[ She appreciates the gesture, settling her over Harrow's and squeezing gently. ]
Thanks. I know I gotta succeed. If I die, she dies. [ She hesitates for a moment. ] I wonder if that's why other people are resortin' to killin' others. They're desperate.
Maybe so. But I've found that as important as my own wish may be, what others want is. . . also important.
[She looks up, like she's about to say something, and then it's memory time. I apped from books so you just have to read it.
The memory begins in darkness, and when you come to, you feel the taste of blood in your mouth, the smell of blood in your nose - even your vision is red. You're in the remains of a marble atrium, now rubble and shattered bone and marble. You've missed part of a battle, as your memories come to you, your body weak and throbbing. You'd fought with every ounce of strength and power your body had and more; you invented, in the heat of battle, new theorems and new powers your parents and ancestors could only have dreamed of. You took your foe apart, piece by piece, until it was nothing but rubble and ash, and then you passed out.
But your foe is Cytherea, one of the emperor's fists and gestures, a Lyctor, a being of unfathomable power. What you can do is more than any necromancer living or dead can do or has ever done. But she is still here, terrible and beautiful, a living corpse knitting her own wounds back together, undaunted.
And your cavalier is fighting her, Gideon is fighting her, on the verge of exhaustion, paint running down her face, alongside the determined little cavalier of the Sixth House, also bloodied and exhausted. Gideon Nav is something else with that two-hander of her, a true marvel, and she does more than you could ever have asked, but Cytherea, with that terrible smile of her, tells Gideon softly how brave and beautiful she is as she goes to kill her, and knocks her hefty sword aside from her simple silver rapier as though it was nothing.
You stagger to your feet, eight foot tall skeleton constructs holding you weak, bloodied body aloft as you approach.
“Step off, bitch,” you say.
“I wish the Ninth House would do something that is more interesting than skeletons,” Cytherea says, pensively. She builds more of her replicating bone constructs, and you do the same. The difference, of course, is that Cytherea can burn herself perpetually, use her body and every ounce of her strength and knit herself back together. You’re meeting her, power for power, bone for bone, but every second that ticks is taking its toll on your body. You’re too weak to stand on your own, blood gushing from your sweat and pores and mouth, the blood vessels under your skin bursting and bleeding too, your own body cannibalizing itself for the thanergy it needs.
“You’re learning fast,” says Cytherea, delighted. “But I’m afraid you have a long way to go.” And she’s correct, because she’s still going, building a second construct identical to the one you made yourself half dead trying to take apart. “None of you learned how to die gracefully,” she coos. “I learned over ten thousand years ago.”
You won’t give in. You can’t meet her construct anymore, so instead you build a wall of bone, solid, six inches thick to protect yourself, and Gideon, and Camilla the Sixth, and that done, you keel over into Gideon’s arms as the construct beats against the wall you’re holding up with the very little you have left.
“Harrow, come on,” Gideon begs. “Siphon, damn it. You can’t hold this shit forever, Harrow! You couldn’t hold this shit ten minutes ago!” You could - you could reach out and draw, instead of from your own body, from hers, but you won’t. Not after you’ve seen what can become of a necromancer siphoning too much. You watched the Eighth House cavalier die before your eyes, and you won’t do it.
Calmly, you spit out a clot of blood the size of a coin. “I don’t have to hold it forever. Take the Sixth, get into a brace position, and I’ll break you through the wall. Bones float. It’s a long drop to the sea, but you all you have to do is survive the fall. We know that the ships have been called. Get off the planet as soon as you can. I’ll distract her as long as possible - all you have to do is live.”
“Harrow.” Gideon’s brow knits, desperate. “This plan is stupid and you’re stupid. No.”
You reach and grasp a fistful of Gideon’s shirt, vision going dark with pain and nausea. “Griddle, you made me a promise. You agreed to go back to the Ninth. You agreed to do your duty by the Locked Tomb - “
“Don’t do this to me,” she says.
“I owe you my life,” you interrupt, with feeling. “I owe you everything.”
You let go of her shirt and fall to the floor, choking and sniffling on the thick rivulets of blood coming from your nose. You hear the continued beating and the sound of cracks as the construct on the other side threatens to smash through your wall of bone. Gideon and Camilla are talking, but you can’t focus on their words, you can’t see, you can hardly hear. All you can do is focus on your wall, the barrier between you and your cavalier and certain death, concentrating on staying awake so that you do not fall asleep, so that you do not die.
And through all of that, you raise a hand, and you brush Gideon’s cheek. “Nav - have you really forgiven me?”
You can’t really see her, but you can hear her panic. “Of course I have, you bozo.”
“I don’t deserve it,” you whisper miserably.
“Maybe not. But that doesn’t stop me forgiving you. Harrow - “ she’s speaking in a brokenhearted rush. “You know I don’t give a damn about the Locked Tomb, right? You know I only care about you.” There’s another shuddering, crunching sound, as another tendril breaks through your shield. “I’m not good at this duty thing. I’m not your real cavalier primary. I never could have been.”
The sunlight begins to shine through the cracks in your wall and you laugh, hoarsely, feeling your death coming over you.
“Gideon the Ninth, first flower of my House. You are the greatest cavalier we have ever produced. You are our triumph. The best of us. It has been my privilege to be your necromancer.”
There’s quiet for a moment, in between the awful crunch of bone, and then the arms around you are gone, leaving you cold, as you hear Gideon stand up and move away.
“Yeah, fuck it,” she says. “I’m getting us out of here.”
[ The memory takes her by surprise, vivid, desperate and brutal in ways that Yuel doesn't expect. It leaves her with an ache that isn't entirely her own, desperation running through her blood with no where to go.
Her eyes are wide as the gruesome sight fades, leaving her stare in surprise. ]
Harrow... [ Disquieted and uncertain, she puts a careful hand atop Harrow's. ] You were in so much pain.
[It's actually weird how fine she seems? It was such an excruciatingly painful memory. The feelings in it were so raw. But Harrow just - doesn't seem like she's reacting to or experiencing them.]
[ She can only assume that Harrow is putting on a brave face—she must be, when Yuel can feel the heartache so clearly, and it hadn't even happened to her. ]
... Ya said that ya didn't have any friends back home, but that looked like a really good friend to me.
A girl? [She's. Squinting. Her eyes are going a little unfocused. The bleeding is getting worse. The image of Yuel lifting up her dress in the middle of this is a lot.]
[ Yuel is definitely lifting her dress up, but she's also getting worried now, firming holding the fabric against her nose while her other hand unconsciously rubs down her back. ]
That name doesn't sound familiar at all but— maybe we should talk about it later. Yer not lookin' too good, I think ya should lie down.
[She's bleeding all over Yuel's dress, she realizes faintly, and that's. . . so humiliating and gross. But she does seem to be stabilizing a little, now.]
I'm just sayin'. [ Wipes off the remaining blood on Harrow's face, assuming she's stopped. ] Something must be the matter if yer rememberin' things all weird.
Yuel, you must stop saying this. Ortus owed his duty to me, as my cavalier. As far as personal feelings between the two of us, I suspect he loathed me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Yuel. . . she understands a little better, now.]
No wonder you're so determined to fight for her. As she was for you.
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Mhm. I need to find a way to get Ninetails away from her. She's only in that position because she's too kind. [ She bites her lip. ] I miss her a lot.
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[She'll reach out and touch Yuel on the shoulder, tentatively, and will regard her with a firm expression.]
But she is very fortunate, to have you as a friend. Because I am certain you will succeed in what you aim to do.
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Thanks. I know I gotta succeed. If I die, she dies. [ She hesitates for a moment. ] I wonder if that's why other people are resortin' to killin' others. They're desperate.
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[She looks up, like she's about to say something, and then it's memory time. I apped from books so you just have to read it.
The memory begins in darkness, and when you come to, you feel the taste of blood in your mouth, the smell of blood in your nose - even your vision is red. You're in the remains of a marble atrium, now rubble and shattered bone and marble. You've missed part of a battle, as your memories come to you, your body weak and throbbing. You'd fought with every ounce of strength and power your body had and more; you invented, in the heat of battle, new theorems and new powers your parents and ancestors could only have dreamed of. You took your foe apart, piece by piece, until it was nothing but rubble and ash, and then you passed out.
But your foe is Cytherea, one of the emperor's fists and gestures, a Lyctor, a being of unfathomable power. What you can do is more than any necromancer living or dead can do or has ever done. But she is still here, terrible and beautiful, a living corpse knitting her own wounds back together, undaunted.
And your cavalier is fighting her, Gideon is fighting her, on the verge of exhaustion, paint running down her face, alongside the determined little cavalier of the Sixth House, also bloodied and exhausted. Gideon Nav is something else with that two-hander of her, a true marvel, and she does more than you could ever have asked, but Cytherea, with that terrible smile of her, tells Gideon softly how brave and beautiful she is as she goes to kill her, and knocks her hefty sword aside from her simple silver rapier as though it was nothing.
You stagger to your feet, eight foot tall skeleton constructs holding you weak, bloodied body aloft as you approach.
“Step off, bitch,” you say.
“I wish the Ninth House would do something that is more interesting than skeletons,” Cytherea says, pensively. She builds more of her replicating bone constructs, and you do the same. The difference, of course, is that Cytherea can burn herself perpetually, use her body and every ounce of her strength and knit herself back together. You’re meeting her, power for power, bone for bone, but every second that ticks is taking its toll on your body. You’re too weak to stand on your own, blood gushing from your sweat and pores and mouth, the blood vessels under your skin bursting and bleeding too, your own body cannibalizing itself for the thanergy it needs.
“You’re learning fast,” says Cytherea, delighted. “But I’m afraid you have a long way to go.” And she’s correct, because she’s still going, building a second construct identical to the one you made yourself half dead trying to take apart. “None of you learned how to die gracefully,” she coos. “I learned over ten thousand years ago.”
You won’t give in. You can’t meet her construct anymore, so instead you build a wall of bone, solid, six inches thick to protect yourself, and Gideon, and Camilla the Sixth, and that done, you keel over into Gideon’s arms as the construct beats against the wall you’re holding up with the very little you have left.
“Harrow, come on,” Gideon begs. “Siphon, damn it. You can’t hold this shit forever, Harrow! You couldn’t hold this shit ten minutes ago!” You could - you could reach out and draw, instead of from your own body, from hers, but you won’t. Not after you’ve seen what can become of a necromancer siphoning too much. You watched the Eighth House cavalier die before your eyes, and you won’t do it.
Calmly, you spit out a clot of blood the size of a coin. “I don’t have to hold it forever. Take the Sixth, get into a brace position, and I’ll break you through the wall. Bones float. It’s a long drop to the sea, but you all you have to do is survive the fall. We know that the ships have been called. Get off the planet as soon as you can. I’ll distract her as long as possible - all you have to do is live.”
“Harrow.” Gideon’s brow knits, desperate. “This plan is stupid and you’re stupid. No.”
You reach and grasp a fistful of Gideon’s shirt, vision going dark with pain and nausea. “Griddle, you made me a promise. You agreed to go back to the Ninth. You agreed to do your duty by the Locked Tomb - “
“Don’t do this to me,” she says.
“I owe you my life,” you interrupt, with feeling. “I owe you everything.”
You let go of her shirt and fall to the floor, choking and sniffling on the thick rivulets of blood coming from your nose. You hear the continued beating and the sound of cracks as the construct on the other side threatens to smash through your wall of bone. Gideon and Camilla are talking, but you can’t focus on their words, you can’t see, you can hardly hear. All you can do is focus on your wall, the barrier between you and your cavalier and certain death, concentrating on staying awake so that you do not fall asleep, so that you do not die.
And through all of that, you raise a hand, and you brush Gideon’s cheek. “Nav - have you really forgiven me?”
You can’t really see her, but you can hear her panic. “Of course I have, you bozo.”
“I don’t deserve it,” you whisper miserably.
“Maybe not. But that doesn’t stop me forgiving you. Harrow - “ she’s speaking in a brokenhearted rush. “You know I don’t give a damn about the Locked Tomb, right? You know I only care about you.” There’s another shuddering, crunching sound, as another tendril breaks through your shield. “I’m not good at this duty thing. I’m not your real cavalier primary. I never could have been.”
The sunlight begins to shine through the cracks in your wall and you laugh, hoarsely, feeling your death coming over you.
“Gideon the Ninth, first flower of my House. You are the greatest cavalier we have ever produced. You are our triumph. The best of us. It has been my privilege to be your necromancer.”
There’s quiet for a moment, in between the awful crunch of bone, and then the arms around you are gone, leaving you cold, as you hear Gideon stand up and move away.
“Yeah, fuck it,” she says. “I’m getting us out of here.”
The memory ends.]
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Her eyes are wide as the gruesome sight fades, leaving her stare in surprise. ]
Harrow... [ Disquieted and uncertain, she puts a careful hand atop Harrow's. ] You were in so much pain.
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[Something in Harrow's eyes has gone very - vague. It's strange to see. She touches her hand to her temple, which is pounding.]
Ah. Yes. Cytherea was - a miserable old ghoul.
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Are ya okay?
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[It's actually weird how fine she seems? It was such an excruciatingly painful memory. The feelings in it were so raw. But Harrow just - doesn't seem like she's reacting to or experiencing them.]
It's only a headache - I get them, sometimes.
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[ She can only assume that Harrow is putting on a brave face—she must be, when Yuel can feel the heartache so clearly, and it hadn't even happened to her. ]
... Ya said that ya didn't have any friends back home, but that looked like a really good friend to me.
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[Hmm.]
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The one ya called Gideon...? Ya said she was a flower, and the best cavalier you'd ever seen.
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[????????]
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[ as if she would ever be talking about a man??? ]
I'm pretty sure the person in yer memory was a girl named Gideon. Ya said ya owed her yer life.
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Exactly, as I just said. [She says slowly, like she's speaking to someone with very poor comprehension.] I owe Ortus my life.
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[ She sits up, hiking up the bottom of her dress so that she can wipe Harrow's nose with it. ]
Are ya sure yer okay? [ ??? ] Maybe ya called 'er somethin' else, but I'm pretty sure that person was a girl.
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No. . . no. . . Tridentarius, do you mean?
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That name doesn't sound familiar at all but— maybe we should talk about it later. Yer not lookin' too good, I think ya should lie down.
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[She's bleeding all over Yuel's dress, she realizes faintly, and that's. . . so humiliating and gross. But she does seem to be stabilizing a little, now.]
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[ Yuel doesn't mind the blood, and she's going to carefully try and ease Harrow into resting on her lap, if she can. ]
How many fingers am I holdin' up?
[ It's two. ]
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But she doesn't. And she lets herself be eased into a lap but she looks grumpy.]
Two. I'm not blind.
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Ya seemed pretty close to that Gideon.
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Yuel, you must stop saying this. Ortus owed his duty to me, as my cavalier. As far as personal feelings between the two of us, I suspect he loathed me.
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She just flicks her finger at Harrow's forehead. ]
Yer rememberin' wrong. What're you gettin' upset with me for anyway?
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[There's blood trickling from her ears now. It's probably fine.]
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