Chapter Text
"I early learned the power of love,
But many times I've failed,
As I could free myself from my chains
...
Responsibility, it must win over happiness"
She wanted to slap him.
That would have probably been a kind of a dramatic beginning, but somehow the notion stirred up in her every time she looked at him. The way he looked… the way he looked at her… the way he seemed to perfectly comprehend everything that ever happened and could ever happen in the world. The way that he wanted to express this as if nothing was more natural in the world than sharing your corrupted world view with a woman.
’Forget that you’re a woman’, she tried to tell herself. ’You’re on a mission. One of the parts of the mission is to get along with your mates. Don’t let him hate you.’
Fine. So she decided to only answer or comment anything particularly certain, when it was positive.
She sits on the chair, listens to the music and his voice and thinks about why does she have to hear it. Why. It feels as if it could be anyone sitting there. Maybe there have been others. Many others. What were their answers? What is the right answer? "Shut up, you drunken idiot"? It was one of them. "Yes, yes, you’re probably right, but I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m just listening to your voice because it sounds so good and I don’t care about the words"?
She was afraid of her thoughts, they felt so real, even though they were only imaginations, like those of some parallel realities… But since she was able to hear the past, the present, the other presents, the future, whatever, maybe it had something to do with it. She heard these voices, voices of women, almost felt their smiles on her face, and it made it very hard to concentrate.
The words just came out of her mouth. Words she didn’t think through, or if she did, she realised and was totally aware of the fact that she shouldn’t say them aloud. ’For what it’s worth, I’d be happy if you stayed. The city could use more good-looking mercenaries.’ Why did she have to say that? Why?
Although, what did these words change? He accepted them like a natural boost to his already bursting ego, and not even a blink of an eye or a blush showed any kind of surprise. He must have heard sentences like this every day. Especially here in the Dancing Nomad. With this in her mind, she tried to focus on playing the role. Pretending she did not care who else heard compliments from him and who else got this glance, that caressed you like you were the most beautiful being on the world, but only for this moment, and in the next, somebody else will take your place. She decided she would only watch, not touch, even if it hurt a little, he looked really nice. Really nice. And perhaps during their journeys she would find out more.
Yes, he sad that he would leave. But would he? It was such a simple solution that it felt unlikely, and deep down she really, really hoped he would change his mind, or that they would have no empty cabins left on that ship. Just a few more weeks. Or days. I can make him change his mind.
But why do I want to?
***
She almost envied Jespar. Sometimes it would have been easier to look at life like that, she wondered as she walked towards the tower were they were to meet. For some reason the closer she got, the more often she needed to breathe, and when she saw his figure leaning against the wall, unknowingly a smile spread across her face. Somehow she always knew he wouldn’t leave, and when that kid handed her the notice, she immediately suggested who wrote it. And, of course, the guess was right. My fair lady.
„Come upstairs. You won’t regret it.”
You won’t regret it. You won’t regret it. The words sent an unexplainable chill down her spine and her steps felt heavy as she walked up the stairs. But not exhaustively heavy, happily heavy, with expectations.
I changed my mind. Of course you did.
And then she listened. And drank his poison which she accepted only because she didn’t want him to hate her. Bitterly she thought that it might have been her greatest motive. Not to be hated. Shivering, she thought of her nightmare. What were the reasons of those words? Would Jespar understand any of this if she told her? Or would he only offer his usual solution for every problem?
She knew she seemed lavish and happy. That’s what she tried to be. Wine burned her throat and her heartbeat increased with every drop of it, or every word, or every second of time. He talked and talked and talked, seemingly awaiting for some kind of confirmation, but again why? She didn’t ask. She did as she was told. By whom? She didn’t know. But they were awards, even that someone was talking to her, and that somebody was actually flesh and blood, radiating some kind of joy of life that she never experienced, never felt as belonging to her, and never even wanted to experience, but enjoyed at the same time. Awards. The satisfied smiles on his face, the self-assured sentences and yawns and laughs. Jespar was like a child. A very naughty one. And kind of a stereotypical one, to be honest, but sometimes it’s good to view a stereotype up close.
Unfortunately that was not what she signed up for.
The child-mercenary was on his way then. Again. She wondered how many of his hours did he spend thinking about the future or their conversations or her. He never seemed troubled by anything. Ever. And that was suspicious. But on the other hand, it made it somewhat easier to deal with him. He brought an aura of pleasant negligence with him and after a while it seemed as if even the clouds were floating happier in the sky.
Or at least they seemed happy. Maybe the clouds pretended that it was easy to float. Drunken clouds.
She needed a sleep as well.
But sleep didn’t always bring rest, quite the opposite, so she tried to restrict it as much as she could. She was soon awake, pretending that she had absolutely no dreams, she dragged herself back to the real world and concentrated on what to do. There was much to learn. Faces, names, places to go to, browse among armors and weapons like Kiléan girls choose which colour of skirts to wear, blue or red or maybe purple… It all seemed like a game, yes, and she had a title, but had to do nothing to gain it, maybe that was the reason that she couldn’t value it enough. Prophetess. A ridiculous word. She was no prophetess, she was just a pointy-eared tall girl at whom many glanced strangely and with discrimination. Otherwise, the whole Order looked at her like a prodigy, the grandmaster’s personal favorite. She tried not to listen to their words. She knew she would have to prove herself. These times she wished to be able to feel like Jespar, not to care about what anyone says…
Good question, if he doesn’t care about anything, why do I care about what to say to him?
These dilemmas made up her day when she was not away treasure hunting.
Well, she was always on a kind of treasure hunt, only some treasures were objects, while others... well, who knew.