Work Text:
She walked lightly across the beam, trying her best to ignore the man trailing behind her. She’d been dead. Twice. And coming back had gutted her, second time doubly so. After everything that they had done, after all the struggles, after all the effort, he had undid scant minutes later.
“We’ll figure something out.” He muttered, and she strained, trying to hear any change in his voice. “There’s got to be a way…”
“You say that.” She said, taking a deep breath. How swiftly he had gone from impressing her to utterly, completely gutting her was so fast. It was fascinating, having someone to talk to who as not a noble, a rich merchant, a servant, or a guard. He was unlike any of her father’s courtiers, unlike anyone she had met. A rogue, graverobbing thief. Like he was in a fable.
She tried not to think of herself, a twice dead princess, as another character in a tall tale.
Instead her thoughts inevitably turned to him. How could he have been this stupid? He was skilled, and seemed intelligent in the sense that he knew the best ways to lighten anothers’ pockets or talk a naïve girl into a bed, but not wise. But still… he kept expressing how little he wanted to deal with Ahriman, how he wanted to shirk his responsibilities, even if he never did so. He saw everything she did. He fought his way through Ahriman’s legions.
He should’ve just left her in the tomb and found his donkey.
She had thought Ormazd had sent him. It had given her hope, that her death would end Ahriman’s threat. What happened after, tending and watching and keeping him secure… it would not be the Ahura’s responsibility anymore. Oddly enough, despite all his complaints, all his doubts, he had seemed like a godsend just a short while ago.
And now, they were scurrying like rats, with him so sure that they could stop Ahriman. When that simply was not possible.
“C’mon, talk to me.” He practically whined. Was he fishing for her gratitude? For what he did? How easy conversation had been with him such a short time ago. His childish word games, his fascination with the kingdom and all its varied locales, stories of absurd adventures that he had been on, trying to wrap his head around bumbling int a centuries long struggle against darkness. All those little details she managed to eke out about his past. Had they met only a short while ago, before all of this…
Now, conversing with him was so difficult. In part because every time she opened her mouth, she wanted to fling the cruelest invectives she could at him. How short sighted, how stupid, how insane was he? Why did he have to undo her sacrifice? They had talked of this, she was fine with her death, she accepted it.
“You can beat him.” He again blurted, trying to reassure her? Trying to convince himself he had not just damned the entire world? It didn’t matter.
She forced herself to control her temper, she half turned, bare feet pivoting on the wood of the beam, not so much looking at him as keeping him in her peripheral vision. “You seem so sure of the answer. Given that I recall you saying you didn’t believe in Ahriman before this began.”
He shrugged, and she let out an audible, contemptuous sigh.
She never asked for anyone to damn the world to bring her back. And she certainly had not asked for it to be done, twice. And, just like with just like the Concubine, the Alchemist, the Warrior, and the Hunter… just like with her father, he paid an additional price. A small one, in comparison to the world, but a price nonetheless.
“If I just walked away, how much longer would Ahriman stay sealed?” He asked, accusingly. She took in a deep breath. She didn’t know. She never would have had to worry about Ahriman breaking free, regardless of how long it would take, because she would be dead. All that mattered was that Ahriman was gone and stopping him was neither of their burdens to carry, until he made it theirs again. “We need to figure out a way to stop him permanently, not just locking him away in a failing prison.”
Ah yes, because if defeating Ahriman for all time was so easy, Ormazd would have done that. Generation upon generation of the Ahura would not have served as jailers to the dark one. Somehow, it amazed her. He had seen everything she had, and she had told him enough of the lore she was raised with. Yet somehow, he could not grasp the concept that deals with Ahriman were never a good idea.
“C’mon.” He insisted. “How long would it have held?”
“Longer than he would had you just let me stay dead!” She turned to look at him, at the sliver of his face he hadn’t covered up with his scarves, the mismatched eyes that shone in the darkness. Did he have any idea what it felt like, dying? Twice? Knowing her father had sacrificed the world to bring her back? After her own stubbornness had gotten her killed? And then, once more?
Had he not been there? Had he not seen her scream at the exertion, at how difficult it had been to rejuvenate the corrupted earth? She was tearing herself apart every time she healed a fertile ground. At least that’s what it felt like. And he had watched her do that, dozens of minor sacrifices leading to a final one.
And then, after such a massive quest, dealing with the monsters that her mother told her tales of, sanctifying her corrupted homeland, she died, this time knowing that she had at least undone her father’s mistake. Maybe she was the last heir to a vestigial empire, a ruined land, and that would be the end of things. But after everything. All the pain and grief, she went into the darkness knowing that at least she had given all she could to serve her people’s cause.
Waking up again because of him hurt worse than any of her deaths.
“Ahriman’s afraid of you. That’s why he’s still trying to stop us” He said, looking her over. “Your powers are getting stronger.”
She was a mildly powerful ant in comparison to Ahriman, a fact that seemed completely lost on him. If he was afraid, he never would’ve brought her back to life. He tilted his head, clearly trying to get her to begrudgingly acknowledge the fact. As if she was the one who was at odds with reality. He had brokered a deal with Ahriman, after seeing five examples of what happened when on treated with the darkness.
“C’mon. You put away the Warrior, Hunter, Concubine, and Alchemist. You fixed the land…” He continued, leaving out the fact that he had undone all of that work. It was a strain healing the fertile grounds, painful exertion that tore at her. Truth is, she didn’t feel much stronger, no matter the fact she could activate more power plates. “You’re just… you’re more than you were when we started this.”
“And you?” She said. That shut him up. Thankfully. She tried to ignore that twinge of guilt when he stopped looking at her eyes. He deserved that comment, she assured herself. The fact she felt bad about it… she forced herself to stop thinking about that.
Thinking about him wasn’t much better.
It was like what happened when they fought the Alchemist, only worse. At a glance, he looked like he simply had been drenched in ink—like he attempted to steal from a scribe and things went poorly. He actually had started a story about that when he noticed her staring and tried to downplay the statement, but she tuned him out when he got to the part about the pack of Salukis chasing him through a marketplace. Those stories might’ve interested her before, not now.
Closer inspection showed pitting in his skin where the corruption had pushed its way into his chest. The corruption wasn’t still, stuck and drying to him. It flowed, little rivers down his left arm, the metal gauntlet on his arm had bowed outwards a little, something inside bulged at a regular rhythm, like a heartbeat. And there was a reason that he had covered his face with one of those tattered scarves he wore.
There was a long pause. With no quip, she turned and continued to traverse the beam, paying no heed to the bubbling corruption below. She looked to the side, seeing a large, stone dais in the distance. She could make the jump with her powers. She wasn’t sure he could, scanning stone walls to see the path he’d take, the walls he’d jump across… and then he leapt he leapt. The movement was fluid, straight across a chasm to the dais.
His acrobatics had always impressed her, how he scrambled like a monkey while moving handhold-to-handhold, running along walls to leap to another place to set his feet. Her magic, powers which awoke when she did, they helped her a lot, and he wouldn’t be nearly as capable as without her help, but he could move in ways she could never imagine a person doing without powers like she had.
Now, she was certain the ways he moved, how he splayed his arms forward, rest of him trailing behind like a pouncing cat, that was inhuman. He was crossing gaps he wouldn’t have even attempted, despite her being there to catch him if he fell. And he landed on shadowy forepaws before bounding to his feet.
Out of the darkness thing moved. One of Ahriman’s soldiers. The fight was brief. Those creatures had not been a problem anymore—not that they had ever been a match for him. However, he would dodge, parry, strike with speed and skill. Like his acrobatics, watching his swordsmanship was in a way hypnotic. They worked together well in battles. Now, he rarely had use of that sword that hung by his waist any more, even if his hand went to his hilt. Never asked her to aid him, either.
Now he just wrenched them apart.
It wasn’t watching a man fight a monster. It was watching two monsters fight. Elika took in a deep breath as she watched. He was becoming a monster, corruption spreading over him. Part of his deal with Ahriman.
Her thoughts turned to her father. The first few times he had vexed them, he was just her father. But slowly, it became apparent he was becoming more and more monstrous. When they met deep inside the temple, for what should have been the final confrontation with Ahriman, that was a taxing fight against something recognizable in its bearing, but monstrous in appearance and action.
Her father had never wanted to hurt her, even as a monster. He wanted her to obey him. Listen to him. Even corrupted, she saw her father in that thing; just like she saw that ancient general in the Warrior. Her father wanted her to follow him.
“Yeah!” Came the echoing cry from across the chasm. Blackness swirled and dissipated, the remnants of Ahriman’s soldier dissolving where it lay.
Was following him, now, any different than what her father wanted her to do? He said he wanted to stop Ahriman, when he had acted precisely like her father had in freeing the being. He was unapologetically a liar and a thief, why should she trust in his good sense with this?
Could she trust him now? Of course not.
She could leave him.
She did not obey her father when he demanded she stop trying to heal the fertile grounds, she rebelled. She did all of that only for this thief to steal that success, steal a victory of the darkness from her. He stole it from her after stoking hope—the city, abandoned as it was, was more beautiful than she had ever seen it when the grounds were healed, when all of Ahriman’s lieutenants were dealt with. It had given her hope. And he took it from her.
“Hey!” He called out from the gap, hands raised to his mouth to project his voice. “You comin’, or what?”
She took a deep breath. She had to follow him, at least through this tomb. When they were out, she could abandon him. He was already lost, anyways. Looking at the writhing corruption, it was only a matter of time before he had to be dealt with.
She leapt after him, almost short. One foot on stone, the other, air. She leaned forward off-balance. When a large, cold gauntlet clamped on her arm to steady her, pull her forward, she thrashed and spun, stumbling across the platform and away from him.
She turned to look at him, and opened her mouth to assure him that she needed no more of his help. Something about the way he looked at her made her hold her tongue. His shoulders sagged, and he was not looking at her. He walked to the edge of the platform they were on, looking down at the corruption below. “I know, you think I screwed up.”
“Yes, you did.”
He let out a sigh, which turned into a chuckle. Low, soft, mirthless. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Again, stubbornly refusing to admit fault.
“Bet you’re thinking I should’ve just ran off, looking for Farah, eh?” His attempt to inject a little bit of that humor was pathetic. The image of him chasing after a donkey in a desert was not something she needed in her head right about now. “Should’ve just left and chased after the loot.”
She was about to say ‘yes’, but held off. She could not have accomplished sealing Ahriman alone, he knew that. But why was he asking her this? “Do you think you should’ve done that?”
He shrugged.
“Ah, that clears everything up.” She said, rolling her eyes.
“Was a lot of gold…” He muttered. “Though, that’s the thing. I’ve gained… and then lost fortunes. A lot of money. Saved the world… and maybe doomed it all over again.”
“And you saved the girl…” She began, only for him to raise a hand.
“Okay, that’s your fault. Find someone else to help you get yourself killed, and I guarantee that they’d cut another deal with Ahriman.” She gritted her teeth and was about to lay into him when she realized he wanted to nettle her, for whatever reason. “But… I prefer to think of it as I got a nasty little skin condition and an evil god out of the deal.”
“And?”
“Like I said, I get something, and get rid of it soon after. So, lets she how fast I can lose Ahriman and the ‘benefits’ of his deal.” With that he jumped another gap.
She followed, landing on his heels. “You are not good at motivating people.”
“Got ya to talk to me for a change, if nothing else.” He said. “And I don’t need to be good at that. You? People are willing to damn the world for you. I figure, if we need to convince anyone to help us, you’ve got that covered.”
“We?” She demanded.
“Well.. once we get out of this, do you really want me to poke around and try to figure out how to beat Ahriman on my lonesome?” He let that hang, not saying another word as he walked forward, her following. “Who knows what else I could screw up without your help?”
Her jaw dropped. Was he making a joke? It was hard to tell; his voice was strained significantly at times. Whether it was a joke or not, she did not want to think of how he’d go about trying to right his own wrong. He knew nothing. “Are you serious?”
“Maybe.” He replied, launching into a rapid series of leaps from handhold to beam to wall to floor. She struggled to keep up as he did so—he was much more agile now.
“It would be hard to create a bigger disaster than you already have done.” She said, catching her breath as they came to a stop overlooking a massive stone hall. He was in crouch, looking down at an ancient throne room. He was breathing heavily, too, but it was the huffing of a wild animal.
She touched his shoulder when he didn’t respond, and for a second felt unfathomable coldness. She hadn’t been thinking, and fingers brushed against something vile and wet. What as that he said about mountain ice? So cold it could burn? He felt something, too, if the fact he stood bolt upright meant anything. There was a hissing sound, and she had to wrench her hand from his skin and the corruption covering it.
She staggered away from him, examining her hand for any damage. In the darkness of this place, the inspection was made easier by the light glow around her hand. Looking it over back and forth, she noted nothing.
She looked at him, studying the place on his arm where she touched. Where it had been pitted, made hollow by corruption, now it was normal. He shook his arm a little, looking it over. Flecks of dried blackness came loose and fell. “Huh. Don’t remember that happening with the alchemist.”
It hadn’t. The corruption had been progressing more slowly, and she needed fertile ground in order to heal him then.
“Told you. You’re getting stronger” He said, sounding less tired then before. Less forced.
“I’m not strong enough.” She corrected. His right arm was, where it was uncovered, mostly clear. But his other arm, chest, and face still bubbled with it. She balled her hand into a fist, feeling returning slowly. “I don’t know if I can do that again.”
“It’s a start.” He said. He turned back to the throne room. “How much more do we need to go through before we’re out of this tomb, by the way?”
“Not far.” She said, continuing to contemplate her hand.
“Okay.” He said. “Uh… after that, where are we headed?”
She intended to split from him once they were out of this place. She needed to find her people, figure out a way to undo what he did. As for him…
“…It is ‘we’ right?” He insisted. “Because… look… I’ve been trying to put on a brave face, but…”
He gestured with a human hand towards writhing darkness framing his eyes. One shone unnaturally.
She was silent, for a while. He was a lost cause, there was no reason to keep him around. Except she had accidentally proved he wasn’t. It was a strain, but she could keep the corruption at bay. Did he deserve that, after everything he had taken from her?
He shifted uncomfortably.
Had her father deserved his fate, for the same? That thought intruded, and she immediately countered with the fact that her father hadn’t gone through a massive quest just to undo it. After all, it was only that he was violating generation after generation of a sacred duty. She should expect more from a graverobber who risked his own life for her on sight.
She let out a sigh.
And if she did abandon him to her fate… as a man, he’d been able to, with her aid, match the Hunter, the Warrior, the Alchemist, and the Concubine. What would he be able to do if no one tried to stop the corruption?
Could she actually trust him? He was a liar, a thief, half-a-monster. He damned the world.
For her.
“You’re going to listen to me, understood?” She said, noting how his head bobbed as she did.
She never wanted any of this, twice over. But, she’d learned long ago, when first told of her people’s duties, that even for a princess, or now a queen, she supposed, that sometimes what was wanted and what was necessary were at odds.
“Fine. Then let’s go.”