[sub]((This post follows the events from here and here.))[/sub]
She did not want to sleep. To sleep was to dream, and her dreams were filled with dark tormented things.
Roen sat near the edge of the cliff with her legs folded under her, in a meditative pose. Her eyes were closed, her senses filled with the sound of the pounding waterfall in the distance. The cool misty air soothed her skin as it drank in the warm midday Noscean sun.
Since Hornet’s visit to the camp Gharen had set up--a camp hidden within a remote alcove in Middle Noscea--her nights had been free of nightmares. Roen suspected it was in thanks to Hornet’s strangely scented herbal tea that she was no longer waking screaming in terror. But whenever she was left to her solitude to meditate, despite her best efforts to clear her mind and focus her thoughts, the forbidden memories returned. Memories of that cursed boat in the middle of the sea, to where she and the unconscious form of Askier were taken by Crimson Mountain after their hurried departure from Coerthas.
“I'm going to mark your body, signify it as my own.†The memory of the Roegadyn’s voice still made her shudder.
Screams followed; such screams filled with anguish, pain... begging for life, then begging for death.
Askier had wanted to die.
“We can escape. We can kill ourselves,†the golden-eyed Miqo’te had rasped, struggling to breath.
"If we are driven to end our lives... he wins," Roen had whispered back. "We must survive this.†Roen was clinging onto what little hope she had left, that singular intent to survive not permitting the despair and hopelessness to overtake her.
"Roen, if we get through this, is there any way I can repay you for the suffering I have forced you to endure?" Askier asked her, his swollen eyes closed, his head hung low.
“Let us survive this first,†she said, trying to reassure him, though her voice faltered at his first hint of true regret. After a breath’s pause, another plea suddenly rose from her chest: “Please do not die.â€
Those words echoed in her memory and made her grimace. Even now, many suns since she and Askier were carried off that forsaken boat, and had been free of Crimson’s cruelty, even now she recalled the fear and loneliness, her desperation of not wanting to be left alone with the monster. She had asked Askier to live.
He was nearly dead by the time the boat docked on Crescent Cove. But thankfully, he still drew breath when they were both carried off of it together. Delial had agreed to exchange herself for the hostages, agreeing to sail off with the Roegadyn. Because in some twisted way, Crimson Mountain still loved the Highlander woman.
“And then Delial ended his life,†Gharen told her later.
Roen felt nothing stir within her. No relief. No vindication. It was like an empty call that went unanswered within the black chasm that pitted her insides.
"Roen. You're relieved of your duties.†Roen flinched in her mediation as Natalie’s last words came roaring back into her mind. Her former Sultansworn mentor’s voice had been cold and deliberate when she approached her at Crescent Cove. There was no sadness, no regret upon the Miqo’te’s unaffected exterior. “Ul'dah is no place for you. You’re far too weak for this city.â€
Tears fell onto her balled fists as Roen bowed her head, her meditative form broken. Her frame shook, all vestiges of focus and calm lost.
All that she had endured, it had been because Natalie had arranged for her to be taken so that her brother’s death could be arranged. That knowledge crippled her like no other, shaking her to the core. Of all the people she loved and trusted, Natalie… she was the one who began all this.
“Get away from me!!†Roen still remembered her own distraught words as she shrieked at the Miqo’te. She had crumpled to the ground, after her hands were freed from their unnatural contortion, being bound behind her to a collar around her neck. She could recall now how weak they were; she could not even raise them to her face to hide her humiliation and anger.
Even now her fingers twitched upon her lap, as if trying to recall the simple task of moving again. Her arms had lost much of its muscle and strength, being held immobile that way for many suns. The recollections came with emotions that battered her with gale force winds of shame and torment.
“Focus on the clear waters. Calm your thoughts.†Roen's voice shook. She struggled to recall Gharen’s lessons on meditation.
Roen blinked through the blurriness of her vision as more moisture fell onto her hands that twitched again. Her form bent, she stared at her fingers as they opened, then closed into a tighter fist, her knuckles white. More voices flitted through her memory, like frightened fireflies skirting through the air, twisting and spinning, too flighty to catch and yet lending for a brief moment a glimpse of a promise.
“You do not have to remain in the mud they drag you through," Ser Crofte’s voice came back to her. She shared with Roen an insight about her past that Roen did not truly appreciate at the time. “You are what you choose to be."
"S'good t'see ye, too. E'en if tis a spectre." These from Qaeli Varily. The silver-haired Hyur had returned from her months of absence without explanation, and yet it only took her a few minutes to notice something was amiss. "Unwell or nae, ye're nae beyond repair."
“I am not broken,†she heard herself say. More than once. She needed to believe it. “I just need to learn to get back up.â€
“Oh, aye," another voice said, floating past her conscious mind. "Even those things that I sell that are tangible - the blank books, the false maps, the fool's fool's gold - these are all things that have some kind of value, somewhere. They can be used, made good again. Even the most destitute, desolate thing, is worth something." Verad Bellveil, a curiously odd merchant of “dubious†goods that Roen had accidentally encountered in Limsa. He too had lent her threads of wisdom in their conversations. His words left her with inkling of hope, the same hope he held for his own goods.
"This isn't your fault," Osric offered, his growly voice promising retribution. "And you can be gods-damned sure the rest of us'll see to balancing Nald's scales."
Was that what she wanted? Would that close the gaping wound that still bled her from within? Crimson Mountain was dead; Delial, his lover, had done the deed herself. Askier had been tortured to an inch of his life. Gharen was free and alive, and Natalie…
Natalie was still back in Ul’Dah, serving as a Brass Blade, answering to the will of the Syndicate.
“This will most likely be my goodbye to you.†Kage had looked upon her with sad tearful eyes. “I... I couldn't let it only be my beret.â€
That white feathered beret. Osric had delivered it with the rest of her things from her room in Ul’Dah. She knew it was not hers.
“Come now, Roen!" Kage's voice came to her from a simpler, happier time. "It’s the new trend! We both have one. You should too!†The Lalafell had worn such a proud grin when he modelled his newest prize, those many moons ago. The beret had a brilliant golden chocobo feather sticking out from one side.
The pristine white fabric seemed to drink in the shining gleam of the new white paladin armor all three of them wore. The dark blue Sultansworn surcoat hung proudly from the shoulders. Even many suns after the Oath ceremony, it had still made Roen pause with admiration at the paladin regalia.
Natalie had mirrored Kage’s smile, looking down at the Lalafell. Both tipped their beret in Roen’s direction, the slight breeze of the afternoon causing the fine golden feather fingers to dance and wave in the air. “You would look ravishing,†Natalie said with a laugh.
Roen just shook her head, her arms crossed in front of her with skepticism. “Ah, nay. I think I can do without. I prefer my helm.â€
“You can’t wear your helm all the time! Especially not in the city!†Kage’s enthusiastic smile was almost contagious. “We are all Sultansworns now! I am just going to have to get you one, and you will have to wear it.â€
“You would not dare!†Roen vehemently waved her hands in front of the Lalafell, though a smile broke through despite her dismay. The three of them had laughed, there in the middle of the Ul’Dah thoroughfare.
The memory seemed ages past.
"It has been a pleasure and my honor to have known you, and to have been your oath-brother." Those were Kage’s last words as he visited Roen, bearing the grim warning that Captain Anduron was planning to send men after her to bring her back on charges of desertion. Kage had been charged with the task, but he defied the orders in warning her instead, intending to resign as a Brass Blade upon his return. He seemed resigned to whatever fate awaited him after.
Roen glanced to the side where that white feathered beret sat, on the stones next to her. Her eyes lingered there, watching the wispy fingers as they trembled with each passing breeze. Such pride used to swell her chest before, back when the Oath was as real to her as the love her brothers and sisters of the shield bore her, and she them. And now…
It only brought her sorrow and doubt. Would it always be this way? Kiht had looked upon her with such pity, her dark ears flattened against her head. Was that how the rest of them saw her?
I am not broken. I just need to learn to get back up.
Roen slowly straightened, drawing a deep breath in. Her eyes followed the course of the white waters as it made its descent from the clifftops to the rocky landing below.
Such a violent fall...
But the mists that resulted from it caught the sun’s rays, calling forth an arc of colors that that shimmered and painted the blue sky.
Roen sat motionless and stared at the misty air, trying to discern the colors for a long time.
She did not want to sleep. To sleep was to dream, and her dreams were filled with dark tormented things.
Roen sat near the edge of the cliff with her legs folded under her, in a meditative pose. Her eyes were closed, her senses filled with the sound of the pounding waterfall in the distance. The cool misty air soothed her skin as it drank in the warm midday Noscean sun.
Since Hornet’s visit to the camp Gharen had set up--a camp hidden within a remote alcove in Middle Noscea--her nights had been free of nightmares. Roen suspected it was in thanks to Hornet’s strangely scented herbal tea that she was no longer waking screaming in terror. But whenever she was left to her solitude to meditate, despite her best efforts to clear her mind and focus her thoughts, the forbidden memories returned. Memories of that cursed boat in the middle of the sea, to where she and the unconscious form of Askier were taken by Crimson Mountain after their hurried departure from Coerthas.
“I'm going to mark your body, signify it as my own.†The memory of the Roegadyn’s voice still made her shudder.
Screams followed; such screams filled with anguish, pain... begging for life, then begging for death.
Askier had wanted to die.
“We can escape. We can kill ourselves,†the golden-eyed Miqo’te had rasped, struggling to breath.
"If we are driven to end our lives... he wins," Roen had whispered back. "We must survive this.†Roen was clinging onto what little hope she had left, that singular intent to survive not permitting the despair and hopelessness to overtake her.
"Roen, if we get through this, is there any way I can repay you for the suffering I have forced you to endure?" Askier asked her, his swollen eyes closed, his head hung low.
“Let us survive this first,†she said, trying to reassure him, though her voice faltered at his first hint of true regret. After a breath’s pause, another plea suddenly rose from her chest: “Please do not die.â€
Those words echoed in her memory and made her grimace. Even now, many suns since she and Askier were carried off that forsaken boat, and had been free of Crimson’s cruelty, even now she recalled the fear and loneliness, her desperation of not wanting to be left alone with the monster. She had asked Askier to live.
He was nearly dead by the time the boat docked on Crescent Cove. But thankfully, he still drew breath when they were both carried off of it together. Delial had agreed to exchange herself for the hostages, agreeing to sail off with the Roegadyn. Because in some twisted way, Crimson Mountain still loved the Highlander woman.
“And then Delial ended his life,†Gharen told her later.
Roen felt nothing stir within her. No relief. No vindication. It was like an empty call that went unanswered within the black chasm that pitted her insides.
"Roen. You're relieved of your duties.†Roen flinched in her mediation as Natalie’s last words came roaring back into her mind. Her former Sultansworn mentor’s voice had been cold and deliberate when she approached her at Crescent Cove. There was no sadness, no regret upon the Miqo’te’s unaffected exterior. “Ul'dah is no place for you. You’re far too weak for this city.â€
Tears fell onto her balled fists as Roen bowed her head, her meditative form broken. Her frame shook, all vestiges of focus and calm lost.
All that she had endured, it had been because Natalie had arranged for her to be taken so that her brother’s death could be arranged. That knowledge crippled her like no other, shaking her to the core. Of all the people she loved and trusted, Natalie… she was the one who began all this.
“Get away from me!!†Roen still remembered her own distraught words as she shrieked at the Miqo’te. She had crumpled to the ground, after her hands were freed from their unnatural contortion, being bound behind her to a collar around her neck. She could recall now how weak they were; she could not even raise them to her face to hide her humiliation and anger.
Even now her fingers twitched upon her lap, as if trying to recall the simple task of moving again. Her arms had lost much of its muscle and strength, being held immobile that way for many suns. The recollections came with emotions that battered her with gale force winds of shame and torment.
“Focus on the clear waters. Calm your thoughts.†Roen's voice shook. She struggled to recall Gharen’s lessons on meditation.
Roen blinked through the blurriness of her vision as more moisture fell onto her hands that twitched again. Her form bent, she stared at her fingers as they opened, then closed into a tighter fist, her knuckles white. More voices flitted through her memory, like frightened fireflies skirting through the air, twisting and spinning, too flighty to catch and yet lending for a brief moment a glimpse of a promise.
“You do not have to remain in the mud they drag you through," Ser Crofte’s voice came back to her. She shared with Roen an insight about her past that Roen did not truly appreciate at the time. “You are what you choose to be."
"S'good t'see ye, too. E'en if tis a spectre." These from Qaeli Varily. The silver-haired Hyur had returned from her months of absence without explanation, and yet it only took her a few minutes to notice something was amiss. "Unwell or nae, ye're nae beyond repair."
“I am not broken,†she heard herself say. More than once. She needed to believe it. “I just need to learn to get back up.â€
“Oh, aye," another voice said, floating past her conscious mind. "Even those things that I sell that are tangible - the blank books, the false maps, the fool's fool's gold - these are all things that have some kind of value, somewhere. They can be used, made good again. Even the most destitute, desolate thing, is worth something." Verad Bellveil, a curiously odd merchant of “dubious†goods that Roen had accidentally encountered in Limsa. He too had lent her threads of wisdom in their conversations. His words left her with inkling of hope, the same hope he held for his own goods.
"This isn't your fault," Osric offered, his growly voice promising retribution. "And you can be gods-damned sure the rest of us'll see to balancing Nald's scales."
Was that what she wanted? Would that close the gaping wound that still bled her from within? Crimson Mountain was dead; Delial, his lover, had done the deed herself. Askier had been tortured to an inch of his life. Gharen was free and alive, and Natalie…
Natalie was still back in Ul’Dah, serving as a Brass Blade, answering to the will of the Syndicate.
“This will most likely be my goodbye to you.†Kage had looked upon her with sad tearful eyes. “I... I couldn't let it only be my beret.â€
That white feathered beret. Osric had delivered it with the rest of her things from her room in Ul’Dah. She knew it was not hers.
“Come now, Roen!" Kage's voice came to her from a simpler, happier time. "It’s the new trend! We both have one. You should too!†The Lalafell had worn such a proud grin when he modelled his newest prize, those many moons ago. The beret had a brilliant golden chocobo feather sticking out from one side.
The pristine white fabric seemed to drink in the shining gleam of the new white paladin armor all three of them wore. The dark blue Sultansworn surcoat hung proudly from the shoulders. Even many suns after the Oath ceremony, it had still made Roen pause with admiration at the paladin regalia.
Natalie had mirrored Kage’s smile, looking down at the Lalafell. Both tipped their beret in Roen’s direction, the slight breeze of the afternoon causing the fine golden feather fingers to dance and wave in the air. “You would look ravishing,†Natalie said with a laugh.
Roen just shook her head, her arms crossed in front of her with skepticism. “Ah, nay. I think I can do without. I prefer my helm.â€
“You can’t wear your helm all the time! Especially not in the city!†Kage’s enthusiastic smile was almost contagious. “We are all Sultansworns now! I am just going to have to get you one, and you will have to wear it.â€
“You would not dare!†Roen vehemently waved her hands in front of the Lalafell, though a smile broke through despite her dismay. The three of them had laughed, there in the middle of the Ul’Dah thoroughfare.
The memory seemed ages past.
"It has been a pleasure and my honor to have known you, and to have been your oath-brother." Those were Kage’s last words as he visited Roen, bearing the grim warning that Captain Anduron was planning to send men after her to bring her back on charges of desertion. Kage had been charged with the task, but he defied the orders in warning her instead, intending to resign as a Brass Blade upon his return. He seemed resigned to whatever fate awaited him after.
Roen glanced to the side where that white feathered beret sat, on the stones next to her. Her eyes lingered there, watching the wispy fingers as they trembled with each passing breeze. Such pride used to swell her chest before, back when the Oath was as real to her as the love her brothers and sisters of the shield bore her, and she them. And now…
It only brought her sorrow and doubt. Would it always be this way? Kiht had looked upon her with such pity, her dark ears flattened against her head. Was that how the rest of them saw her?
I am not broken. I just need to learn to get back up.
Roen slowly straightened, drawing a deep breath in. Her eyes followed the course of the white waters as it made its descent from the clifftops to the rocky landing below.
Such a violent fall...
But the mists that resulted from it caught the sun’s rays, calling forth an arc of colors that that shimmered and painted the blue sky.
Roen sat motionless and stared at the misty air, trying to discern the colors for a long time.
