It was a hunt, she had characterized it, and it was indeed still, a hunt of words, a hunt of subtle changes of expression, a hunt where she placed a mask over her face each day and wore someone else over herself. A hunt where he did the same. They hunted each other.
On the surface, Annunu Nunu, known as the Cherry Blossom Socialite and now disgraced for her past association with the mercenary group Khamja, served Captain Rosewater in order to earn the goodwill of Ul'dah's internal security service as the last condition of her freedom stipulated by an impartial magistrate. For this purpose, she had become something of his secretary, ferrying messages, relying dispatches, and often demeaned to wash laundry and dishes, clean the barracks, and other chores of that nature. Captain Rosewater, the eccentric, youthful, handsome leader of that arm of the Sultansworn, kept her busy in order to teach her a lesson - and had a bit of a reputation for organizational laziness anyway. Some in a position to know remarked that Annunu's service to Rosewater and his men had done a lot of good. The habitually slovenly Rosewater had finally started shaping up, his armor less splotched in public, his sword scoured free from rust, and their cumbersome bureaucracy had finally started actually answering notes and requests for assistance. Annunu might hate it, they rationalized, but it was mutually beneficial.
One layer down, deeper, An, a suspected assassin who hid potentially innumerable crimes behind the sweet face of an Ul'dahn socialite, was chained to Rosewater's side as a slave to his bier. Serving under a threat - not to herself, but to Gogonji Gegenji, the mysterious true leader of Khamja - she had bowed to Rosewater's blackmail and now attended his every whim and desire. It amused the master spy to have the Lalafell dancing attendance on him, and he used her as a servant and secretary to break her down even further. He ruthlessly exploited her devotion and affection for Gogonji, who cared nothing for her in return, to keep her obedient and faithful to himself, and toyed with her mind as a child did a rubber ball. Few knew of this deeper level. An could count the number on one hand, unless Rosewater had trusted associates, which she doubted, for trust was no part of the man's makeup.
Deeper still, An hunted. Of this layer, she was certain only she, Chuta, and Master Gogonji knew, and perhaps Rosewater suspected. She hoped he did not, but she did not dare underestimate the man. Even Master Gogonji did not.
He treated her as a mate, she had said, and it had become more and more so. He began to call her to his side at all times of day and night, and undressed in front of her, sometimes took her hair down from its long pigtails to comb it as devotedly as any lover. It was at those times that he murmured to her that she deserved better than Gogonji. That Gogonji cared nothing for her at all, nothing, had barely seen her over the past moons, and should she truly throw her life away for such a man? She should think of herself, he urged, and turn away from whatever she'd done in the past, and he would let her go, simple as that.
And An would push tears to her eyes and avert them and sniffle and blush, and inside she felt as cold and hard as a glacier. Her every breath passed the choker on her throat, tight enough to make swallowing a little uncomfortable, and she hated him. She had never hated before. It was novel. It felt cold and hard, too. Sharp, as well.
She had two loose plans in mind to lay before the Master upon their next meeting. In those few moments when she was herself, lying in the dark on her bed, whether day or night, with the curtains around the elaborate Ul'dahn style four-poster pulled shut, she dreamed of them. She ran her mind over each particular detail, over each unknown, and examined them from every angle. In one, she discredited Rosewater, exposed his vulnerabilities, showed him to be no genius or master spy but instead a foolish weakling who would sell out his mother and his country given half the chance. It was the more thorough revenge, and more appropriate. It could turn Ul'dah's ruling class against the so-called internal security service for a generation.
In the other, she delivered him to Master Gogonji. Perhaps it was like a cat giving a live rat to her owner. That dream was infinitely more pleasurable. Dreams of what Gogonji would do to Rosewater made her smile, and little did that anymore. Sometimes she thought of how she missed him. Sometimes she imagined his smile, too, when he ended Rosewater personally. But that dream was a personal revenge, and perhaps would not end the longer threat.
Each step forward, each time she averted her eyes, slumped her shoulders, acted broken and breaking and mournful, she knew she was bringing the knife closer and closer to Rosewater's throat. He sometimes seemed to forget who and what she was. She never forgot who he was, what he could do. Underestimating any of them was a colossal error, one that she was determined never to make even as she attempted to lure Rosewater's feet to the abyss.
On the surface, Annunu Nunu, known as the Cherry Blossom Socialite and now disgraced for her past association with the mercenary group Khamja, served Captain Rosewater in order to earn the goodwill of Ul'dah's internal security service as the last condition of her freedom stipulated by an impartial magistrate. For this purpose, she had become something of his secretary, ferrying messages, relying dispatches, and often demeaned to wash laundry and dishes, clean the barracks, and other chores of that nature. Captain Rosewater, the eccentric, youthful, handsome leader of that arm of the Sultansworn, kept her busy in order to teach her a lesson - and had a bit of a reputation for organizational laziness anyway. Some in a position to know remarked that Annunu's service to Rosewater and his men had done a lot of good. The habitually slovenly Rosewater had finally started shaping up, his armor less splotched in public, his sword scoured free from rust, and their cumbersome bureaucracy had finally started actually answering notes and requests for assistance. Annunu might hate it, they rationalized, but it was mutually beneficial.
One layer down, deeper, An, a suspected assassin who hid potentially innumerable crimes behind the sweet face of an Ul'dahn socialite, was chained to Rosewater's side as a slave to his bier. Serving under a threat - not to herself, but to Gogonji Gegenji, the mysterious true leader of Khamja - she had bowed to Rosewater's blackmail and now attended his every whim and desire. It amused the master spy to have the Lalafell dancing attendance on him, and he used her as a servant and secretary to break her down even further. He ruthlessly exploited her devotion and affection for Gogonji, who cared nothing for her in return, to keep her obedient and faithful to himself, and toyed with her mind as a child did a rubber ball. Few knew of this deeper level. An could count the number on one hand, unless Rosewater had trusted associates, which she doubted, for trust was no part of the man's makeup.
Deeper still, An hunted. Of this layer, she was certain only she, Chuta, and Master Gogonji knew, and perhaps Rosewater suspected. She hoped he did not, but she did not dare underestimate the man. Even Master Gogonji did not.
He treated her as a mate, she had said, and it had become more and more so. He began to call her to his side at all times of day and night, and undressed in front of her, sometimes took her hair down from its long pigtails to comb it as devotedly as any lover. It was at those times that he murmured to her that she deserved better than Gogonji. That Gogonji cared nothing for her at all, nothing, had barely seen her over the past moons, and should she truly throw her life away for such a man? She should think of herself, he urged, and turn away from whatever she'd done in the past, and he would let her go, simple as that.
And An would push tears to her eyes and avert them and sniffle and blush, and inside she felt as cold and hard as a glacier. Her every breath passed the choker on her throat, tight enough to make swallowing a little uncomfortable, and she hated him. She had never hated before. It was novel. It felt cold and hard, too. Sharp, as well.
She had two loose plans in mind to lay before the Master upon their next meeting. In those few moments when she was herself, lying in the dark on her bed, whether day or night, with the curtains around the elaborate Ul'dahn style four-poster pulled shut, she dreamed of them. She ran her mind over each particular detail, over each unknown, and examined them from every angle. In one, she discredited Rosewater, exposed his vulnerabilities, showed him to be no genius or master spy but instead a foolish weakling who would sell out his mother and his country given half the chance. It was the more thorough revenge, and more appropriate. It could turn Ul'dah's ruling class against the so-called internal security service for a generation.
In the other, she delivered him to Master Gogonji. Perhaps it was like a cat giving a live rat to her owner. That dream was infinitely more pleasurable. Dreams of what Gogonji would do to Rosewater made her smile, and little did that anymore. Sometimes she thought of how she missed him. Sometimes she imagined his smile, too, when he ended Rosewater personally. But that dream was a personal revenge, and perhaps would not end the longer threat.
Each step forward, each time she averted her eyes, slumped her shoulders, acted broken and breaking and mournful, she knew she was bringing the knife closer and closer to Rosewater's throat. He sometimes seemed to forget who and what she was. She never forgot who he was, what he could do. Underestimating any of them was a colossal error, one that she was determined never to make even as she attempted to lure Rosewater's feet to the abyss.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
Howl's Wiki
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