We are all actors in a play with no script,
opponents caught in a game with unknown rules,
dancers moving to the tune of silence.
Sylphiel gasped and stood as the familiar feel of Flagoon's presence suddenly crashed against her mind, like an astral tide. Forgetting her previous fears she hurried over to him, closer than she had dared before, and stared at his raised hand. A leaf, a single little leaf rested there. But it was green, alive, with tiny roots ready to grow.
"Flagoon..." she breathed, overcome with emotion as the astral caress brought back memories. She blinked away tears, then reached out with her hand.
"Give it to me." she demanded. He shrunk back from her, half closing his fist over the delicate plant, holding it close to his body. There was a calculating look in his eyes as he studied her face. Through yet another twist of fate he had ended up having something that she wanted, which opened up a path to a new hope. Negotiation.
"What do I get in return?"
She blinked in surprise, then anger shot through her. The sordid creature had the guts to attempt extortion? He was the one who had almost destroyed Flagoon in the first place. This... thing who had killed her father, destroyed her home... He expected to get an advantage by falling back on blackmail? Grabbing the hilt of the Bless Blade in both hands she pointed the large sword at his nose and had the brief pleasure of watching all color drain from his already pale face. Her voice was tight with anger as she spoke.
"I could just kill you right here and now if I wanted, and then take it from your cooling body. I would prefer not to do it that way, since there is a risk that might hurt Flagoon. If you give it to me now, I will let you live."
He stared up at her, terror written across his face as the closeness of the sword sent waves of nausea crashing through him. He hesitated a moment, then his shoulders slumped.
"Fair enough, I suppose." he murmured as he held out his hand, once again forcing his fingers open.
Careful not to touch his skin she freed the delicate little plant from his grasp. As she removed it he gasped and winced; it was if she'd torn away a part of himself.
Sylphiel returned to the fire and held up the little plant to her face. So small and delicate... The tiny vines were almost transparent, ethereal in the flickering light. And yet it was so strong, ready to grow. The raw magic radiating from it made her hand tingle. She would bring it home with her, keep it inside in the warmth, and when spring came she would return here to plant it. Her vision had been true, Flagoon would once again flourish, watch over the dead city, and maybe finally bring peace to this haunted place. Her joy slowly faded as she realized her troubles had only begun. What in Ceipheed's name should she do with the pitiful creature who had brought the little seedling back into the world? She sat down on her rock and looked at him through the fire.
She couldn't kill him, she'd given him her word on that as he gave her the little green leaf. She found herself wishing Lina had been there. She would have known what to do. Although, admittedly, her solution to the problem would probably have been rather explosive and involved at least one Dragon Slave. Sylphiel shook her head, no such luck.
He remained where he was, crouching on the cold ground. He desperately longed for the warmth of the fire, but still couldn't bring himself to deliberately move closer to her sword. Admittedly, she had promised she'd let him live, but he couldn't know for certain if she would keep a promise. Eris certainly wouldn't have hesitated to break one if it had served her own purpose. Then again, if he froze to death in the cold night the point would be rather moot. His throat was painfully dry, thirst was rapidly becoming another problem. Finally he gave in, careful not to sound too demanding he addressed her.
"Do you have any water..?"
Sylphiel looked up as he spoke, never would she have thought he could sound so humble. He truly looked submissive enough, his mismatched eyes appealing. Whether it was an act or not, she couldn't help but feeling a jab of pity in the compassionate heart that was such an important part of her nature. She looked down at her empty water bottle.
"There is tea..." she offered dubiously. A part of him hated to have to beg like this, but in his exposed position such conceited pride was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"May I have some? Please..?"
Always be polite, Eris had ordered him. Whether you talk about the weather or cut someone's throat, you should be polite about it. Rezo-sama always was.
Screw Rezo-sama. However, at this occasion civility was probably a wise course to follow. The blue-haired girl hesitated for a moment, then reached for her teapot. The simple task of pouring tea into a cup became a rather awkward business, with her holding a huge sword in one hand and the precious little plant in the other, but in the end she managed. He edged closer to the fire, its warmth finally banishing the chill from his stiff body, to take the offered cup. Just as his fingers were about to close over it, she gasped and withdrew it. He snatched back his fingers as if burned, then followed her dismayed gaze down to his hands. It truly was an unpleasant sight; his fingers so bony they seemed all but skeletal, the pallid skin stained with dirt and covered with cuts and bruises. No less appalled than she, he awkwardly tried to hide his hands in his lap, disgusted with himself. Was this what he had become? A withered, animated corpse?
After a moment of hesitation the girl put down the teacup on the ground between them, then edged away from him. Glumly he left it standing there for a moment, unwilling to soil the stainless china with his dirty fingers. Then survival instincts shoved his bruised ego aside once and for all and he picked it up. Although only lukewarm, the tea spread a blessed warmth through his dehydrated body.
"Could I have some more? Please?" he mumbled into his teacup, not able to bring himself to look her in the eye. Frowning a little she put the cumbersome sword in her lap, still well within reach, and picked up the teapot again. Very careful not to let her hands touch his, she poured him another cup.
"This is all there is," she stated superfluously as the last few drops splashed into the teacup.
"Thank you," he murmured, so quietly she could barely hear him. He brought the cup to his lips in a strangely elegant move, with all the grace of a geisha performing a tea ceremony.
When the cup was empty he put it back down on the ground between them. She made no move to take it; she knew she would never use it again.
The crackling of her little fire was the only sound in the crisp silence. The moon was already headed for the horizon, taking its leave. She went back to ponder the problem at hand, absently noticing she was running out of firewood. If she didn't want to sit around in the dark she would have to make up her mind fast. The copy didn't move or speak, just sat curled up by the fire with those luminous eyes closed, absorbing the heat like a cat.
So, she couldn't kill him. Neither could she just get up and walk away. Leaving him lost and alone out in the cold night would mean killing him indirectly, and even if her conscience might have allowed her to live with that, it meant putting the people in the villages around the city at risk. Even if his powers seemed to be gone, an ordinary human killer could still harm the innocent villagers; if he grew desperate enough fighting for his survival, she held no doubt he might attack people to get food and shelter. Which left her only one possible, no matter how unpleasant, option. Being the only one who knew what had taken place this night put a heavy responsibility on her shoulders. If she couldn't kill him, if she couldn't just walk away, then she would have to keep an eye on him. He seemed to have enough respect for the Bless Blade and her magic, but it would mean having to bring him with her. The thought of his presence in her home defiling the memory of her father made her shudder. She gave him and angry glare. Why did he have to come back to life and put her in this predicament? Then the tingle of white magic in her hand made her look down at the green leaf resting there, and her face softened. Perhaps it was worth it.
The story idea is mine, obviously, since I doubt anyone else has a weird enough mind to consider something like this. It was all based on a dream I had, actually. Amazing, now you know that too.
The quotes are from Oshiro-sama's Letters to a Red Priest (in other words, I made 'em up) and can't be used without my permission. If you ask nicely and give me credit you'll most likely get my permission, but anyways...
Many heartfelt thanks to Jen for actually encouraging me to write this, to Syrena for beta reading it and telling me it's good (don't hit her), and to Wendy for not smacking me too hard with that fish of hers...
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