[she - you know when people can't keep in a laugh so they kind of just splutter and then giggle? that's what she does.
anyway i hate to ruin the comedy of beans but you set me up perfectly for this memory with yours, and also i do not have a single fun memory, so the screen starts playing it in high definition, with narration.
You're in the dark.
It's hard to see, in here. You are in a dome of perpetual bone (the rhyme makes you laugh somewhere in the back of your mind) and you are under fucking siege by the Lyctor outside, but the only thing you can really focus on is the parts of Harrowhark's face that you can see in the dim light the Sixth's dinky torch provides. It's mostly blood. Her face, you mean, it's just so bloody. It's coming out of her pores. And yet - you're proud. She's raised a solid wall of bone, six inches thick, and is holding it up to protect all three of you, and you're weirdly, wildly proud of her.
And also sick with terror, but not for yourself. For her, as she keels over.
You catch her. And you insist she take from you, but she refuses. No. Not ever again, she says, not after what happened to the Eighth, and you feel the frustration rise up in your throat because there's no way she can hold this for long, not with the Lyctor outside, and you realize - that's her intention.
"I don't have to hold it forever," she says, spitting out a clot of blood.
You tell her that her plan - she holds the wall, and you and Camilla jump off the cliff behind you into the sea, all you have to do is survive the fall - you tell her that her plan is stupid, and so is she, and she grabs you by the front of your shirt and hisses at you, you promised. You promised to go back and take care of the Tomb, and you think, wildly, fuck the tomb, fuck that.
You tell Camilla to shut up, too. She's not going to sacrifice herself. No, absolutely not, not after Palamedes - not after...
You try not to think about that, because you don't have time.
You look down at your necromancer. She has the heavy-lidded expression of someone who was concentrating in the knowledge that when they stopped concentrating, they would abruptly fall asleep. You know that if she goes under, she won't wake up again. She lifts her hand - it trembles - and taps you on the cheek.
"Nav," she says, "have you really forgiven me?"
"Of course I have, you bozo," you say, and you think. Well, yeah, if that isn't proof you're all definitely going to die you don't know what is.
"You know I don't give a damn about the Locked Tomb, right?" you say in a rush, like you have to get it all out. "You know I only care about you. I'm no good at this duty thing. I'm just me. I can't do this without you. And I'm not your real cavalier primary. I never could've been."
And here's the thing - she laughs. You're not sure you've ever heard her really laugh. Ever, in all these years. It's softer than you imagined.
"Gideon the Ninth, first flower of my House," she says, hoarsely, "you are the greatest cavalier we have ever produced. You are our triumph. The best of all of us. It has been my privilege to be your necromancer."
And - that's enough of that. You stand up so suddenly that you nearly knock yourself out, and you start pacing. You look at the small, cramped space around you. The dead leaves, the cracked flagstones, Camilla - who was nice enough to pretend like she wasn't paying attention to the two of you - the powdery grey drifts of bone. The iron spikes of the railings.
"Yeah, fuck it. I'm getting us out of here," you say, and you take a deep breath. You pull off your black robe, you strip your gloves, roll your sleeves up. You are calm. It's just your body that's frightened.
Harrow makes confused sounds at you, but you just shake your head. "Harrow, I can't keep my promise, because the entire point of me is you. You get that, right? That's what cavaliers sign up for. There is no me without you. One flesh, one end."
"Nav," she says, suspicious. "what are you doing?"
"The cruelest thing anyone has ever done to you in your whole life, believe me," you say. "You'll know what to do, and if you don't do it, what I'm about to do will be no use to anyone."
And you turn, and you ignore any protests of anything else, you just - think. One last time, you are Gideon Nav, and you are not afraid, not anymore.
"For the Ninth!"
And you fall forward onto the iron spikes.
to which gideon just kind of. looks away. sweats.]
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anyway i hate to ruin the comedy of beans but you set me up perfectly for this memory with yours, and also i do not have a single fun memory, so the screen starts playing it in high definition, with narration.
to which gideon just kind of. looks away. sweats.]
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AWKWARD? ]
... Oh boy ...
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