Armen wakes a few hours later, the midday sun blew light into the window, dancing a glow upon Mariette while she still slept. He makes for the window and leans out, looking upon the townsfolk below, all in their own lives. They carried about as simply as they always would, as simple and calm as Armen often would wish for. Yet he knew that his suffering would bring him closer to salvation. His character would demand more of himself, and only through his flesh did he believe that it may be satiated. Suffering...Suffering built him into more. Suffering as Jesus had, to pay the sins of everyone. Armen, however, was so egregiously unworthy of such grace, that it were upon himself to sacrifice what he might for his sins. Of yet, he was severely lacking in being worthy of the grace of Heaven.

  Mariette gasps awake, wrenching Armen's attention from the street below. He speeds over and kneels beside the bed, his hand pressing into her shoulder to keep her from struggling to rise up. "Now now... Stay yourself. Ye must rest. Worry not, for thou art safe in my care." he reassures her as she slowly calms and her breath weakens back to normal.

  "Armen... How long had I slept?"

  "Only a few hours. Not enough. Please, stay down. Ye needn't wake for anything."

  "But... I cannot stay in bed and sloth about."

  "Ye are no sloth to recover yourself."

  "There is much still to do."

  "And I shall. Until ye are well enough, thou art forbidden from leaving this bed."

  Mariette sighs and lays her head upon the pillow again, clearly dissatisfied, but also knowing the doting intent in his words. Armen pats her shoulder before removing his hand. Unwilling to look upon her, ashamed of his lapsing judgment, he begins to inquire of her wellness. "How do you feel? Is there anything that aches apart from your face? Do you feel any breaks in body? Thine teeth all accounted for? Is there anything that I might not be able to discern of your wounds?"

  "Nay... my eyes are sore and my snout hurts something awful, but I feel that is the extent. Thankfully..." She speaks as though she were unsure of her promise. Something lingered in herself that either she couldn't or wouldn't say. Armen decided to not press further, surely if it were required for her health she would say so. It likely were something that weighed upon her mind more than her form. Alas, only one recovery at a time. He would pry further after she had become well enough that Armen were satisfied in her vigor.

  "I shall return with a fresh pot of water for you." he says as he rises and takes the washbasin bowl, carefully holding it as he walked so he wouldn't spill the tainted water.

  Armen approaches the barkeep and places the bowl upon the counter. "Barkeep. If it is no trouble, I need a fresh bowl, please." The badger nods and disappears into the cellar. While Armen waits at the bar, he hears the light murmur of the patrons within. Whispering in hushed tones as they speak of the latest gossip. Suddenly, Armen feels naked, and realizes that his helmet were still upstairs upon the floor where he left it. He was so distraught for Mariette, that he had forgotten to don his helmet. His face burns with embarrassment as he feels everyone gawking at his fair skin and lengthy chestnut hair. He knew it only served to intrigue them further as they would see his cheeks flush pink, making them peer deeper into him. He begins to tap his foot impatiently waiting, hoping so desperately that the badger would return soon with the fresh basin of clean water.

  After a few minutes of what felt like a week, the barkeep returns, his hands cradling the nearly brimming bowl. He gently sets it down and bows his head, his eyes kept away from Armen's bare face, either out of fear or respect Armen could not be assured. "Thank you," Armen gratefully says with a bow of his head while he takes the bowl from the counter. He rushes back upstairs, still trying to keep the water from sloshing over the sides of the bowl, but not nearly as diligently as before: it splattered on each step as he leapt up two at a time.

  Entering the room, Mariette was about, pacing the floor, gently caressing her face and eyes. Armen scoffs at her, "Mariette! I told thee to stay, and here you wander about the room as though you are fine!" He chides as he drops the bowl in the basin.

  "I am plenty well to walk, Armen. Ye fret over naught."

  "I know not the extent of your injuries. Perhaps your leg is sprained or... hips are... sprained.." he tries desperately to grasp some justification of his worry, but there was little he might say that would be convincing. He simply wished for her to rest, and as he thought deeper of it, there was no reason behind it at all. Armen wished for her to allow him to serve her in whatever ailments, perhaps to make himself feel useful, to force idle hands of waiting into hands of medicine, but there was no need for him as of now.

  Armen gently grabs one of her hands, "Please, sit... allow me to at least help how I may." Mariette looks at him, into his eyes that screamed a need for utility. Her face softens from an indignant pride and into a soft, understanding smile as her ears fold back against her skull, "Alright, Armen. If you need so terribly to help, then I may sit." Then, a moment of shock plays upon her face, her ears flit up in sudden realization, "Armen...your face, why do you show it?" an almost giddy grin begins to pull on her cheek as she looks at the handsome fellow before her, even though she had seen his face when their roles were reversed, since then its appearance had become forgotten.

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  Armen blinks rapidly as her question reinstates his shame from earlier, his helm still lay in the corner; a crown bereft of its head. He turns his face away from her and brings his hand up to his cheek, concealing his visage from her. "I-I am sorry, sister. It had slipped my mind. I...I mean not to expose so much to you, f-forgive me."

  While Armen spins around and moves to hurry and retrieve his helmet, Mariette grabs his wrist and tugs him back to herself. "No!" she protests, her alarm surprising even her, "I mean... No, don't be ashamed. Why do you hide yourself within that barrel? Why am I disallowed to witness you?"

  Armen doesn't turn to look at her, still embarrassed by his facial nudity. "Sister. I... My face is mine and the Lord's. I give it not to the world so that this wretched place may not witness me as I am. My lips, my brow, my eyes, everything of myself belongs to the Lord. I wear the helm so fervently for it is a face that would become unchanging in the stead of hardship. No tears can flow, no fears can manifest, nothing comes of nothing. The visage I bear unto the world is unforgiving, but just. It is unchanging, much like the laws of the Lord. That is why I wear it. Both to keep myself from the sinful whims of life, and to prove a stoic and strong representative of justice."

  "Even in company like mine?" Mariette inquires further, her hand stroking his upper arm and tugging on his shoulder, beckoning his eyes to meet her own. "I am a woman of the cloth, do I not have leniency in this law of yours?"

  With a sudden flash of irritation, Armen whips around facing her, using his arm and shoulder to hide his face from her still, though his eyes burned with something that he were unsure of, "There is NO leniency... certainly not for someone that I would expect more of... Certainly not for you..." even though his words were absolute truth beholden to himself, he unintentionally laced the final accusation with more venom than he had wished.

  Mariette shrinks away from him, her hand recoiling up to her shoulder, a light tremble in her eyes. While she wished not to pry further, she matched his gaze and saw deeper into him more than he would say. Fear? Hatred? Regret? Of what, she couldn't scry, but something had yet to come from Armen's tongue. Mariette watches in a quickly burgeoning defiant confidence as he spins and walks away.

  Armen goes into his corner, returning his helm upon his brow. Mariette, however, had other ideas. She comes behind him and aggressively pleading tugs upon his elbow, "Armen. Hide not your face from me! Please, I wish to see the man that had saved me... If only a moment, I wish to look upon you! Not your haunting metal mask. I shan't thank an armor for my safety, only the man beneath..."

  "Look upon me?! What is there to see? A wretched thing am I. Thou know not of my worthlessness."

  "I know you are a man that is righteous, and judicial. If even overzealous in his task."

  "I am a tool of the Lord, to which I only enact what is called from me. Often, it is great and terrible things."

  "Yet you do it with gusto and vigor of which is only begat of a morally upstanding man."

  "Only as I show you..."

  His final response to her was unexpected. She halts her tongue, aching to procure word enough to convince him to bare himself, but the ominous finality of his tone forced her otherwise. She grunts disappointedly, folding her arms across her breast. "Ye speak of yourself so harsh. I find you worthy of many things, yet you condemn thineself to less... What is so terrible of thee that this self-loathing is justified?"

  Armen kneels into the corner, sunken shoulders bowing against the wall while his head hangs with admission, "I am only a man. I find sin in my thoughts. I am replete with hatred and malice for the entire Earth, let alone the inhabitants therein. I loathe my existence upon this land, and the agony that is being at the hands of the people. I hate this world with everything I can muster. No matter how I quash evil, there is always another worse yet that will replace it. And I must begin again... Ye recall as I had said afore; that I commit egregious acts so that you and the other innocents might never bear such troubles? I adore it. I adore it because I know that whatever I judge is of this world, and I adore that I am given the opportunity to rend it to nothing. The gruesome violence that I bestow upon those I deem wicked, is a satiation within myself that I dare not explore further. My intents, and my works may be righteous, but I do it not for justice, but myself..."

  Mariette holds her tongue a moment, listening to his confessions. Finding his sins to be less egregious than he seems to hold unto himself. Finding words that she thinks would encourage his mind, she responds to his lamentations, "I believe that makes you more honorable than most others in your position..." Mariette soothes, her voice gentle and soft, like a dancing feather in a breeze. "For if being a valiant and judicial man, capable of execution of his charge, is enough in of itself to satisfy you, then you may be assured that you do it simply because the Lord has given thee a mind that seeks such justice..."

  Armen's head lifts as the words strike an unfamiliar chord within himself. "What do you mean?"

  "That you may do it to satisfy a primal urge for violence, yet that violence is only prevalent against villains. I see how you have treated others in their innocence. Thou may not have known, but I saw how thee spoke to that child at the market; being gentle, and patient. Kind. I know more of you than you think."

  "It is hardly notable to treat a child with kindness."

  "But it is notable that the man that cares so gently with children is willing to commit such heinous executions."

  Armen sighs, something in his mind wanted to heed her words and believe them, but he knew better. He refused to become complacent in his standing, in his duty, his life. He looks into his palms, upon the vile hands rife with callouses and scars. Hands that were unbecoming of a proper man of God. Fingers that itched to sin evermore, incessantly gnawing upon his mind that only sometimes were it acceptable to indulge. Hands with devious digits that were capable of more, and even still fell short to be wretches. Only evidenced by himself earlier, when he had opportunity to grope Mariette. So close was he, so dangerously near oblivion. Incapable of piety, incapable of devilry. Useless! Now more than ever; he seemed incapable of anything regarding his soul. "Say what you wish, sister. I admire your point of view, but I'm afraid I will not be swayed by your leniency. Complacency in oneself leads to sloth in their future. That is a sin I vehemently refuse..." he remarks, ignoring to share with her the earlier event that currently weighed upon him.