Chapter Text
“You are the only one I dare depend on.”
The Undertaker clutched the crystal gifted to her. Ever since she had been given it, the thirst had faded. The gnawing need. She still felt hungry at times, but now it felt… Like a natural urge. Perhaps this was what it felt like to crave a bit of cheese and bread.
“You are the only one I dare depend on.”
Her lips pursed, and she clutched her hands tighter around the crystal pendant, bringing it up to her cheek. The Scholar’s request was on her mind. Or perhaps he was on her mind? She had done as he wished to protect herself from scorn, but it seemed his trust in her was genuine.
The wind blew. It was a bit cold. The sky was full of clouds, but the sun shone through them enough to make all the colors of the Roundtable brighter. The sea was no longer grey, but a lovely blue.
Everything seemed a little more colorful now.
It had been very long since she had felt light. Felt… Happy. The only happiness she had known was in her early distant youth. When the sisters thought her just a little babe abandoned at their steps. But then they started to realize she was a loathsome creature. That she ate and ate without end, that the food they gave her was not enough and that she had to hunt for more. That she was strong beyond what was normal.
But while the other children in the orphanage and most of the sisters shunned her, a few still showed her care. They made her feel wanted.
When she became a young woman, she took the oath because what else was she supposed to do? When she became a young woman, she stopped aging. As she remained young, the only nuns who cared for her died of old age, and she was suddenly alone, with no one to speak for her.
And those that came after those dear old women, were far crueler to her. The Father gave her the worst of the work, and the other nuns demanded she beat herself to repent for her loathsomeness. Self-flagulation they called it. She had done so, and still bore the scars.
She knew now that they made her do that because they were too scared to beat her themselves.
The Undertaker shook her head, and turned from the cliff, taking the dirt path back to the hold. She looked at her feet as she walked, thoughts still whirling. She had feared her fellows would shun her too. Especially if they had learned of her secret. It was a fear she still had, though now she began to believe it was unfounded. After all, The Scholar had not shunned her.
After she had retrieved his core and brought it back, after he had healed and left her with his new request, he had become very friendly with her. Asking her to have tea with him like he did the Duchess, praising her strength like he did to Raider.
He even once slipped that he found her far more lovely than the Revenant was. That had made her chest flutter. To her, it was the biggest compliment she could ever receive. She thought the Revenant was breathtakingly beautiful. Like a porcelain doll she never could have as a child because no one would ever waste such things on an orphan.
Especially one as loathsome as her.
She paused in her walking just as she reached the hold, spotting a hawk feather in the grass. She smiled, and kneeled down to scoop it up. Another to add to her collection. The size of it made it clear that it belonged to The Guardian. He was so soft and warm looking. Was he as soft and warm as his feathers she wondered? She dare not ask to touch him. It would be rude. Unbecoming of a nun.
She supposed collecting them was not much better. But still she collected them, and this new one she held to her cheek, nuzzling it. Feeling the silky vane rub across her skin.
A soft chuckle made her jump and turn like a startled animal. When she had arrived, she probably would have run away, but she had a little more courage among the others these days. On a chair near the hole in the wall sat the Recluse, her smiling face easily visible thanks to the low angle Undertaker currently kneeled at.
“Art thou fond of the Guardian’s feathers?” She asked.
“I-I apologize.” The Undertaker moved to kneel before the other woman and quickly held the feather out to her. She knew there was something special between the Recluse and the Guardian. Something intimate and dear. A word that she did not remember. “I promise I have no- I do not-”
“Ah, ye needn’t be so flustered. T’was not an accusation.” The witch reached out and took the feather away from her, holding it between her fingers. She ran her fingers along the soft vane, smiling fondly, “I wouldst never think a holy woman would lust for a taken man. Thou hast no need to grovel.”
The Recluse was such a kind and motherly figure. She was easy to talk to, though the Undertaker rarely took the opportunity to do so.
“Art thou troubled?” Recluse asked, seeming to notice her troubles.
“No… It is just… I am barely a nun.” the undertaker lied, looking up at the Recluse, “I don’t even know the god I pray to. I am as I am, because that is all I have ever been. My first memories are of the abbey. And those first years were happy. Until they realized-”
“Then be what thou desires.” Recluse interrupted softly, knowing how to keep her from once again wallowing in her past. She spun the feather between her fingers. “Thou doth not need to be a nun. Thou can just be a woman.”
“A woman…?”
“Aye.” She brought the feather to her lips, kissing it tenderly as if a precious boon, “I am the witch whom doomed the pinionfolk to die. And yet… Mine beloved seeth me as naught but a woman.”
The Undertaker wanted to ask her how. How was she to be a woman? But instead the tender display made her realise something. Was she not just moments ago clutching the crystal like the Recluse did the feather? Did she feel that way for The Scholar?
She thought of him. His greying brown hair, his kind lavender-grey eyes. How his crows feet crinkled when he smiled at her, the deep timbre of his voice.
“You are the only one I dare depend on.”
Were these the feelings the Recluse felt for the Guardian?
“There is something wrong.” The Undertaker admitted.
The Recluse looked at her expectantly.
After a few long awkward seconds,the words came. “I think I feel for the Scholar as you do for the Guardian.” The Undertaker finally blurted, face going hot as the Recluse looked at her with a bemused expression.
“Ah? Dost thou love him?”
Yes. That was the word, wasn’t it? Love. Yes. Yes she loved him. She set her hand upon her chest and leaned closer, eyes wide. “I do. I love him. I want to love him. That's what I want.”
She instantly felt ashamed. What about her vows? What about the abbey? She averted her gaze to the ground in shame, but The Recluse set her fingers below her chin, and made her look at her.
“Then thou must love him. Love him dearly.” The Recluse pulled her hand away, and held the feather back out to her. The Undertaker took it with slight hesitation. She clutched it in her clasped hands, holding it to her chest. Her face was burning hot, mouth grimaced.
She didn’t know how to love. Not that kind of love. She had once loved the nuns who had still cared for her until their dying breath. But that was not this.
It seemed the Recluse could tell what she was thinking. “Ah. I see. Doth thou perhaps want some assistance in knowing how to show romantic love?”
The Undertaker nodded, and Recluse turned to her table, selecting a book from below a few scrolls. “Taketh this. Tis not… Fully reliable. But it shall teacheth thee enough.”
The undertaker took the book, hands running over the cover. She read the title outloud. “How… How to seduce dashing gentlemen?”
“I found it one day. Tis a queer thing. I doth not think it is from here. Perhaps much like some of the foes we fight.” She lifted her hand and grinned from behind her fingers. “It has a counterpart for men… But that is of no use to thee.”