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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FourthMovement|Fourth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == The Double-Edged Blade of Compassion ==
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' They stand in one of the vacant tents of the makeshift command center, the healer and the Pale Angel, a veritable study in contradiction. The others had excused themselves some time ago, Alexsei lingering for moments afterward as she sent to him her parting thoughts -- loving sentiment, as always, coupled with the dubious reassurance that everything would be fine. She felt anything but fine, though, shifting from foot to foot under the canopy of waterproofed canvas, waiting for Vorpal to say what she would.
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| − | "So, then... what is it you wanted to speak to me about?" Ryshassa prompts tentatively, unsure how else to react.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Moving with all deliberate care, the Pale Angel detaches her sword and its scabbard from her belt. Leaning the blade against the table, she then drops herself heavily into a field chair. After taking a moment to find a comfortable position and rearrange the broad hems of her cloak, she draws in a ragged breath and gestures Ryshassa to sit down as well.
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| − | "All right", she says and leans forward, her eyes hurling red-hot darts over her crossed fingers. "I'm now going to hear a very good explanation for what you apparently did during your raid."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa blinks warily, taking her seat as directed, legs crossed underneath the silken folds of her kimono, hands tightly folded at her knee. The table obscures the trembling of said hands, the knuckles whiter than pale as they clutch at one another with quiet desperation.
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| − | "I am more than willing to explain. Though I would like to know which part of my actions need the most clarification. Shall I start from the beginning?" It takes considerable effort for her to keep her shoulders squared, to speak without a tremble in her voice -- for she knows that in her first taste of war, she had made some stupid calculations and foolish mistakes. To be berated for such, when she knows very well she deserves it, is a daunting fate for her to face.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "We can go through it step by step if you wish later", the Pale Angel says. Throwing one leg over the knee of the other, she leans backwards, propping her elbow against the armrest and supporting her cheek with the palm of her hand. "But right now, I'd like to hear about the part where you attempted to keep your husband from killing your enemies. Did you ''really'' do that?"
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "That part..."
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| − | Ryshassa visibly falters, this time -- as much as she may have wished to hide it, to cover her hesitation with words. What she recalls, confronted with the memory, is the cries of those twisted children as they crowded towards her, calling out in relentless, monotonous despair: "Mother. Mother. Mother." Her reaction in the face of their suffering, the very thought of how they had come to be such, innocence perverted into a tool of violence of horror -- had been, in retrospect, purely instinctual and completely irrational.
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| − | "I did, Pale Angel," she pronounces grimly, "do exactly as you stated. It was, I realize, a moment of foolish and unnecessary weakness." She takes a shuddering breath, nails digging hard into her flesh as she struggles to steel her voice. "In that moment, I was overcome with a desire to shield those... enemies... from harm. Because they were children. Undead, and without a semblance of soul, but nonetheless. I was ...transfixed. I lost control."
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| − | She lowers her head deeply, ashamed at her inability to explain herself with any sort of coherence. "I'm sorry," she whispers uselessly.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' In a way, Vorpal has to admit she sympathizes with the healer's plight. The Pale Angel remembers well the sorrowful chorus she and Valencia had faced during their own raid. Their mournful song had touched even the Pale Angel's war-hardened heart.
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| − | But Ryshassa? She had come across to Vorpal as a very caring and compassionate person - what sort of effect would such grief and sorrow have on someone like ''her''?
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| − | "You tried to shield the little cherubs", the Pale Angel muses, quietly. "You wanted to sacrifice yourself to protect them, right?"
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| − | "Ryshassa -" she sighs, then grunts, sliding lower in her chair. "Do you realize how incredibly ''selfish'' that was?"
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| − | Ryshassa: The accusation almost makes Ryshassa laugh, or cry, or some horribly mangled mix of both. She, who had devoted her whole life to service, a selfish woman? But she had felt so even in her childhood days, hated herself for her inability to conform to her parents' expectations. It only made her try all the harder. She played the slave for them -- she sacrificed her dignity for them to be the dutiful child.
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| − | Alexsei had wanted none of it when he brought her away from that world, into the sheltered existence of his own. "You have given so much of yourself for others. Now it is time to concentrate on yourself." Nonetheless, given the time to recuperate, she grew into the kind of healer who would bear the agony of others without complaint, shelter others from harm at the cost of her own safety, her own health and sanity. It had always been the lives of others before her own. Because...
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| − | ...because she had never truly learned to value her own.
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| − | "Yes," Ryshassa concedes helplessly, her violet eyes shamefully downcast. "For me to play the martyr, when my abilities could save many lives besides my own... is that what you mean by selfish? Then I was... I have always been... the most selfish woman I have ever known."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal grimaces. She makes an irritated gesture with her hand, as if fanning away foul stench from the air.
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| − | "Quit the theatretics, will you?" she hisses. "You're playing the martyr because it's the role that is expected of you. You veil yourself in the mantle of martyrdom because it makes you feel good and safe and important. You're like an actor in a prewritten drama, doomed to repeat the same pattern over and over again because you don't dare to write any new lines on your own."
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| − | In a creak of wood and rustle of cloth, the Pale Angel springs up from her chair. Planting her hands onto the table, she leans over it, her face moving close to Ryshassa's. "Do you think", she whispers, "That you can escape your responsibilities like that?"
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| − | "Do you think that saying '''I am a martyr''' frees you from having to face the consequences of your own actions?"
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa's head snaps up at the change in Vorpal's tone of voice. She is no less shaken, not by far, but she forces herself to meet that searing red gaze full-on, her expression unexpectedly resolute. Her fingers unhook from one another, the nail indentations deep and flushed on her hands as she lowers them carefully on the desk.
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| − | "You are trying to spark a reaction in me other than shame, and it is working," she states in a low, cool voice. The tone that trembles underneath the show of calm is as close to anger as she has ever shown. "You may intimidate me, but I will not simply bend and accept it when you attack my lifestyle in such a way. You do not know me well enough to understand my motivations. We have not spoken long enough for you to judge me that way."
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| − | "I will be honest, though," she continues, rising slowly as her palms support her weight against the desk. "First of all, I do not consider my actions a mere 'act'. On the other hand, I will admit to wanting a purpose and place in the world, as most if not all people do. I will admit that healing, protecting, even sacrificing myself in some way makes me feel good. It IS my calling, and yes -- it does give me a sense of importance. But I am also genuinely relieved EVERY time a life is spared due to my efforts. I do it because I am able to. I was granted the power to do so, and a heart that is pleased by such purpose."
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| − | "There are times, though, that I will make miscalculations. I am not a veteran of war. I am not very easily able to gauge what sacrifices are worth the effort or not, in order to save the maximum of lives. Lives... worth SAVING, if you will," she clarifies, not without a swallow of instinctive disgust for the words. "But I am capable of learning from my mistakes. If faced with a similar situation, I would not hold anyone back, if I could help it. And if I cannot, you may personally wrench me back and smack some sense into me, if you must. I do not intend to be a liability in this conflict."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' ''Oho? ''
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| − | Vorpal's eyebrows twitch ever so slightly at Ryshassa's response, red eyes following silently her every move as the Solar rises to her feet. Slowly, the Pale Angel withdraws to her own side of the table, straightening her back, meeting the other woman's gaze on even ground.
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| − | As Ryshassa gets to the point about learning from her own mistakes, there is a tiny tug on the very right side of Vorpal's lips. An imaginative observer could say that the Pale Angel is downright ''pleased'' at the response she is receiving, ''glad'' the healer is standing up against her. After all, when you get right down to the bottom of it, who is Vorpal to pretend she'd know how other people should live their lives?
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| − | Ryshassa reaches the end of her tirade, and suddenly, the canopy plunges into silence. The sounds of a military camp's daily life drift to their ears from all around them. The scrape of a whetstone sliding along a swordedge. The faint voice of a sergeant berating a soldier about the condition of his armor. The laughter of a group of warriors as they exchange stories about the battles, soothing the memories of the nightmarish encounters with the twin balms of humor and bravado.
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| − | "Backbone", Vorpal finally says, her mien kept carefully neutral. "I was hoping I would find it. I'll hold onto your promise, then."
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| − | Turning, she pulls the chair back closer to the table and seats herself down once more. "That's what I wanted to see", she says, and this time, she ''does'' smile, albeit softly. "Thanks for humoring me."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' In the silence that follows the speech she had not quite intended to be a speech, Ryshassa grips the table in front of her as if it is the only thing holding her up. Indeed, her knees are shaking terribly, and the cacophony of sounds outside hardly registers in her mind as she concentrates on her deliberately slow, deep breathing, on her gaze planted firmly in the Pale Angel's own. She registers the quirk of Vorpal's lips only as an afterthought, the undertone of approval in her otherwise neutral reply.
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| − | "Thank you," she murmurs, her tone much more sober -- had she raised her voice at all? Ryshassa could hardly remember -- at the acknowledgement of her promise. As Vorpal returns to her seat, the healer allows her knees to bend, stiffly and automaton-like, lowering herself down to her own. "And you are welcome, though I do not consider it humoring," she adds somewhat breathlessly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "I will stand up for myself when necessary, but sometimes it takes a little... kick." She, too, offers a small, soft smile, straightening her back slightly against the chair.
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| − | "You are right, in any case... that I must place more value in my own life and the responsibilities I have. I will do my best in this respect, in the future."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal chuckles at Ryshassa's words. Calm and relaxed as if the fierce exchange had never even taken place, the Ghost-Blooded nods slowly. "We'll see that you do."
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| − | "Now", she says after a pause, and the tone of her voice makes the word sound almost like a pleased meow of a cat. Not an entirely unappropriate comparison, when joined with the languid way she now occupies her chair. "Do you want to go through anything else about that battle? Anything you want to talk about?"
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "There are some things on my mind," Ryshassa answers honestly, her brow furrowing in thought. "One thing in particular that will haunt me for some time. I am quite grateful that I was alive and well enough, despite my foolishness, to save my husband..."
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| − | The healer shivers inwardly in remembrance of that moment -- the chain tearing into the tender flesh of her beloved, the shock and suddenness of those twin, devastating blows. His blood, so terribly much of it, spilling in vivid red gouts through her shivering hands, staining the pure white of her breeches...
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| − | She does not dwell on such thoughts though, believing them overly personal, and useless to waste the Pale Angel's time with. After all, the moment was over, and Alexsei was alive -- the timing had been right, the circumstances favorable. That was all that truly mattered, was it not? Later on, ensconced safely in Alexsei's arms, she could... perhaps... unload some of those feelings then. Soon. But not now.
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| − | "Besides that," she resumes quickly, flushing slightly but otherwise outwardly dismissive, "I am somewhat concerned for the Prince, as well. He seems... shaken, since the raid. Apparently, he had never killed a single living person, until then..."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Alex has been through some hard times lately", the Pale Angel responds, more somberly now. "Perhaps more than any of us. But I think he will survive. If he needs my help to do it, he will come to me. More likely, however" And at this point, a distinct, dry undertone rises to her voice, "Lady fair Valencia will take care of that problem tonight."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa raises an eyebrow at this, though it was not completely surprising. Valencia was, in all appearances, kind-hearted under the guise of military leadership, and particularly protective of Alexander... if not... somewhat possessive.
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| − | "I hope you are right, for his sake. I would gladly offer him my consolation, but we have not known each other overly long. And I myself would be... somewhat distracted..." Perhaps this, too, was selfish, but to deprive herself of time alone with her husband after he had nearly died? No respectable person would deny her that, she thought, and they both needed it, besides. Alexsei would likely be brooding for days, if not... much longer, about what had happened.
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| − | "What will you be doing for the next few days, yourself?" she asks curiously. "No doubt planning for the main invasion, at least..."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Something like that, maybe", the Pale Angel shrugs nonchalantly and rises to her feet. "Gears of war don't turn by themselves, after all."
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| − | She glances down at her sword, resting so black and silent against the table. Maybe she would find time to work on some Charms of her own, too. She ''had'' been entertaining some new ideas lately, novel ways to channel her Essence which she wouldn't mind to try out in practice.
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| − | Assuming, of course, that military activities would give her any free time at all... But that is the soldier's lot in life. Always in a hurry to wait.
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| − | "You know", she says as she picks Mournful Kiss up and proceeds to re-attach it to her belt, "There is one very good thing about war." She glances up from her task, fixing Ryshassa with a meaningful look. "It makes you appreciate things you already have."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa catches the meaning -- and nods, rising more steadily to her feet now that her heart has ceased pounding so recklessly.
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| − | "Indeed it does," she agrees. "I must apologize, if I seem to take such blessings for granted. My life has been a sheltered one for years now, and I have no doubt I will be shocked and shaken... time and time again... until I wise up to reality."
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| − | And it was more than emotionally that she intended to prepare herself for such. She, too, had some training she very much intended to accomplish, besides the time she would no doubt spend close and intimately with her beloved. In her own way, she would learn to fight for her own survival, so that she may help others survive as well.
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| − | "Thank you, Lilith, for taking the time to speak with me," she says earnestly, bowing deeply in courteous farewell. Her unbound hair slithers across her kimono as she bends down, dark strands against dark silk, the white cups of calla lily embroidery standing out between them. Contrasts upon contrasts, once again.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' The Pale Angel has to suppress a smile as she watches the Solar's retreating back.
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| − | ''Courteous, that one. I suppose her husband is in good hands. ''
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| − | Although it would never have been apparent for a casual observer, Vorpal finds it heart-warming to witness such love in practice. Bondings of that sort are common only in books...
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| − | She sighs. Lifting a hand to rub the back of her head, she glances indly around the canopy.
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| − | ''Right. Where was I? ''
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| − | ----
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FourthMovement|Fourth Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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