escordvi | closed 🪶 i'm in the end, just what you made me.

[Figuring it out... She would scoff at that if she had the strength to. She has tried that and still ends up back in the same place—a place of power and comfort, where she does not have to worry about falling into the same pitfalls. Only now, she doesn't know where that place is anymore. It was at Barnabas's side, and with him gone, so is that perch, and she is left wondering where to go, beating her wings long after they are tired while she looks for a new one...

She turns her body slightly, and her eyes wander down to where he holds her hand in his.]

I was weak, Cidolfus.

[He had seen her when they first met. Skin and bones, her hair always a tattered, uneven mess, and boundless amounts of aether in her that she could not control. Garuda had been loud then, and she is louder now, as Benedikta slowly feels herself losing her grip on her the longer that she tries to stay in the air and not fall. She did not know then who she wanted, who she even was... They said that she could live her life the way she wanted to, that she was no longer a little slave girl, but...

Her wrists... they ache and burn.

She still is, as Garuda is wont to remind her now.]

And I did not want to be anymore.

[That was it. At the bottom line, that's all that Benedikta wanted. She no longer wanted to be "girl" or "hey you" or the one who would have to endure lashings and yelling when she didn't know what she'd done wrong. But it all taught her a valuable lesson: that power was everything, and if she had power, she had the ability to stand above it all. To never be that wretched, scared little thing again.

...

And yet... his questions give her pause because...]

What is there beyond that?

[He lets out a small breath. It's not that he doesn't know or cannot guess why she thinks this way. He was the one who found her, was the one who saw and learned of her past, what she went through. Things he had also seen and was familiar with to some extent.

That desire to not be weak. To be strong enough to survive and stand on one's own feet.]

There is nothing wrong in being stronger. But it's not the only thing.

[A pause as he looks at their hands.]

Ask yourself this: were you ever happy with all that power? Did you ever feel satisfied, fulfilled?

[And the unsaid question: was it really worth all that she sacrificed to get there?]

[At that, her fingers tighten around his, her knuckles nearly turning white.

A heavier silence looms over them, the space filled with a tension that one could easily cut through with a knife, pulled so taut that it could snap at any moment. It doesn't, but Benedikta can feel it, hot like static that, no matter how hard she tries to wipe away, it only clings harder to her.

Because she knows the truth of it. She has since he left her in Waloed and found what that emptiness truly meant. What it was like to go from feeling happy to not, to having everything that she could ever want to having nothing... She knew what it was like to chase just so that she could feel something...

She searched and she searched in those dark blue eyes, and always came up short.

And now, Benedikta realizes...]

... I don't know how to answer that.

[... she doesn't really know what it is like to feel satisfied. Fulfilled. Truly and utterly happy.]

Then that's your answer.

[An answer he knew all along... And had tried to stop her from falling into. If she had been happy, if she was actually proud and happy about her life, he would have said much less—even if it was without him. Yet every time he saw her, he could always see it.

It wasn't pride, it was bitterness. It wasn't just arrogance, it was a mask.

If there is no shame, then why do you feel so sorry for yourself!?

Tried over and over...

It only had to be now that she might finally listen. And he can't say he's happy about it, but it's something.]

And you won't find it in just me, either.

[He brushes his thumb over her fingertips.]

I can only offer you a part, however big or small, but if you depend on me too much you'll just fall right back to where you are now. You need to find new things that you like to do, that makes you feel proud to call your own.

And maybe it's doing the same things you have been doing. But this time, you're not acting because you're trying to prove to someone else.

[He slowly moves their hands so it lightly thumps against her chest, over her heart.]

But to yourself.

[She may say that's what she's been doing all along, but her standing here unable to find herself is proof that she hasn't.]

[She's surprised by the gesture, so bold and so forward and so very sure that she might actually believe it... if she opened her heart just a little more. But as it stands, it's shut tight, cowering away from his touch and that softness and pity in his eyes that scares her so, so much. He might feel it under his hand—the way that it beats so relentlessly, afraid and ready to flee the moment he lets her go. But she knows that he won't. Now that he has her, she knows that he will hold on until he's sure that she won't.

But that isn't even the half of it.]

How do I even do that, Cidolfus?

[Her voice trembles as if she might scream at him again, and her eyes zero in on him, searching his face as if she might find an answer there, and instead, she finds something else.]

... I need you.

[He says that she should not depend on him so much. That she will just spiral back into where she is now, lost without her sense of self with no idea what that even means, but she realizes—no, she always knew that without him, there is no ground for her to stand on. No wind under her wings for her to take off and find a way to fly on her own.

He is that wind.

And no matter how much she tries to pretend that she doesn't, that she is strong enough to do it on her own, no matter the pride or the stubbornness or the venom in her heart...

She needs him.

That takes every last bit of strength she has to admit it.]

[Although he keeps their hands where they are, he'll reach up with his other one as he steps closer to her, that distance between shortening even more as his other hand reaches up to brush the crook of his finger against her cheek.]

I know. And like I said, I'll help you through it—I won't abandon you. But you also have to let me in...and trust me just a little more.

[Not all the way.

He knows that can't happen yet, just like how he isn't trusting her wholly yet either, so he's not going to ask such a thing. But she's going to need to trust him a little more than she has already, and she needs to be more open with him.]

I can't help you if you keep pushing me away when I try.

[She almost snaps back from his finger on her cheek, too tender and affectionate for her to handle in the moment, but rather than flinch away like she wishes she could, she finds herself leaning into the warmth, however much that single touch could offer her.

She wants to accept it and not push him away, but...

"I won't abandon you," he says like it's another promise he's making to her, and that's when she leans away from his hand, and tries to pull the other one from his. She feels that spike in anger again, remembers what she saw that day at the gallows and how she felt when she did. How that rage and that grief came to a head in that moment before she landed with her talons out, ready to tear the world apart.

And now Garuda is there, and as much as she wanted the Eikon back, she doesn't like this feeling that she could lose control of her at any moment, and history will somehow repeat itself.]

...

But you—

[Her voice rises suddenly, but she stops herself, taking in a sharp inhale.]

You almost did.

[He stands there when she pulls back, and he knows very well what she means. Even if it wasn't that, she would have been right to call back to when he did leave her in the past, circumstances aside.

So he just takes a deep breath, his hands falling to his sides.]

...I fucked up there, I know. And I can only say I will be more careful, but you do know that won't be the last time I could be in a dangerous situation. Not even of my own doing.

[He's quick to add that before she gets the wrong idea.]

This world is not much different from what we face in Valisthea. You're not going to ban me from even doing monster hunts, are you?

[And now that his hands are gone from hers, she finds herself immediately wishing that they weren't. But she stands there, mirroring him, her shoulders now stooped with all of the tension settling into the notches of her spine and wings.]

I—

[She almost tells him that yes, she would. She would if she knew that he would listen to her, but she can see the stubbornness in his features, in every wrinkle around his brow and his eyes, and in that downturn of his lips. And maybe a part of her is satisfied that she did, some small piece of Benedikta vindicated that she could still put them there. That it wasn't all smiles and gentle looks with them because she can only handle so much and more than that, that he could feel even the smallest bit the way that she does.

But the rest of her is just angry and frustrated with him because here they go again. Here he goes again not understanding what she wants and making her say it. Making her give her voice to these feelings so that they could wrap around her chest tighter.]

If I lost you again, I... [More yelling, her voice pitching just a little louder, fists tightening at her sides.] I don't know what I would do...!

[For fuck's sake, why doesn't he get it yet!?]

[Apparently he doesn't because he thought he did?? Or maybe his understanding only scratched the surface, if not wrong altogether. Either way, it's clear that words are not working right now—or maybe it's not the right time for it. He was always bad at that, talking first when really he should—]

Benedikta—

[—just reach out and grab her, pull her to him in his arms. Which is exactly what he'll do, even if she might protest. Pull her in close so she can feel his warmth, feel the solid rhythm of his heart.]

You're right... I'm sorry.

[There's a small sound of surprise from the back of her throat as she's grabbed and pulled and her body crashes into his. She's stiff at first, the surprise stumbling into protest, but her body betrays her as she melts into him slowly, limb by limb. And while she doesn't wrap her arms around him in return, she closes her eyes and presses her head firmly to his chest where she can hear his heartbeat—feel it, like she's scared that she might lose it.

And she was. Is. As Garuda screams and screams some more at her, but it's his heart that drowns out the noises of her dissent.

She can feel her eyes burning again, tears ready to burst free, but she screws them shut and bites down. Tighter and tighter until she can will them away.

Quietly, from where her face is buried, she speaks in a strained shout.]

You would think me weak... pity me for all this, wouldn't you?

[It's all right that she doesn't put her arms around him—his own is enough for the both of them. He presses the side of his face down against the top of her head first, eyes closing as he can feel how her body reacts—from that initial stiffening to that slow relaxing, guessing she must stifling her emotions.

Especially at her words.]

No.

[So the answer is immediate, a small frown forming.]

Why would you think that?

Because.

[She knows that isn't a sufficient answer at all, but she offers it with as much petulance as she can muster, but it lacks her usual fight.

There's a pause, and one hand comes up to lightly grab the hem of his shirt, two delicate fingers hanging on from it.]

That way that you look at me...

[So soft and sad. She can't stand it. She hates how it pulls at every thread in her heart in ways that she cannot bear or fathom.]

[Well.

That gets an arch of the brow and he has to pull back slightly to look at her.]

You mean when I look at you out of concern and care?

No.

[Another sulking answer, as she can feel him pull back and she just knows he is looking at her that way now, with concern and care that she still just sees as pity.

It's not something that she's used to. Not since back then, before she had managed a grasp on Garuda. Those days when she would sob quietly into her hands on the training grounds, and those early mornings when she would return to the Einjerhar to find him so that she could sob quietly into his chest instead. Since he left Waloed, she hasn't known that look.

It's been so long that she's nearly forgotten it, and he seems to enjoy reminding her now.

She's going to just move on from it, ignoring the way that he tugs at her heart still.]

...You... are all I have left, Cidolfus.

[A small sigh. This... Is going to be another point they'll have to work on.]

It's not out of pity, and I don't think you're weak.

[He's just going reaffirm that. Even if she doesn't believe him now, he'll continue to hammer it into her until she does.]

But even if I did, it wouldn't change anything, Benedikta. I wouldn't think less of you or leave you.

You should know me better than that.

[When he took her hand when she was truly at her lowest. When he helped her, guided her, stood by her. The only time he did leave her...was not when she was weak. But when she tried to push herself for that power.]

[Except that she doesn't. All Benedikta knows is that he did leave her, and then very nearly left her again, both times when she had been ready to spill her heart to him. Ready to rip it out of her chest because she couldn't take it anymore and press it into his palm to hold instead.]

Should I?

[She questions him, her brow furrowing against his chest, because does she really know him still? They have changed so much, grown so far apart that they are still learning each other again. No longer are they on working on the same frequencies, finishing each other's thoughts and sentences, reading each other that way that they so easily could back then...

She very much doubts it because she thinks he still doesn't quite understand where she's coming from, and trying to explain it to him is like pulling out her own claws and fangs.]

Because I asked you not to leave me, and then you...

[A low growl under her breath, and she pulls on the edge of his shirt tighter. She won't repeat it again.

Her fist comes up, and she brings it forward to pound against his chest, though it's weak and tired, but she holds it there.]

I should stand on my own feet. I shouldn't need you. I shouldn't need anyone. Not anymore. I am not her anymore.

[She's going to hold that over his head, as if he consciously made that decisions. But he won't say anything since it doesn't really matter.]

Yes, you should stand on your own feet.

[He'll just agree with her.]

But that doesn't mean you have to do it alone. Even the strongest need someone else to help support them, Benedikta. Those who don't crumble and fall faster.

[Something snaps in Benedikta then, her entire demeanor shifting in an instant, like the winds can so easily and suddenly shift directions. Her body stiffens, her shoulders shake with a stifled sob, she clenches her jaw so hard, biting her lip to stop herself from boiling over that she thinks she's made herself bleed.

Yes, she is going to hold that over his head until her dying breath, but there had always been a reason for it. A reason that she would not—could not say because it would give so much of her away.

But she is tired. Exhausted. She's had enough of hearing him lecture her about her well-being, had enough of him yelling at her about pushing him away when—]

And what of you!?

[The word lands with another slam of her fist to his chest, this one with what ever strength she has left.]

[He'll take it like he has the rest, but his eyes will narrow.]

What of me?

[She sobs quietly, her frustration with him finally hitting its breaking point, and she tries to scramble and mask the quivering in her voice with a rise in volume instead, muffled only by his shirt as she wipes her burning eyes on the soft fabric, and gods, why does it smell so strongly of him!?]

You give me all these grand speeches about needing support. Helping me. Letting you in.

[Another hit, but her hand slides down his chest to fall back to her side.]

"Those who don't crumble and fall faster", but who the fuck is there to make sure that you do not!?

[And before she can answer, she snaps her head up to look at him, all of the rage and fury and defeat bursting out the corners of her eyes in tears.]

I have tried, and you are the one who pushes me away.

[Whatever he expected, it wasn't that, and his eyes widen in surprise.]

That...

[The word just falls weakly from his lips, as if she had hit him over the head with something so large, so heavy, that he has no comeback. No answer.

...Because that is what he does, isn't it? He never thought of it, but—she's right. Whether it was subconsciously or deliberately out of not wanting anyone to be hurt by his own actions, he puts himself out there first. He shoulders all those burdens so no one else has to. He's heard of others say he takes on too much, but he never thinks anything of it. Interprets it completely differently.

It's only now, seeing Benedikta in tears, that it finally really strikes him.

He can't even argue that he has other people around him. That he does use others, rely on them to fill the places he can't. Because...in the end, he still takes the worst of it. Hell, he went to try and take Drake's Head once on his own, and was preparing to do so again before Clive and Jill showed back up on his doorstep.

And so, he can't answer. He can only remain silent, as if stunned, with only his expression revealing those cracks she's managed to form as it all starts to sink in.]

[She can't even feel any pride or take solace in the fact that she has rendered him silent. That the great Cidolfus Telamon has been knocked down from his high up perch should be something gratifying to watch, but all she feels is that fury. Her claws have now spun to him, and she should want to dig them as deep as they will go, but...

She can't. She can't anymore because she has come to care for him all over again. She is falling for him all over again despite this damning side of himself.

But that doesn't mean she ever has to like it.]

Well!?

[It's barked out like a demand after a too-long stretch of silence.]

Who, Cidolfus? If you would not have me...

[Someone he thinks better than her? More capable? No one was there when she tore apart the gallows. No one was there when he was possessed. No one.

She didn't care back then and she has no idea when that shift happened, but now, the thought of losing him to his own recklessness when he would harp on her for her own...

It fucking kills her.]

[He knows he should answer, but it's as if his throat has thickened and any word he can make is swallowed down, and even that is difficult.

"Those who don't crumble and fall faster", but who the fuck is there to make sure that you do not!?

Who, she asks.

Again names spin through his mind, how Otto takes care of the Hideaway while he focuses on the larger missions, for the many excursions he makes. Charon with her constant supply of goods. Blackthorne to provide their armor, weaponry, and other needs. Gav for his scouting, pivotal for everything they do. Tomes for his knowledge. Even now he had Clive who took on his role, his successor. And all the rest in the Hideaway who do their part to help better everyone else, to prove they could survive. Could live.

Live without him.

Yet even with Otto who was basically his second in command, that still has a disconnect because that's not what she means and he knows it. Because even then, everyone lets him do as he pleases; sigh and protest little but otherwise do not stop him, nor would he really let them. It was his choice to take on this mission to change the world, his mission to try and save them all. And even if it was their choice to follow, it was his decision to bear the burden of protecting and ensuring their safety. To not let them do more than they should. Of course lives were still lost, but if he can prevent and save even one more by taking on the more difficult challenges, then he would.

He did.

He appreciated, treasured, loved them all too much to lose them because they chose to follow his own path. They were more than just "helpers" to aid in his cause, more than just his "charges"—they were friends. Family.

...Just like his troops used to be when he once served as Lord Commander. Of the fellow soldiers and commanders he served with but had to watch to fall one by one in the wars planned and waged by Barnabas. Hearing their voices declaring how they would cover his back, ready to throw their lives to protect him. The times when someone sacrificed themselves saying he had to be the one to live. As long as he was alive, they could keep moving, that there was hope for victory. Over and over until he no longer had anyone left—except Benedikta.

Until he lost her, too.

Until he literally had nothing left for him in Waleod.

One would have thought he wouldn't fall into that pitfall again, that he would harden his heart, close himself off...

But he couldn't. He had Mid. He had Otto. He had someone who still needed him, and he had an axe to grind, so he forced himself forward. But what did change, whether subconsciously or deliberate, was that he would no longer allow anyone else to do his bidding if he could help it. He would not let anyone take the hits for him, try and shield him. Would not let anyone expose their necks farther than needed while he would run out and face the swords instead.

And in the end, it ended with his death.

A death he had chosen.

A death with a path he chose perhaps in some way to atone for all the lives and sacrifices made in his name. For the lives he failed to saved. Whether he consciously chose it is a different matter, but looking back maybe he did to some degree. He wasn't necessarily aiming to die, but whenever he inevitably did, he should at least do so in a form of his own sacrifice, to give back to those who were gone and those who still remained. Perhaps then he could find some penance for his own wrongs and ignorance. His failings.

So after another stretch of silence that lasted long enough where she would be ready to shout more at him, he finally answers quietly.]

No one.

[There was no one.

Because he chose for there to be no one.

He could have had Clive, but even then he doesn't. He already forced the young man into his role, and now he has a chance to live as he should with Jill and his brother. A life that he fears may have been cut far too short. How could he ask more of him when he already gave five of his own to pursue a cause he started?

He could not.

And even now, with Benedikta willingly throwing herself at him...

...

He cannot bring himself to accept. Not if it would put herself in danger. Not if it would have her killed again. Not only that, but she had that chance once. A chance she stepped away from on her own, when perhaps he had needed her most.

Yes.

He was truly a goddamn hypocrite.]

Edited 2023-11-21 14:20 (UTC)

[That look on his face and his long silence is answer enough, but she waits for him to speak anyway. Not out of patience—no, he has long since worn that down into nothing over the past week—but because she wants to hear what he has to say. She wants to hear him say it, she wants to know for certain that she is right about him. That he lets no one in, and that he is just as hypocritical as he claims her to be. It won't bring her satisfaction, only more anger, but she needs to know.

So that silence becomes even more deafening when she says nothing, waits with the breath held in her lungs, ready to shout and scream at him when it finally comes...

And when it does...

...

It, once again, brings her no satisfaction. No pride in knowing that she was right. That urge to shout at him that she told him so has all but dwindled away, leaving nothing in its wake but rage.

Because here she is handing another piece of her broken heart to him, pressing it into his palms and begging for him to take it, and should he put that at risk again, she would never forgive him. He should know that, he should know better, but here he is, accepting it only to turn his back and run off with it. She is putting herself on the line, trying to step across that one that she keeps drawn between them, but it is him who pushes her back this time.

....

Without even thinking, her palm comes up to strike him against his cheek, hard and fast and with the strength of a thousand winds.]

Edited 2023-11-21 16:45 (UTC)

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