serialskiller | SAIL IC Inbox

Now she does lean into it, her shoulder against its bicep, and gives a quiet sigh.

A long moment of gentle silence, broken only by the soft unceasing lap of the water against the ship.

"... Have I ever told you anything about my guards back home?"

"Not yet. I'd like to hear about them. How they protected you." It remains supportive, but relaxes just slightly.

"Trisha was the first one. When I was just starting out as the Lady de Rolo, just ... a little over a year ago, everyone agreed I needed a personal guard. And there was this woman from town, tough as boot leather --" She chuckles slightly. "Won the arm-wrestling competition at the Winter's Crest games. I think that might have been how Captain Linden picked her. I knew more or less who she was, but ... we'd never really spoken, and then she was my bodyguard. There to put herself between me and any danger."

"And she made you feel safe?"

It admires this woman it will never meet for that alone.

"... She did her best. I wasn't very good at feeling safe, that year." Cassandra smiles; it's painful at first, then smooths out a little. "She made me feel that someone cared if I was safe, and that meant a great deal."

"What happened to her?" The question is quiet, gentle. But necessary. It is necessary.

For the first time since the conversation really began, Cassandra looks up at it, a swift movement, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Nothing," she says after a moment. "I didn't mean -- She's still first of my guard. First of three, now. Guarding ... the me who's still there."

"Oh. Good. I'm sorry, I didn't mean...you know what I meant."

It makes the briefest moment of eye contact, then slowly blinks and looks away.

"I know."

She looks away when it does, back out at the water, and tries to swallow the ache out of her throat. Saying the me who's still there hurt so much more than she expected it to.

"Then there was Bell," she continues ~~(in fluent headcanon)~~, after a moment. "They started as Trisha's night-shift counterpart. Watched over me while I slept. Or while I didn't. They were a hunter, before, used to working nights. And then ... there was a young man from Emon named Kynan Leore, who came to Whitestone after going through some bad times, and joined the regular guard. And ..."

A pause. "There's a whole story there. I'll try to tell it briefly."

"You don't have to be brief about it. We have all kinds of time." It offers her a bit of a smile. "I'll say, though, there's definitely something...rewarding...about watching someone while they sleep. Knowing they trust you sufficiently to be completely vulnerable. It's good."

Cassandra nods. Takes another slow breath.

"I told you about the Briarwoods, yes? And how my brother and his friends came and dealt with them -- did I tell you how that ended? I can't remember."

"You did." And it moves a little closer as it says that, wanting to offer her support, but not knowing how to.

She leans a little closer in turn.

"They came back." Said flatly, conscious of the absurdity of it. "I don't know how. Delilah was a necromancer, maybe she knew a spell to ... restore herself after death. Or maybe it was Vecna; they served him, maybe he needed them. But. About a year and a half later. There were reports from Marquet of a cult centered on a ziggurat like the one under Whitestone, and my brother's group went to look, and ... they saw her there. Alive again."

"Fuck." That's not a proper response, is it?

"That's a fucking shitshow." Nor is that.

"What the everliving fuck."

"Yes." Just a touch dry, and in full agreement.

"I was ... utterly convinced they would be coming to take back Whitestone. I spent days rallying the Chamber, the Pale Guard, the Riflemen ... That was when Kynan asked to join my personal guard. Said that he'd made a promise to help protect me. I told him he was welcome, and went right on trying to organize the place for a siege."

She sighs wearily. "Not that it did any good. They didn't want Whitestone. They wanted me."

"Were your bodyguards able to protect you from them?"

I mean, she's here, so she didn't die permanently, but it knows little temporary deaths can be worse.

She shakes her head. "Bell was on duty, and something made them fall asleep." Her face twists up for a moment in frustration. "I don't know why I say something. It was magic. Just like the door that opened in my bedroom, and ... whatever effect it was that made me want to go through it."

One hand lifts and drops. "And then I was -- somewhere else. Paralyzed. Along with two other people, a friend of my brother's group and the daughter of one of them, except they weren't ... aware. Of what was going on. Delilah didn't have anything to say to them, you see."

"What did she say to you?"

It reaches out quietly, to take that hand. To hold that hand. Its hand now, no take-backsies.

Her hand is cold, and grasps its hand tightly.

"That she was ..." A rough, dry laugh. "Very hurt by how I'd behaved the last time we spoke -- that would be when I told her I was a de Rolo, and drove a sword through her. That Sylas didn't even want to see me. That she shouldn't have been surprised, because I was always -- fickle and willful, and of course I would betray them when the other side looked like winning --"

Her voice shakes. "That I still belonged to the Whispered One, and he still had a use for me."

It squeezes back. Not tight enough to injure, but enough to help keep her present.

"You belong to no one but yourself, Cassandra."

Fuck, once again it's doing that thing, where the words it speaks to someone else is what it struggles most to believe for itself. And worse, Cassandra's probably aware enough to catch it.

Under ordinary circumstances, she would be; the resonance will probably occur to her later. Right now she's too focused on trying to get through the memory while simultaneously trying to ground herself here and now; the main significance of SecUnit's words to her, in this moment, is that they're part of the latter.

"The whole time she was talking," and oh yes, there's the trembling she knows so well, deep in the pit of her belly, "I couldn't move, and she was ... taking off the armor I was wearing. My mother's armor. Piece by piece, and tossing it away like it was trash. Like it was nothing. And then dressing me in a different set of armor, black plate, for -- it was a trap. All three of us, we were a trap for my brother's party, we were set up to look like enemy guards. So they would attack us from stealth, and ... finding out who we were would be a distraction, and a delay."

The squeezing continues. It hardly knows what to say, staring at an I’ll-defined point midair as it listens.

“What happened next?”

"She put ... something on my head, and everything whited out. And the next thing I knew I was on the ground, feeling like I'd just been riddled with arrows, which ... turned out to be the truth. The trap worked. It wasn't enough in the end, they still won, but ... they were slowed down by finding out what they'd done, and bringing us back."

A breath. "But I didn't find out any of that until later. That friend of theirs teleported the three of us back to Whitestone, and ... I spent a long time in bed, recovering. And then --"

She smiles, painful but genuine. "Then I found out that while Bell was still out, Trish and Kynan and two others went out to search for me. They didn't have any way to find me, all they had was a direction and I was too far away, but they tried."

"Were you truly surprised that they tried? They were your guards--they were there to be there for you."

It understands. Even after it disabled its governor module, it took the important parts of its job seriously.

"I shouldn't have been. I felt like everyone had left me alone again, and then -- then there they were. All of this fate-of-the-world business going on, and what they cared about was making sure I was safe."

She brushes a hand across her cheek, under one eye; a faint reflective gleam is gone, after.

"It meant. A lot."

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