we_bring_hell | (no subject)

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You would need an advanced degree in Nonagesamics to realize that Harrowhark is ecstatically happy this morning, but even the layman can tell that her usual spikes are retracted somewhat. Not the spikes on her boots--Gideon liked these boots, and she has no intention of wearing anything else for a while. But the metaphorical spikes.

Aside from her boots she is back in her standard habit--black trousers, black long-sleeve shirt with the high collar. No gloves. Her hair is freshly cropped back to her scalp. Her face is painted with exceptional care, in what Harrow considers the sexiest pattern, because Harrowhark has opinions about things like that. This one is called The Chain and has considerable, immodest flourishes. She has edged the perimeter of the painted skull with midnight purples and deep blood reds, an even greater departure from propriety.

She is writing in her journal, and since she writes in code there is no way anyone can tell she has doodled One Flesh One End approximately one hundred times. She has been eating oatmeal, and by God she even ate the raisins.

Things are good. For now, for once, things are good.

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“Yes, I believe she will recover without difficulty,” Moiraine says, serenely.

“Rest and food will help.”

"Shut up, you yellow-eyed idiot," Harrow says without rancor. The two skeletons position themselves at either end of Gideon to carry her through the portal.

She turns to Moiraine. "I would very much like to debrief with you--shut UP, Gideon!--about this, but I must see to her first. Will you be here a little longer?"

“I shall. Come and find me when you are ready,” she says.

“Rest well, Gideon. Light illumine and protect you both.”

"Thank you," Harrow says, and follows the skeletons through the portal, closing it behind her.

Gideon, who shut her mouth at Harrow's scolding – smart, Nonagesimus, in her current state there's no way she'd be able to resist a 'debrief' joke – manages to flip a tired thumbs-up to Moiraine before the skeletons cart her through the portal and into their room.

"Wasn't I just here?" she wonders; she feels drunk and hurt and like every single one of her cells tried to make a break for it at the exact same time. The skeletons place her on a bed, which is nice, they don't just dump her onto it or something, and she tries very hard not to throw up at the motion.

"Whoa. Nice party trick."

Edited 2020-10-22 18:53 (UTC)

She's in Harrow's bed; Gideon's is still full of swords. Harrow sits down beside her on the edge and takes her hand.

"Rest, Griddle," she says. "You'll be all right, but just let yourself rest for once. I'll send up food."

Never again, she thinks. But she knows if she really has to, never again will become one more time. And she feels loathsome.

"Harrow," she says, and her hand grips her adept's, a little loosely despite how hard she is trying to squeeze it. "Harrow, I'd do it again. If you need me to, I'll do it a hundred more times."

It comes in a rush, all broken words and impossible promises, but even dipping close to that edge again, just for an experiment, just because they wanted to try something hasn't convinced Gideon that this isn't exactly what she's supposed to do.

She's Harrow's cavalier; that means she does what Harrow needs, even if Harrow doesn't want her to. "It's okay, Harrow."

She says it like saying Harrow's name might be able to erase some of that haunted expression that was in Harrow's face as she bent over Gideon on the grass, as she sits here now. "It's okay. You didn't break me. And it wouldn't matter if you did. You know that, right?"

Edited 2020-10-22 19:07 (UTC)

"It would matter, you absolute maniac," Harrow says, looking appalled.

"Gideon Nav, look me in the eye and understand. The Ninth has not had a cavalier like you in a thousand years. If I threw you away for a-a-a-a experiment, may I be horsewhipped from the door of the Tomb to the top of the bore."

"Who," says Gideon, grinning a little, even though it hurts, because Harrow is being nice to her and that's still too much of a novelty to pass up. "Who would even try, Crux would cry himself silly. I'm your cavalier, you dweeb; it's my privilege to break myself for you."

She shifts, winces, lies with the bald-faced confidence of the very tired and criminally earnest. "This! Nothing. I barely felt it. You can't get rid of me that easy, Reverend Daughter."

Edited 2020-10-22 19:56 (UTC)

"I would conjure a skeleton to do it to myself," she says. "And another three to hold Crux back."

She strokes Gideon's hair as if it could warm her hand like the color promises. "But do you know what we have now, Griddle?" She smiles, knife-sharp. "A way out, if all else fails. I won't do it again for practice or for fun, but if it's a choice between half-killing you or letting us both die completely--we have a way out."

She runs an ungloved finger along Gideon's jaw. "Thank you for doing your paint properly. You looked very dashing." Until Harrow knocked the dash out of her.

Her defenses are too low for bluster; Harrow runs a warm finger along her jaw and she shivers at the touch. Even that hurts – everything hurts – but it hurts in a way she's all too familiar with, like the ache of an old injury flaring up in the rain.

"Part of the gig," she wants to say, but it comes out as more of a murmur half into the pillow. Harrow's hand on her hair, Harrow's touch along her face; it's about as far from when Dulcinea Septimus did the same thing as its possible to be even though Gideon knows, academically, it should feel the same.

"Worth it." If it gives them an escape. If it gives Harrow an idea. If it helps Harrow; it was worth it, it's all worth it. Like an idiot, Gideon reaches for the hand at her jaw and presses her mouth to the tips of those fingers. Chivalric, she thinks, dazed. ...Or otherwise.

"If you keep being nice to me," she says, tired, "I'm gonna start getting used to it. Go nerd out, Nonagesimus. I'm fine."

Gideon kisses the tips of her fingers, and Harrow can't breath, like it's her own lungs she wrung out. Her own bones turned to sand.

She stands up as if the bed is on fire.

"I'll send you food," she says, speaking incredibly quickly. "Get some rest."

She makes it to the door, trailed by one of the skeletons, and halts. "And Griddle?" she says. "Maybe you ought to get used to it." Her expression is intent and dangerous, before she shuts the door.

When Harrow makes it downstairs into the bar, she will find Moiraine ensconced at her usual table with tea, a carafe of spring water, and a plate of fruit, cheese, and an assortment of crackers and breads.

The Aes Sedai does not appear to be concerned about waiting, and is perusing a book. Closer examination reveals that it is a journal of some sort.

Harrow stops at the Bar first, sending the skeleton back upstairs with a tray, then moves to join Moiraine. She slips wearily into a chair.

"Thank you for your help," she says quietly.

That was... mortifying. But educational.

"You are welcome."

She pushes the food toward Harrow, and indicates both the water and tea with a single graceful gesture.

"How is Gideon?"

She pours a glass of water with a steady hand. "She is well enough. I have ordered her to rest."

"She is too reckless with her own life," she says with a frown.

“Or trusts your judgement,” the Aes Sedai murmurs.

Her frown deepends; she's not sure that's not worse. "It was necessary, although unpleasant. Now we know."

"it is an escape of last resort, and that is a precious thing to have."

"But I fear she would do it for a worse reason, or no reason at all, if I asked her. It is a fearsome responsibility." She takes a deep draft of water. "And yet for ten years she has disobeyed every order she can. She tried to flee the Ninth House and join the Cohort more than seventy times."

The Aes Sedai nods.

“What has changed, do you think?”

Harrow does think about it. She's thought about it before; she thinks about it all the time.

"I think she has waited all this time to be ordered to do something that mattered."

She worries her temple with her thumb. "I know her manner was... frivolous. Immature." Ridiculous. Embarrassing. "But she is truly a treasure as a cavalier."

“Do not be concerned,” Moiraine assures her. “I have witnessed far worse. I was not offended.”

“She is incredibly strong.”

She nods. "You see it, too?"

"It is the third time I have drawn on her in that way. All within a week or so. She is--extraordinary."

It's possible that in that moment, Harrow's face says far more than she means for it to.

Edited 2020-10-22 21:54 (UTC)

“Another woman might have died,” Moiraine says, bluntly. “I was prepared to break the link between you if necessary.”

Or to try, at least.

“But she has an inner well of strength that is unusual.”

To say the least.

"I would not have pushed her so far if we had not had experience," she says. "That was still not the equal of the avulsion trial."

"I don't understand the point of a trial that can only be solved by--" She breaks off, as one who catches herself committing blasphemy.

Inhale. Exhale. "The Lord has a plan for us, I know. But surely it is madness to say only a necromancer with a cavalier like Gideon can become a Lyctor. The Lyctors don't even--" She cuts herself off again.

“Unless not all who attempt the trials are expected to survive them.”

She pours herself a cup of tea, and is silent for a moment, thinking.

“It would seem imprudent, to say the least, to create a trial that cannot be passed, however.”