Male A Knight's Work Never Ends (Zacharias Barnham, Professor Layton/Ace Attorney) -- PART 2/8

[SterlingSilver]

A/N: Well, I’ve just finished playing Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright, and I have to say, it was a really good game! As a long time Layton fan and someone soon planning to dive headfirst into Ace Attorney, it was a fantastic experience. It’s just the sort of game I like: compelling plot, fun characters, mentally stimulating gameplay, and super-smooth animation! I just had to write something about it!

So I wanted to try and make this fic a balance – enjoyable for people who have played the game, but also understandable and not spoiler-filled for people who haven’t played it and might someday. I hope I did a decent job.

Here is our victim guest this evening, Inquisitor Zacharias Barnham. Cute, right~? He’s the leader of the knights – (*infatuated sigh*) – and is something of a celebrity in the town he’s from, Labyrinthia. He’s serious, dedicated, and considers delivering justice to protect the townspeople as his most important task. Some events late in the game have inspired me to write about him. It’s been a while since I’ve written a fic like this, so here’s hoping I’m not too rusty.

This is meant to take place before several months before the start of the game. There will probably be some implied Barnham + Darklaw. I have no idea how frequently I will be able to update, but I do have the whole fic planned out. So here’s hoping I get it finished someday soon *^*

Enjoy~!

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A Knight’s Work Never Ends

I. Prologue

For what seemed the hundredth time since sitting down at his desk in the stately, dimly lit Inquisitors’ Hall, Zacharias Barnham sniffled.

And for what seemed the hundredth time since she’d sat at her desk across from him, High Inquisitor Darklaw sighed.

In the back of his mind, Barnham laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of his over-zealous new recruits. Two days ago he had taken it upon himself to conduct the training sessions, rather than leave them all to the Captain. Unfortunately, sometime amidst practicing blocks in the rain, being shoved into the moat, and one of the squires accidentally locking him in the Deathknell Dungeon for almost the entire night, Barnham suspected he’d caught a slight chill.

Only slight indeed.

He could not afford a day off from duty, not with another suspected witch slinking around town somewhere, wreaking havoc. As Inquisitor, it was his duty to lead the knights in the investigation. Darklaw had her hands full with another Storyteller parade to take place the day after tomorrow, and had tasked him with the expectation he would have the witch apprehended and on trial before such a time.

Barnham narrowed his eyes at her from across the room. While he would never complain or ply for sympathy, this strict deadline could not have come at a more inconvenient time. He could not risk a day of rest, despite the dull prickling of fatigue behind his eyes and gathering weight of his sinuses. Today his armor felt heavier and chillier than usual – enough to make his bones ache.

Feeling his nostrils pulse, irritated by the crisp air in the room, Barnham quickly rubbed his nose with the cold, sharp edge of his steel gauntlet. The metal was doing his nose no favors, chaffing the delicate skin with a sting that made him flinch despite his usual stoic weathering of sword blows and strong fists. Pain morphed quickly into an even more formidable tickle, one that Barnham couldn’t itch away, and he sucked in a soft breath.

“Hm?” Darklaw intoned, glancing up from her paperwork. “Did you say something?”

“No, it was nothing,” he grunted, uncomfortable with the idea of displaying any sort of weakness in front of her. His voice was already gritty, low and muted, its usual resonance lost somewhere between his dry throat and his stuffy sinuses. Talking accentuated the soft hum teasing deep in his nose. Barnham gritted his teeth.

They both fell into another silence, only the scratch of quills and shuffling of papers interrupting it. As well as another one of Barnham’s increasingly liquid sniffles. The tickle was coaxing his nose to run. Twitching his hand toward his face, he thought twice about crushing his nostrils with the hard, grooved edge of his gauntlet and instead indulged in another powerful sniffle

He straightened to attention the moment Darklaw cleared her throat across the room, eyeing him reproachfully. He did not miss the slightest smirk of her lips and felt his face flush with heat.

She returned to her work and Barnham endeavored to do the same, but his nose twitched treacherously, that elusive tickle drawing his breath at last, and he pinched his nostrils shut with the cruel cold grip of his armored fingers.

“.. hh – gxt!’ss..”

“At last,” Darklaw sighed, relief in her voice. Though Barnham could not quite open his eyes, caught in the throes of a furious, residual tingling in his sinuses, he could hear the gentle mockery in her voice. “Oh? Another?”

The second one bested him, and considering his attempt at previous discretion had failed, Barnham lowered his hand to brace on his desk, allowing himself the pleasure of a deep inhale, before venting a lusty, “ – HIZSSH’ue!” to the side, toward the floor. It was not until he eased his eyes open to the sound of scorned barking that he realized he had aimed that particularly strong sneeze at his poor dog.

“My apologies, Constantine,” he said, sniffling afterward in a bid to control the sudden nuisance of a runny nose. The little pup settled after a few more yips, giving himself a shake that was ambitious enough to make his toy helmet rattle. It inspired a smile from Barnham that was quick to fade once Darklaw spoke up.

“Barnham, do you not have a handkerchief with you?” she asked, weary and unimpressed.

Scanning his desk and checking his armor yielded no results. He thoughtlessly passed his gauntlet beneath his nostrils as they flared with another sniffle, and winced as he caught his skin against a groove.

“I…must have forgotten.”

While her placid, cold expression did not change, Barnham had the distinct impression she was scrutinizing him. Soon she stood, crossed the room, and extended a dainty, dark indigo swatch of cloth that almost perfectly matched the shade of her hair.

“Take mine,” she commanded. “I cannot bear to watch you substitute with your armor.”

“But, I – ”

She waved it in front of his face, impatient. “No excuses. We haven’t the time for them today.”

The High Inquisitor had the uncanny talent of disarming him in only a handful of stern words. Finding neither an error in her assertion nor any further argument of his own, Barnham dropped his head in a reluctant nod. He received her offering, careful not to brush her gauntlet with his. Once it was in his grasp, however, Barnham froze. Her timing was unfortunate or serendipitous, depending on the perspective.

Beyond his control his nostrils flared open, accompanied by an uncertain blink. His expression began to crumble, helpless to the sensation of the rising sneeze. It felt as though a tiny flame were flickering deep in his nose, growing in strength and size. Barnham fumbled the handkerchief to his face. He could not hope to deny what was coming, it was too swift –

“..hh’EHSSH - !”

He muffled it into the handkerchief. What relief he gleaned from it lasted merely seconds. His next inhale lifted his chest, armor creaking, and he powered through his next sneeze with even more force.

“..hd’IZZSHUU!”

That seemed to extinguish the worst of it, but Barnham could still feel the embers of that tickle smoldering somewhere in his sinuses. Should he provoke it, he absolutely would sneeze again. A few clogged sniffles were followed by a ragged sigh as Barnham massaged carefully at his nose – tender from all the abuse from his gauntlets – without blowing. He would not dare in front of his superior.

… ah-

His eyes snapped open, his pride shriveling when he found Darklaw still standing over him, arms crossed. She said nothing, only persisted with that unwavering, piercing look of hers, and Barnham felt compelled to speak.

“.. Tis just a tickle id mby dose – ”

“That does not sound like ‘just a tickle,’ Sir Barnham.”

He bristled at the insinuation, spurred into action. Pinch-wiping his nose and ignoring the sting of pain, Barnham rose to his feet and pinned one arm behind him, thumping his chest with the fist of the other. He dragged in a thick sniffle, clearing his consonants.

“On my honor as Head of the Knights,” he declared gravely. “I promise you this mild affliction warrants none of your concern.”

For some reason, that statement unsettled Darklaw’s calm. She balked, visibly ruffled as if he had accused her of a crime. Barnham regarded her in an awkward silence until she regained composure a second later.

“I am concerned you will be unable to fulfill your duties, Inquisitor,” she hissed, gesturing with her claw-like gauntlet. “With a parade on the horizon and a witch yet to be caught, this is no time for you to be a sniffling, sneezing mess.”

Each word only hardened his resolve; he would not fall prey to illness.

“It will not happen, milady. I will not let it.”

“See that you do not,” she said. They held each other’s gaze a moment longer before she turned on her heel, dismissing him back to his tasks as she crossed back to her desk. Barnham’s shoulders slumped, believing he could relax until he zipped to attention at her next statement.

“As an added precaution, I want you to finish your paperwork…and then visit the alchemist.”

“The alc – ” Barnham began, then interrupted himself. “Lady Darklaw, that is not necessary.”

“Then I am sure your visit with him will be quite short.”

Barnham’s temper flared, and he drew a slow breath through his nose to calm himself. Regrettably, this only sparked the flint for another tickle. It built slowly, his sore nostrils pulsating involuntarily as he contended with it. He lifted the handkerchief toward his nose, eyes falling half-mast, uncertain as he waited. One quick hitching breath and the impulse abandoned him entirely.

With a groaning sigh, he dropped into his chair. Constantine began batting playfully at his boots as his eyes rested on the pile of files he had yet to page through. Paperwork first, he counseled himself. And then, the alchemist.

 

/To be continued~

[jano]

Even if I'm not familiar with the game, I am absolutely HOOKED! I can't think of anything else to say other than I love this & am excited when you post writing 

We're the opposite, I've been an Ace Attorney fan for so long and have been thinking about trying out the Layton crossover.

[Dye]

@q@ HELLO BARNHAMMM

 

(i am yet to play the crossover either //shot)

but if there's one thing i know it's that barnham is yummy @W@ This is awesome~~ can't wait to see more!

Edited April 21, 2017 by Daisoku
what the fuck is punctuation and grammar

[Winged]

I too haven't played the game ehe, but I love your writing and I love this scenario. I have a huge weakness for the medieval time period (probably because that's most of what I read) and a poor knight crushing his nose into his gauntlet? Hello there  (Idk what that emoji is but it felt appropriate). 

Very much enjoying this so far! 

[SterlingSilver]

@jano: AHHH! Oh my gosh, jano, thank you QWQ. It really means a lot that you like my writing  And that's awesome! I'm thinking about buying the Ace Attorney trilogy off the eShop. It looks like it would be really fun~

@Daisoku: Ahahaha~! I 100% agree that Barnham is scrumptious, and I hope this part continues to deliver

@Winged: Oh, Winged, thank you!  That's so nice of you QWQ~ I've read your writing around the forum, and you are fantastic, so this really boosts my confidence to hear praise from you >w< haha~ I also really like medieval situations, especially with knights, so I really couldn't resist dishing it out to this poor guy >w> LOL I hope you continue to enjoy!

A/N: Annnnd here we go! Finally, a new chapter! I hope you all like it >w< There's not like, an incredible amount of sneezing because I'm sort of building up to maximum suffering levels for later chapters LOL. Hopefully that doesn't put too many people off of it xD. As always, thanks for reading, and if you comment, thank you even mooooore!

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II. To the Alchemist

Zacharias Barnham did not hate the alchemist.

Newton Belduke, while mysterious and reclusive, spent his time toiling over medicaments that aided so many ailing Labyrinthians. This was a noble endeavor, necessary to the health of the town. Barnham would not begrudge the man his work…but he would prefer not to be one of Belduke’s fated clients. “Alchemy” branched too close to the vein of “magic” for Barnham to be entirely comfortable with the droughts, salves, herbs, and other such cures Belduke provided his patients.

Sighing stuffily as he stared up at the alchemist’s moss-riddled cottage, Barnham stifled a few coughs in his chest. If he could nip this blasted cold in the bud before it got out of hand – for it was no use to remain in denial after being ordered here by the High Inquisitor herself – then Barnham could consider the trip well worth his time. Fortifying himself with a sniffle, Barnham stepped up to the door and knocked.

It popped open moments later, revealing Belduke’s slim, sleepy-eyed butler, Jean Greyerl. Identifying his visitor immediately, the boy bowed with a polite smile.

“Inquisitor Barnham, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

To Barnham’s horror, his breath caught just as he opened his mouth to speak. His nose launched a rebellion, tickling unbearably. The feather-light sensation trailed up the inner wall of his left nostril, like fingers through grass, welling his eyes shut. Barnham waved Greyerl away just as he huffed, slowly turning as he brought a hand to his nose.

He clamped his nostrils shut with metal fingers, biting his lips in a fight to keep it inside. “..xxt!..” His body trembled, and Barnham battled the instinct to suck in a breath as the urge buzzed through him again. “..NXXT!..”

It felt as though it was the same sneeze trying to escape a second time. No doubt there would have been a third attempt if Barnham had not rubbed cruelly at his nostrils, dismissing the tickle with a sting of pain. Red-faced and bleary, he turned back to Greyerl. Apparently there was no more need of his explanation.

“Blessings, Inquisitor,” Greyerl said, tilting his head with a placid smile. He stepped aside, welcoming Barnham in with a sweeping gesture. “Please allow me to escort you inside.”

“Yes, thank you,” he said breathily, breezing through the entry way. That aborted sneeze was still lingering, plucking strings on the frets of his sinuses. Every vibration nudged the urge further down his nose, increasingly impossible to ignore. It caused him to sniffle repeatedly, nose willfully twitching against the feeling.

Barnham honestly would not mind being sick if it wasn’t such an annoying experience. Not to mention embarrassing for a man of his stature. On the journey over, he had ducked his way through back alleys to avoid being seen by his fellow knights or any of the townsfolk. As the door shut behind them, Barnham felt the eyes of the world disappear.

“If I may make a suggestion,” Greyerl said, hands folded in front of him. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable removing some pieces of your armor?”

Tempting. Barnham powered through another sniffle as he thought about it, weighing the indignity of dressing down against the pleasure of easier mobility. He could hear no other presence in the cottage other than the scratch of a quill in the study. It was very likely he was the only visitor to the alchemist’s today.

“Patients have been few and far between this week,” Greyerl coaxed, already fishing the cape off his shoulders. “Here, in this place, you are not on duty, Sir Barnham.”

“If you insist,” Barnham said, allowing Greyerl to begin unlatching some clasps on his armor as if it had been his idea all along.

Together, they chipped away at his uniform until he was down to his scarf and tunic. He kept his boots and leg braces on, convinced they would be too much of a nuisance to remove and replace. While he felt uncomfortable in one sense, he was much more comfortable in another. The rigid posture demanded by his armor was needed no more, and Barnham slumped into a plushy chair with a sigh. Being able to touch his nose with his not-quite-so-eroding bare fingers also helped, and he rubbed fervently at the tip until the cloying tickle waned.

“I will let Master Belduke know you are here,” Greyerl said as he hung up Barnham’s cloak. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Hot tea, if you don’t mind,” Barnham requested. Better to indulge in it here than anywhere else, he thought. Slowly but steadily, his throat was becoming a problem. That dry, scratchy spot at the back would snowball into something painful if he did not keep a close eye on its progress.

Greyerl granted him a small bow before sweeping out of the front room for the tea. Barnham allowed himself to fully relax once he was alone, resting his cheek against his hand, elbow planted on the armrest. There was so much paperwork waiting back for him at his desk, not to mention a witch on the loose… but this chair was the most comfortable chair he had sat in all day, much better than his own. The cottage was quiet, unlike the clanging, chaotic, bustling courthouse. Let alone the knight’s garrison.

His eyes, suddenly so heavy, eased shut. He could hear the low ticking of a large clock, the scratch of Belduke’s pen from his study, Greyerl in the kitchen clinking dishes. Domestic, muted sounds. Was it a crime to rest his eyes, just for a moment? Each breath lightly irritated the back of his throat, given his nose was too stuffy to accept any air. Second by second, the itch migrated up into the back of his nose, beginning to trickle down into the more sensitive, tortured channels of his nostrils. They pulsed, stimulated and beyond his control, prompting him to crook a forefinger against them.

No amount of rubbing would suffice this time, and Barnham dragged his eyes open to begin searching for Darklaw’s handkerchief. As opposed as he was to utilizing it in her presence, he was not above employing it now. By the way this sneeze was building, Barnham refused to release it without any cover. Snapping the cloth out from where he’d tucked it away, Barnham quickly pinned it to his face just in time to double over his lap.

“hh’EHSSHH!”

The roaring, punctuated sneeze brought him a moment of relief before the tickle cycled through a second time.

“..hh’EHZSSCHH!”

He teetered uncertainly, waiting for a third, but it retreated from him. With another big breath, Barnham blew as hard as he dared to vent out what he could. This would likely be one of his only chances before he was back in the company of others. When the deed was done, his nose stung painfully but his head felt pounds lighter. The annoying tickle had also disappeared for the moment. He folded the handkerchief and stashed it away with a couple encumbered (though noticeably improved) sniffles just before Newton Belduke emerged.

A severe man, Belduke was a man of few words and fewer appearances. He had a kind heart, but a firm and impatient personality. Barnham found himself straightening up at the sight of him, feeling more exposed than ever without his armor on. Belduke stalled him when he tried to stand and instead pulled over a foot-stool nearby to be more directly on Barnham’s level. Though the man was quite tall, thin, and still managed to appear that way while sitting down.

“Inquisitor Barnham,” Belduke greeted, voice clipped but polite. “Jean tells me you require my assistance.”

“Yes, well..” Barnham began, pausing to clear his throat and swallow. “I seem to be coming down with something.” He paused again, cheeks heating. “…High Inquisitor Darklaw insisted I come here immediately for treatment.”

Belduke’s wise old eyes twinkled, a very faint smile passing over his lips. Greyerl entered the room with a warm, steaming mug on a tray, and Belduke waved him in when he hesitated.

“Did she?” he asked as Greyerl silently offered Barnham his tea. He took the cup gratefully, immediately indulging in a few sips. The flavor was dulled, lost in his senses, but the texture and temperature were very satisfying. “Then I suppose I should have a look at you.”

Those were embarrassing words for Barnham, but he sat his tea aside and prepared for examination. Belduke’s hands were gentle and professional, if a little cold. His fingers pressed under Barnham’s throat as he peered into Barnham’s mouth, stretched wide his eyelids, and tipped back his head to get a look up his nose in better light. Barnham was rife with anxiety, convinced Belduke would find something unsightly in his sickly appearance. Mentally he counseled himself that it was ridiculous – Belduke had seen worse assuredly. And besides, Barnham could not help his illness. Though he did wish Greyerl didn’t linger, tray pressed to his chest as he avidly and curiously watched.

Belduke pressed hands against Barnham’s chest and back, asking him to breathe deeply. His deepest breaths caused him to cough, which he directed into the cup of his hand. Intermittently, he needed to sniffle. All the while, Belduke asked him symptom-related questions. Did his head ache? Did his chest ache? When did this start? Was he sleeping well? Barnham answered them all to the best of his ability, and when Belduke finished, Barnham reached again for his tea to take another few soothing sips.

“Definitely a cold,” Belduke said, pushing up from his knees to stand. “Inflamed airways, sore throat, fatigue… All standard signs of an autumn’s chill.”

Barnham expected as much. The next question was the real reason he had come: “What cure can you give me?”

“Why, there is no cure for such a thing.”

Barnham sat in silence, staring at Belduke. No cure? There was no alchemic potion or concoction that could eliminate this blasted inconvenience? It was so rare that Barnham fell ill that he had not been plagued with something like this since… well, he could not remember.

“Surely there is something,” he said, clenching the armrests of his chair. “Anything.”

“There is nothing,” Belduke insisted. “Honey-lemon tea and bedrest is what I prescribe you.”

“Easier said than done,” Barnham muttered, thumbing his nose. The skin was rough and warm against his fingers, too tender to treat with the sort of force he needed to dispel the fast-rising tickle. His expression crumbled, the sensation too much for him to think about unearthing his handkerchief. Instead, he sneezed powerfully into his hands. “.. hd’EZZESHH’u!”

“Blessings,” Belduke offered. It was not until Barnham woozily sat up again that he realized Belduke had snatched the tea from his hands before he could drop it. He passed it back, hesitating only a moment when Barnham rubbed his hands together to disperse the wetness. His sniffling only worsened in the meanwhile.

“Might you ask for a day off from work, Inquisitor?” Greyerl asked, peering around Belduke. “They can spare you one day, can’t they?”

“At any other time, perhaps,” Barnham agreed. “But the knights are far too busy this week. As their superior, I am needed.”

“I understand,” Belduke reasoned. “But without proper sleep and nutrition, you will be a very useless knight. Consider reminding High Inquisitor Darklaw of that.”

Belduke seemed amused by the idea, but Barnham would be doing no such thing. It was humiliating enough to submit himself to this sort of scrutiny in the alchemist’s house. Admitting openly to Darklaw he was too weak for the job was absolutely unacceptable. Gulping down the rest of his tea and setting the cup aside, Barnham stood too quickly. His head lightly spun, forcing him to blink through a swash of dots across his vision. Belduke put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Zacharias,” Belduke said sternly. “Do take care not to exhaust yourself. This cold can become something much more serious if not handled responsibly.”

The insinuation Barnham was not responsible enough to take care of himself lashed him like a whip, catching him between frustration and shame. He resisted the impulse to respond distastefully and instead offered a terse nod, shaking off Belduke’s grip so he could begin suiting up in his armor again. The weight of that metal was familiar, but wearying. Barnham longed for the chair he had just abandoned.

“Thank you for your assistance today, Mr. Belduke,” Barnham said, eyes on his armor and nothing else. “You as well, Greyerl.”

The young butler responded immediately with a small bow. “Milord.”

Routine carried Barnham through the donning of his uniform, and soon after that he left without so much as one look back. That trip had been a complete waste of his time. Belduke told him nothing he did not already know, and could offer him nothing to assuage it. Treating a cold could hardly be difficult. More sleep, more food, more liquids – he could manage at least one, perhaps two of those things. Even so, operating with a cold was a bother, but not impossible. His runny nose, his sneezing, his occasional coughs, and the slightly diminished energy were all issues Barnham could handle.

Yes, Barnham thought to himself as he swept his cloak over his shoulder for more warmth against the wind. I can most definitely handle this.

/to be continued...

 

Spoiler

ps. GAME SPOILER: By the way, the fact Barnham was absent for the entirety of the last trial, when the truth about the whole city was revealed and all those incredible revelations happened, made me laugh until I was in tears. Just the vision of him sitting in the dungeon alone, completely clueless while literally everyone else was losing their shit was so funny x’DDDDDD Poor guy LOL.

It was that visual which inspired the genesis of this story.

 

[SpookyBoi]

I love this game and Sir Barnham is one of my favorite characters from it I really hope you continue!!!