, in every nook and cranny, weird trinkets and offerings and mix-matched tapestries. In one corner hung to dry were Helga's notes on what she'd discovered, thick purple ink collected from seashells in a language of Helga's design. Next to that sat was an overstuffed bookcase, filled with books of magic and runes people had traded away to her in exchange for favors. Their beds were shoved into the back corner of the cottage, covered in thick knits and a few scarce furs, next to their small fire place.

That fireplace was about as filled as it could afford to be, with a cast iron cauldron with a bubbling, stew-ish liquid simmering inside. Standing over it, with dirt on her cheek and a smile on her mouth, was Phoebe.

"Where have you got yourself to, then?" Phoebe stood up, wiping her hands off on her patch-work apron. Helga had offered perhaps a fortnight's worth of time to procure her a new one. She always refused, it was her Mother's. Her parents, as far as Helga knew, were still in good health, they merely had a spat when Phoebe came to join her in the cottage. Phoebe had managed to live a half decade without aging a day, young eyes squinting at her in the dim light of the dusk. Her cheek smudged with ash, her hair collected on her head with a ribbon.

"If I answered honestly," Helga smirked at her, borrowing the light of the fire for her oil lantern, "would you worry?"

"Probably."

"Then it best goes unsaid, doesn't it?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes, then reached up into their window sill to unclip the herbs she had been drying there.

Phoebe, like Helga, had a sudden disdain for marrying, for entirely different reasons than Helga, of course. When Helga returned to visit her in the village, she asked to come with her. Now she made her life as a cook of sorts, stewing away and drying and curing meats. She was a healer, in Helga's humblest opinions. Somehow her stews and mixtures brought more life to the skin than any spell of Helga's.

"Have you noticed, then," Helga sauntered around Phoebe, grabbing a ladle to serve herself from the cauldron.

"Noticed what?"

"When the tosser from the guard paraded by today, did you see it?" Helga began the somewhat tedious work of unfastening her boots. She still hadn't developed a finite control over her magic, it could never handle something as delicate as buckles and laces.

"Did he see us?!" Phoebe looked up, alarmed.

"Of course not," Helga scoffed. She squinted at her best friend. "After all these years, you're still doubting my magi-" It had been an accident when Phoebe learned. Helga couldn't help the wary feeling she still had little faith in it. Or trust, rather. Two very similar feelings given different names.

"Sorry, sorry. Of course not," Phoebe rubbed her hands clean as Helga sat on their table. "What was it, then?"

"Seems like the King has come into money?" She wiggled her toes, willing the tiniest bit more feeling to return to them. She watched Phoebe return to the pot, then pause.

Phoebe looked up with a furrowed brow, "what is that supposed to mean?"

"Giant bow, enormous. Strung across his back, probably made of solid silver."

"Has Gerald gotten any better at using a bow?"

"I don't know, but aren't you excited?"

"For what, exactly?"

"I'm gonna get myself a new bow."

"Oh, Helga," Phoebe put a tired hand on her forehead, "for heaven's sake."

"No," Eduardo corrected carefully, grabbing his spoon from him. "That's the stew spoon."

"Will there be a stew?" Arnold asked grumpily, slumping into his hand.

"No." Eduardo told him gently.

"Then why, in God's name, would we possibly need a-"

Eduardo wheezed then, likely at Arnold's irritation, chuckles shaking his shoulders as he slumped into the chair across from Arnold. "Arnold, I don't know," he laughed into his hand, "Dear God, boy, if you spent half the time learning as you did arguing about the rules of etiquette, we could have ended these lessons years ago."

"Stop laughing at me," Arnold mumbled, resembling a petulant child.

"No."

It was only a moment before Arnold was laughing, too.

It had been a long five years as King, or a boy King, as he was so commonly referred to by Thomas, charmingly so. He slumped up, into his palm, staring longingly at the portrait of his mother hung over the fireplace.

"Stop that thought right there, Sire." Eduardo stood up, dusting some dust off the corner of his suit. "Had she been here to teach you, the process would have been even more so hopeless. Your mother had a gift for etiquette the way elephants have gifts for ball-room dancing."

Arnold snorted, a fond smile dropping on his mouth.

He would have loved to have known her, even at all. He had only met her in a moment, a deep hug and tears before he was whisked off to bathing chambers, being promised time to truly meet her, to know her, later. He felt robbed of those few hours with her, having spent them on soap and itchy collars.

He would have loved if his dad had lived long enough to have a portrait at all.

He felt like he had come to know them, a little bit, through his mother's library. She had a gift for archives, and there was mischief in every corner of the grand room. Tomes and records on every subject Arnold could imagine and it had been incredibly frustrating to him that he had to learn to read before he could even set his fingers on any of them. He had done so with fervor, and passion, for the first year there, and spent the four subsequent years pouring over anything and everything his mind could comprehend.

He, of course, like all readers, had a favorite shelf. He glanced at it quickly.

While most of the books in his mother's library were intricate and beautiful, with carefully crafted spines and collected pages, this shelf was not so. The books were hastily bound on scraps of leather with messy ties, the ink was smudged and the grammar was...interesting.

These were his father's journals.

And his words had to be some sort of part of him, didn't they?

Eduardo caught his eye as he looked away from the shelf. He smiled, a slow, sad, quirk of the mouth. "Let's call it quits for today, shall we?" Kind eyes, warm brown and turned at the corners, sunk into his.

Arnold ran his thumb along his forehead, "yes, please." He spared another glance for the shelf.

As deeply as he loved it, and he did, the details of the scandal. Or, scandal to some. A girl meets a shepherd boy. Boy and girl have a child, guess who, and turn it over to the boy's parents. Because, surprise, the girl turns out to be a Princess, who has a father who would never grant her hand to the shepherd boy. The shepherd boy promises to bring value, greatness to the Kingdom. The King asks him to prove it. He tries, relentlessly, for years.

And that's when the story cut off.

Arnold glanced up at Eduardo, thick lines cutting into tired, tan skin. His mother's best friend, her formal Royal advisor, the son of the retired Captain of the Guard. He had quickly become, well, if Arnold called him his closest friend he would find himself smothered by Gerald within moments, but by far his biggest advisor. He knew there was a journal missing, Arnold knew it. Eduardo told him that his father struck a clever deal with a King of another land for the harp, and won. He brought the harp back, and glory, and it was settled, he would be King. There were pieces of the story missing, namely: a giant. He couldn't help but feel hurt by the entire thing. Did Eduardo not trust him? To keep whatever secret his parent's began, or worse…

Did Eduardo simply fear his reaction?

And then, the doors to the library flung open, and in walked the headache of the century. He was doing his asinine walk, more akin to a strut of a proud horse, holding the ornate red pillow, once again.

They had had this conversation before, as the incident had happened two weeks ago. Thomas, the Prime Minister, was not keen to let it go.

When his mother's father was near to passing away, there was little option to crown his mother as Queen without a marriage. This was an outrage to the people, namely: the rich ones, but a haughty board of Dukes and Dutchesses struck a compromise with their former King. Stella would be crowned Queen, and a parliament would form of the aristocracy, and elect a Prime Minister. A Prime Minister named Thomas, who had share in dealings of the Kingdom. And dealings in being the biggest ass imaginable.

"It's an embarrassment, Arnold." He huffed irritably, throwing the pillow down on the table, yet again.

They were having a thief problem, admittedly. Arnold knew it wasn't exactly the best thing for the reputation of his name, that a thief had managed to steal his crown. It was pawned at auction weeks later, scouted by the guard, and currently crossing the kingdom to return itself to Arnold by the day's end. It hadn't arrived yet, and was driving Thomas, therefore Arnold, insane.

Thomas was concerning himself, as of late, with the arrival of royal guests. Therefore, etiquette lessons, and crown mussings, and headaches were more rampant than ever.

"Right, well." Arnold had an increasingly growing headache and was feeling irritable already, then he was getting chased around his chambers by Thomas. Arguably the most prattish, frustrating Prime Minister that had ever walked on soil.

"I've taken it upon myself to grant Gerald a new bow-"

"You've done what-"

"So that he might take this manner to the full extent of the law." Thomas preened lecherously, and how he managed to remain so utterly clueless was simply beyond Arnold.

"You…" Arnold squinted at him, and then huffed away. He paced back and forth in front of the table in the hall. Gerald could barely shoot the bow he had, not that the people knew it. He was, after all, accredited as the Great Giant Slayer and the apprentice to the Captain of the Guard. His lack of talent with a bow and arrow when demonstrated was really quite astounding, and the last thing the kingdom needed to catch a thief was to give Gerald a new bow.

"He, the thief, he took the King's crown, Arnold." Thomas said with a spectacular sense of urgency to a man who could hardly care.

It wasn't my father's crown, Arnold thought to himself bitterly. Or mine.

Thomas took the silence from Arnold as a sign that his statement had taken an appropriate amount of ground from him. "Very well then," Thomas straightened, "reminder that the Sawyers arrive this evening. Please look your best." He straightened out a bowl on the table. "I will have everything set for the engagement in the garden." The bowl was filled with figs. They weren't particularly ripe. Their kingdom didn't produce the ripest fruit, not anymore.

"The engagemen-" He began to spit out at Thomas' audacity but was, as he so oft was, interrupted.

"This marriage will be the best thing for the Kingdom since," Thomas paused, giving him an odd, snide look, "well, you know."

"No," Arnold crossed his arms and leaned against a grand window, "I don't. Will you explain it?"

"Don't be a child, Arnold. You owe a lot to this kingdom to right the wron-"

"Right the wrongs of my parents," he repeated monotonously. "I know."

"Right then, shall we go with lilies for Lila?" Thomas said to himself as he sauntered out of the room, and then laughed at his own cleverness.

Arnold took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly.

Then picked up that bowl of figs and promptly threw it at a wall.

Eduardo, who had sat himself in a corner in an over-stuffed armchair, looked down at the figs, raised an eyebrow, and then looked to Arnold. "Must we take it out on the fruit, Sire?"

Arnold, in spite of himself, laughed.

Helga was stomping through the wood, headed nowhere in particular. She was headed to market, not to be in plain view, mind you- but to skim the outskirts. Her face made it difficult to be seen at all. The scales had not been a temporary problem, and she really wasn't naive enough in the first place to hope they'd be. They remained, dark pink, crawling up her cheeks and down her nose, which was now upturned and serpentine. She was, or felt like, a monster. So she wore her hood low in the market, and went for the edges. There were always the others: hiding in shadows, promising fancies of far-away lands and witchcraft. Only once or twice one had a tome of even unremarkable use to her. Those few books made the journey worth her time. Plus, Phoebe needed thyme, so there was that.

Helga, not so much. So far as she could tell, she had time enough in front of her.

She wished she had gone with a less vibrantly noticeable colored cloak when she was able to changing things at her will. A brown or muted red. Now, especially when she was dropping off rations, she was spotted and responded to with great cries of excitement for "Robinhood!" She would take it, certainly, as excitement is much better than other varying options, but it was making remaining inconspicuous more difficult than ever. And for some damned reason, she couldn't managed to get the cloak to change colors.

Her powers remained mysterious to her, nearly as unmanageable as they ever were. Transfiguration had come to her as easily as sneezing to a newborn on the day her magic came to her. Now, it seemed distant, and impossible. Any time she managed to change anything into anything else, they were nearly identical in shape and size, and it took hours, even under the guidance of the book she had been traded in exchange for her assistance.

Her thoughts, and meandering walk through the wood, were interrupted, by the unmistakable clatter of royal coaches. There were down the path in the distance, headed her way. She could see the lush white and gold detailing from afar. Beautiful, but not from their kingdom.

Because now she was a degenerate thief, and she was also curious, she gripped the bottom of two different trees, crushing a piece of the trunk, and let them fall in front of her, effectively creating a block in the path, and then fled, hiding in the trees.

As the coaches came to a screeching halt, there were only three, far less than usual, and they were more decrepit than distance revealed to her. The paint was peeling, the metal was rusting. The grandest was in the center, likely carrying the royalty themself.

Had she seen the state of the coaches, she might have not caused the disturbance, as she wasn't entirely sure they any longer had anything worth her time. She still knocked down the emergent men more gently than normal, they'd only be out for a few moments, at most. She approached the back carefully, throwing the small coachman at the back of the cargo to the ground, ignoring his groan of pain, stepping into the cargo hold.

It was more dusty and worn than any royal coach she had stolen from before. She still picked through it, because she had come that far. She picked out a small jewelry box from the back, it sparkled on the inside with gaudy jewels, and that was something worth the trouble. She hopped from the back effortlessly, ready to make her escape.

"STOP!" A shrill voice came from behind her, undoubtedly female, and turned, cautiously, around, clutching the box closer to herself.

A girl had emerged from the center cabin. She was wearing a sweeping dress, light green, that fluttered just midway down her calf. She wore an ornate velvet vest over her floating dress, and her crimson hair was delicately braided out of her face, and the rest hung loose around her shoulders. She had the soft, gentle features that Helga had envied so feverishly even before she had the scale problem.

"That box you have," she stepped down. "There's a ring inside of it. It's not worth much, it's got a pearl, set in silver with two diamonds on either side." Helga opened the box curiously. It was tucked away, in the corner, in a wooden box. "I need it. Please. I have to be married."

"Get another ring," Helga snapped the box shut, lacking any real pity for royalty.

"It was my mother's, please." The girl with the sparkling eyes begged. Helga felt her heart stop. She longed to have anything, even a hairpin, of her mother's. She tentatively crossed to Lila, opening the box for her gently.

"Raise your hood, please." The girl asked gently, but with the subtle command of royalty.

Helga nearly snapped the box shut and ran, but resumed her temperament. "Why should I?" She muttered aggressively, under her hood.

"I should like to see the person whom I'm talking to." The girl responded, sounding kind.

Keeping one hand firm on the box, Helga raised her hood. She only really did it to see the girl's face twist up in horror as she approached.

The girl, with a great deal of effot, only had a reaction that consisted of the twitch of the eyebrows.

"My name is Lila, this was my mother's wedding ring." Lila told her as Helga opened the box, "Thank you."

"I just stole from you. I'm a thief." Helga corrected aggressively, practically growling at the girl.

"I know you could have just ran with the box. So, I thank you." She retrieved the box, obviously relieved, and clutched it to her heart. "What's yours?"

The word Helga almost rolled off her tongue. Her old name, the one she despised in the first place. Hell-ga ran out in her head every time she heard it. "Robinhood." She replied curtly.

"Thank you, Robinhood." Lila replied, with one last look to the rest of the jewelry in the box. Lila wasn't wearing anything similar to the content of the box. They were all large and clunky, heavy with gems and crystals. "You're uh, not planning to wear this stuff, are you?"

Had Helga's guard been any less up, she would have laughed. In fact, Lila's amusement at the box caused her to have the tiniest quirk of the mouth. "No," she admitted. She hadn't had a conversation this long with anyone but Phoebe in years, and for some reason she was coming to trust this Lila person, clearly from nobility, in a matter of moments. "I'm not."

She looked up. Lila was thin, thinner than fashionable. Her face was pale but splotchy, her eyes were a brilliant shade of green, but tired. Her hair was thin at the ends, her wrists showed veins. Lila was ill, Helga knew that much. Helga trusted her, for some reason, she knew that much, too.

"I sell it," Helga ran her hands over the sparkling jewels, "and I buy rations for our people." She admitted, noticing how her talons were reflected in some of the larger gems. "Our kingdom is," she swallowed thickly, "not doing well."

She looked up and Lila's eyes were wide, with a mix of concern and understanding. Lila reached up and snapped the box closed. She shoved it further, barely possible, into Helga's arms.

"Then take it." She stated succinctly. Helga looked up into her eyes once again. "As a gift." She told her, small power in her tiny movements as she patted the top of the box. "With my blessing."

Helga took a few wary steps backwards, suddenly worried to turn her back to Lila. She hadn't met a person with kindness in her like that in a long time, and she began to doubt if it even existed at all.

Lila waved good-bye as she walked backwards carefully. She cleared her throat, but maintained her wave, and spoke clearly "you are no thief, Robinhood."

Helga, dumbfounded, feeling her heartbeat in her throat, nodded tightly. Lila smiled at her. She couldn't make her mouth smile back, so she turned, on heel, to run back into the forest.

She was only a few steps in before she heard another cry of "WAIT!"

Helga ducked her head out from behind a tree. Lila had walked over to her men. "They'll wake up, won't they?'

Helga nodded, tightly, again.

"You must be very strong." Lila complimented, and Helga marveled at the girl's ability to make just about anything sound positive.

Helga nodded.

Lila waved again, a clear dismissal, smile once again gracing her mouth, bringing warmth to Helga's chest. Helga stared for just a moment longer. "You have lovely eyes," Lila told her earnestly, and Helga couldn't take it, the girl was too damned strange, and she disappeared into the forest. She heard Lila's laugh, light and full of mirth, behind her. Certain she was out of sight, Helga couldn't help it.

She smiled.

To be entirely fair, it was a rare occasion that Arnold ever exactly knew what to do with his hands, but Gerald couldn't help but pity his friend and feel like at this time he was floundering more than usual.

Lila, his future bride if Thomas had anything to do with it, was every bit as beautiful as it was promised she was when she entered the castle that day. But she was more pale, more frail. She looked down-right ill. She disappeared the moment after she entered, and only came out for a meal.

Her father, however, was warm, and jolly, and they all shared dinner together. Arnold made polite conversation with Lila, who looked no further away from vomiting than she had when she walked in. Arnold made a face at Gerald, who shrugged in response.

Gerald had also never married, hardly courted, and could hardly be considered a confidant in that situation.

Gerald could barely watch, so he made merry conversation with the Lila's father, the King of the neighboring kingdom. He was fascinated with Gerald's new bow. Gerald prayed he wouldn't ask for a demonstration, but the more wine the man downed, and it was a pitcherful, the more likely it seemed.

Gerald turned his attention back to the table, thanking the staff as they cleared the plates.

"Would you like to see a tour of the gardens?" Thomas leered across the table as the dinner concluded. "Master Shortman would love to-"

"I'd like to catch an early evening," Lila replied politely, but curtly. She stood up from the table quickly, helping the young maid behind her reach her plate gently. "Thank you for a lovely meal," she said kindly to Arnold, patting his hand as she resigned from the room.

Thomas looked appalled, but her father laughed, and ordered another round of wine. Arnold shot Gerald an alarmed look. Gerald laughed into his cuff.

Helga had broken into the castle that night. It was almost painfully easy to steal the bow. Gerald was an awfully heavy sleeper. She now had it thrust over her back, and was making her escape. She pressed her back into the wall as close as she could manage, with the bow clumsily pressing into her spine. She could have given the royalty the kindness of waiting till their guests left down. But they had paid their kingdom no kindness in the last five years. Helga had no kindness left in her fingertips for the royalty.

She looked one way down the hall, then the other, enjoying the rush of the watch flowing past, not noticing her in the shadow. She turned to run then, past the doorway.

She was apprehended by large arms and heavy hands, and her face slammed painfully into the floor.

She wanted to screech but didn't want to draw any further attention to herself at the same time. She threw her hands backwards, behind herself, trying to push her energy so her attacker would come off her person. She couldn't focus it properly, and now they had her hands in theirs. She thrashed violently. She felt the holster attached to her thigh come loose, and her heart died in her throat.

She stopped struggling against her assailant and starting wiggling so the dagger would stay with her if she got picked up.

She was grabbed by the back of her cape, choking aggressively, and then her back was slammed against the floor once again. The bow jammed harshly into her back, and she howled in pain.

The dagger fell out of the hem of her dress, and her power was gone.

Her hood fell over her face, thankfully, as she felt the tip of a knife graze across her chest. Wary, unsure. Their weight pressed heavily into her, and she groaned. A hand pressed into her stomach, her arms were painfully crossed behind her back. She didn't know if she could die like this or not. She doubted it, but whoever was on top of her could inflict horrible pain, at the least.

"STOP!" A screaming voice came from down the halls, "I command you to STOP."

Helga breathed into the velvet lining of her cape, knowing the voice was Lila's.

"Princess, I-" her breath caught again in her throat. The person on top of her, was in fact, Arnold. She pressed her face into the floor, twisting her neck painfully, so that the cape might catch her sob. At least he had come out to kill her himself.

"OFF OF HER, IMMEADIATELY, ARNOLD, OR I SWEAR IN THE NAME OF-"

The weight was off of her, and she scrambled to her feet, fearing she looked like a wild animal. She held her hands out warily, even if they were no longer of great use to her. She saw her dagger, but in Lila's hands. She blinked, underneath her deep hood, knowing they couldn't see her face if she couldn't see theirs. She could only see the lower half of Lila, in her sleeping gown, holding out her dagger warily.

"Please," she choked out, voice thin and raspy, "drop the dagger."

"Lila, don't hurt yoursel-" Arnold sounded concerned, stepping towards her.

"HURT MYSELF?!" Lila sounded offended at the mere thought.

Helga let her hand uncurl in front of her, keeping her head tilted low. Lila had seen her face, but Arnold had not. She feared Arnold would take one look at her and know of the sorcery, kill her on sight. "Please, return my dagger."

"Lila, hand that to me, please." Arnold begged.

Lila, seemingly indignant at the idea of Arnold telling her what to do, set the dagger carefully in Helga's hand. Arnold gasp. "Relax, boy-King," Helga grumbled. Her fingers, long, pointed into talons at the end, curled around it, and she then made quick work of refastening it to her thigh. "It's away."

"Right, then." Arnold then seemed to make an earnest attempt at valiancy. Helga found it laughable, as his chest puffed up. She could still not quite see his face under her hood. "Return that bow to me!"

"This bow belongs every bit to me as it does to your captain of the idiots." She said defiantly, retreating into his room, knowing there would be a grand window there. She hurried quickly towards it, stepping up into it, grabbing the side of the pane as she thrust it open. She crouched in the hollow of the window, ready to make her escape. She looked up, to the side, to his grand wardrobe.

On the top of it, sat her own shoe. Glittering in the light. Every girl in the kingdom had tried it on, it hadn't fit. She had heard of the story. He looked for Helga, but the Helga he knew was dead.

"Then you have no knowledge of property." He replied haughtily, and she turned her head so quickly her hood flew up, and behind her head. Her face was exposed, and he recoiled, and thrust out a protective arm over Lila. She grabbed onto it, looking sad, and pitiful, for Helga. Her face was an apology for Arnold's behavior.

Her eyes met his for the first time in five years.

For a moment, she thought about it. She could commit the ultimate act of treason, and end his life right in front of her. In front of her, in front of his probable fiancee.

He'd deserve it.

The King deserved it.

Arnold, the shepherd boy, with rough hands and soft eyes?

She had no idea.

She thought she knew him once.

She thought wrong.

"Your villagers are starving." She pointed a finger out at him from under the cloak, "crops have come in poorly for years, the animals we have left can't eat, and you take what little dollar they have and twist it," she twisted her empty hand in the air, and a twist was created on Arnold's tunic, as if she had her fist balled up in it. "And ring it dry," she tightened it, "and spend it on bows for guardsmen who can't shoot. After, of course, you spent it rebuilding yourself a castle."

She released him finally. He took a heaping breath.

"Step outside of your castle." She grabbed on to the wall ofthe exterior castle, "and stop being so selfish when your people are dying."

And then, she was gone.

"I'm sorry," Arnold said, as soon as the thief was gone. Lila turned to him, surprised, eyebrows quirked up. "I didn't mean to sound condescending about the dagger," he crossed the room quietly, padding in his socks, to shut the window to keep the bitter cold night out.

Lila laughed, then. "It's quite alright."

"That thief has been terrorizing the castle for years now. And now, I will never hear the end of that bow thing." He sat grumpily, un-King-like, at the edge of his bed. He hated being King. He never wanted to be King. Or woo this girl into marrying him with dashing good looks and charming phrases. If she didn't want to marry grumpy, petulant, sitting on his bed him, then she didn't want to marry all of him, and he didn't want to marry her. "I...had no idea it was a girl."

"It!?" Lila sounded mildly appalled, but came to sit beside him anyway. "She is a person, regardless." She corrected gently, sinking to sit next to him. It was horribly improper, and he was beginning to think maybe they could work, after all. They sat together in relative, comfortable silence. His heart rate began to settle.

Then, she began to hack horribly into her sleeve, and he hastily grabbed a handkerchief to offer her from his bed-side table.

"Thank you," she replied gently, resting a delicate hand on his. She seemed so frail.

And that's when she began to speak. About her mother's passing. About her father's relentless feud with his brother, and his family, and how they desperately wanted the throne. That her biggest fear was failing to marry and disappointing her father. Arnold had no way for measuring time, so he had no idea when it began, and no idea when it began to come to a close, but it seemed like hours. Hours of conversation with a girl who listened and never got to speak.

"You shouldn't fear," Arnold politely interrupted, "marrying, Lila," a small smile crossed his face. "You're wonderful," he enthused, running his hand over hers. He tried to keep from noticing how his heart panged in his chest at the action. She was everything he could have asked for, lovely, and smart and kind, and she wasn't Helga. He tried his hardest and failed to keep from sparing a glance for the shoe on his wardrobe. But she, as far as he knew, was gone. Entirely gone.

Her hand gripped his, and she looked up to him, in between his eyes, clearly deciding what she wanted to say. He desperately wanted her to say the truth, the first thing she thought, so he remained steady, still.

"I'm dying, Arnold." She replied then, quietly, her voice choking at the end. "I'm not sure I'd make it to a wedding, let alone," she fell into his chest, and he wished, he wished so strongly he could feel it physically press into his mind, that it were more of a romantic gesture for either of them. "Giving you a child," she choked out, tears seeping into his shirt.

He held her head, cradled it with his hand, and tried to keep from crying, too.

"It has to be here," he muttered to himself bitterly. He hadn't slept at all. When Lila finally quieted enough to sleep, horrible hacking interrupting her dreams, he left her in his bed, and hurried to his parents library. Books on healing had entire bookshelf, and he dug through them, but couldn't place the systems. His table was filled, every corner with notes and books and he was not a step closer to finding an answer.

"Dear God, boy." Eduardo commented from the door, and Arnold dropped the two books in his hand. He looked behind him, so focused on the light of his own lamp he hadn't realized the sun had come up. "I knew when you weren't in your room you had to be here, but what on earth are you doing?"

He told him, not of everything, of the thief or his own incompetence. But his night with Lila, their mutual desperation to be wed. Her illness. He rambled for a good half an hour, before Eduardo stood up with a deep sigh, crossed the room, and shut the door.

"What are you…?" Arnold asked, moving to follow him.

"I prayed that you wouldn't have a time where we'd see this day." Eduardo told him solemnly, grabbing his face gently. Arnold stared into the lines of his closest confidant, grabbing his hand on his cheek, rubbing his thumb soothingly across it. Eduardo sighed, dropping his face.

"Your parents weren't just royalty, Arnold. They were explorers." He explained quietly, straightening the journals on his father's shelf meticulously. His heart caught in his throat. "They were foolish." They were arranged in a specific order, delicately put in place. Eduardo precured a book from his jacket pocket, smaller than the rest, bound in leather, and set it into it's spot on the shelf. Arnold gasped. Eduardo managed to take the books, and shove them back into the shelf mechanically, as if the shelf were always designed to do so. From around his neck he procured a key, which he placed in the bottom of the shelf, and then lifted up. "They were the smartest people I have ever known." Eduardo turned back to him with a grin. The bookshelf seemed to just open, and it was what Arnold was waiting for, for years there. Bright light came through, and he hurried up to the shelf, with wonder, with his heart racing.

Arnold felt a hand on his chest before he could rush down, into the light, into whatever his parent's left for him. "I'll tell you right now," Eduardo warned carefully, and Arnold took the time to step back, to listen to his friend carefully, "I know...I know of a way to save your girl." He took a deep breath. "But you'd need a thief."

His mouth dried out. "I know of one." He replied carefully. The hand dropped from his chest, allowing him entrance to the mysterious place, the source of light. He flipped around quickly, looking back at the library, back at Eduardo. "But how do you catch a thief?"

Eduardo laughed.