Survivor's Guilt [Fanfic]

The World outside the Grey Tower is a vast place.
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Bella
Female Channeller Representative
Posts: 5615
Joined: April 14th, 2015, 11:28 pm
PC: Miahala Darrow Sedai
SC: Lysira Viathene Gaidin
TC: Gareth Tomosan Asha'man
QC: Natlya Cade Gaidin
QC: Andraste Alhandra Sedai
Location: New England

Survivor's Guilt [Fanfic]

Post by Bella » September 26th, 2016, 1:45 am

OOC: This is backdated slightly to several of Natlya's more current threads.
Natlya still didn’t like him.

Jerid Asha’man had seen to everything, including things that she would not have thought of herself. (She would not admit this out loud. She barely wanted to admit it in her own mind.) He had secured her permission to depart, provided a small bag of coin to arrange the burial (which he had delivered by messenger instead of making her see him again), and he found an Aes Sedai who was going to Mayene on her own business.

She felt grudging appreciation for having the details taken care of, but that was most certainly the extent of it.

The stablemaster was equally grudging, although for his part, it was to part with items. Natlya of course had no horse of her own, and certainly no cart. These were both provided to her, upon great pain if she did not bring them back exactly as they had been when given to her. She considered asking precisely what would happen to her if it were otherwise, but decided not to test her luck.

Morgan’s body was brought from...where ever corpses were kept. It was wrapped in white cloth and somehow didn’t smell despite the interceding time from death till now. All of this was information she didn’t really want to know. It was what it was, and this was a difficult enough task without thinking about all that.

She led the horse--whose name was Maggie, as she had been told--and the cart from the stable, feeling the stablemaster’s piercing look as it drove into the back of her red head. In the past, she may have turned around and made a rude gesture. Now, she just kept walking and sighed. Each step felt heavier and heavier, knowing that Morgan’s dead body was in the cart beside her.

In truth, she considered running. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

Nat didn’t run.

An Indigo by the name of Madalena Valencia stood waiting by the bare patch of land where Gateways were created on a regular basis. Natlya couldn’t think of a time when she’d gone through one, and she wasn’t really looking forward to the experience. She kept that thought to herself as she solemnly approached the Aes Sedai.

“Thank you for your help, Aes Sedai,” she said with a respectful nod and otherwise inflectionless tone.

“Yes, child,” Madalena said simply. “On the other side of the Gateway shall be the city of Allaine. The village you seek is not a long ride from there. I will expect you to be there and back by the midday day meal tomorrow.” Straightforward, certainly. Natlya looked up and checked the sky. It was about midday now, so the rest of the day, the night, and the morning. Doable, she thought.

“Yes, Aes Sedai.”

“Good.” Nothing else was said, because why would an Aes Sedai have anything to say to a poor little Ji’val on a pitiful and personal mission? Well, Nat didn’t have much to say either, so that suited her fine. She mounted the sturdy little pony pulling its little cart. (The stablemaster said the load was small enough to handle them both, since she wasn’t “much bigger ‘an a reed” herself.)

The Gateway swirled open moments later and she stared at it with a forced deep breath, but nudged Maggie into movement as soon as she saw that Madalena was riding.

Going through the Gateway ended up being...rather anticlimactic. It was like walking through a door, and suddenly she was in Mayene. The area was devoid of much by way of people or life, and this confused her at first because Madalena said they’d be going to a city. Then she realized that opening a door in space to where there might be people would probably be dangerous. The idea of opening a Gateway onto some forest creature occurred to her, but she tried not to think about it.

It closed up behind them and Madalena rode onward, saying nothing.

When they reached a fork in the road, the Indigo pointed down the left. “The next village you reach is the one you seek,” she said. “Remember. Back to this place by midday tomorrow, or I will leave you here.”

“Yes, Aes Sedai,” Nat said quietly.

Madalena rode off, and Nat was on her own.
* * * She, Maggie, and Morgan rode onward from that fork in the road to the town--rather a large village--where Morgan’s family was buried. That was to say, his parents and brother. If he had any other family in the area to speak of, they didn’t count for much by her. They didn’t take him in after his brother passed, so why should they matter for anything?

It occurred to her that she didn’t really know much about where he grew up. They talked about many things, but details of cities they never wanted to see again… Well, those did not stay in mind.

As she rode in, it looked like most any other. During their years together, the young pair had actually seen a fair swath of lands. After a while, one didn’t see very many differences. One village was like another, and one city like another. She rode down the broad dirt road, which led straight into the town square. She found the first local, who eyed her uncertainly when she asked for the undertaker. She jerked her thumb at the white-wrapped body in the back.

“I’ve brought someone home to their family,” she said. Whether it was her words or the look in her eye, she didn’t know. He just nodded and gave her directions.

A few of the coins arranged the matter. Who was she? His wife. (She lied, but her grief when she started talking about it was honest enough.) What was his name? Morgan Cade. Yes, he should be buried with the others of his family.

While she waited for the undertaker to arrange things, she went into the tavern and bought a couple bottles of mead. She joined Morgan in his freshly covered grave by sundown to share a drink, leaning against the headstone of his brother--Morgan’s would come later--as she drank and talked to him. She wept and begged for his forgiveness.

It was after dark when she was found, but the moon was full and the lights from the town added an orange tinge to the glow it gave. It was clear enough to see well, and despite the few drinks she’d had, she could see the men walking up on her.

Natlya sobered fast as she rose and watched them approach. She knew it was her that they approached, since there was no one else there.

“We’ll be having whatever coin you’ve left, girl,” the one in front said.

“No,” she said, drawing her blade. A Ji’val of the Tower would never leave without their weapon of course, even if they weren’t as trained as a Gaidin. “You won’t.” Of course, she had little confidence that she could fight two at once, but the liquor had taken any edge off her fear. She was standing over Morgan’s grave and not about to back down to these two cretins.

He drew a sword of his own. “I got one too,” he said with mocking humor. He advanced on her, and she noticed that the other one--who looked younger and far less confident--stood back.

Natlya held her sword in a mid-guard and let him come to her, which he did.

Without hesitation, he came at her and swung his sword down and diagonal. It was not the most expert move she’d seen, but neither was it totally inept. Seeing the start of the movement, she lifted her blade quickly. With her elbows raised, the sword was held horizontal before and just above her head to keep the blade from touching upon her.

After holding for a moment and seeing his surprised expression, she arced her own; spinning over her head to push his away to her right, before she swung it back in an arcing, midsection slash.

Things had only just begun, but her expressed grief, fatigue, and alcohol were all telling on her already, yet the time in the yards proved invaluable as she pushed it all away and focused on the fight before her. She watched him leap back just in time to not catch her blade-edge, although his arms flew up in a foolish bird-like maneuver that made his two-hand grip a one-hand.

His sword still one-handed, he lunged and thrust at her gut, like one might with a dueling rapier.

She skipped back a step, bringing her blade down quickly to catch it while moving. The power it lost while moving allowed her to pivot, pushing it aside again. Moving quickly, she brought her sword back up to thrust at his face.

The shock he’d shown before was nothing to the shock on his face now as he staggered and then fell back on his arse.

Breathing heavily, she moved forward. This was not the time for some petty thief to rob her, and this was not the girl for him to try it with. Standing near, she pointed her sword at him. “You have a chance to move along home and bother me no more.” She did not know the law in this town and didn’t have the time to find out. Besides, she was always one to give a fellow thief a second chance…

...not that he was about to take it.

He kicked her in the shin. It was enough to hurt, a lot, but not enough to break anything. With a choked-on shriek, she stumbled back and felt her leg weaken. But if her time in the Tower was to be worth anything, she did not go down and she kept her hands on her sword. The moment she tried to keep them both allowed him to get back to his feet. Immediately, he moved for her. He raised his sword and inelegantly tried to cleave her head in two.

Nat managed to lift her blade just in time to catch it before her hair suddenly gained a new style, but she was not in a position of strength. Her arms shook as he bore down on her, and her knees threatened to buckle from under her. Grinding her teeth together, she held on as long as she could. Then with a gasp and a sudden surge, she was able to push up and shove him back a step.

Pushing herself back upright, she shifted her grip to one-hand and put her other against the blunt side of her single-edged blade. Using this, she wheeled around with her right side and drove the pommel of her weapon into the side of his face before thrusting its end up into his nose. Gurgling blood from the broken nose, he fell back. His sword all but flew from his hand.

“Blood and ashes,” she snapped. She didn’t really want anyone to die, so she kicked his sword away and moved to him. She rolled him onto his side so he could cough up his blood. “You’re a moron,” she managed, “but if you want to be slightly less stupid, I’ll take you to the town healer.”

“Please,” he managed, meeting her eyes with genuine fear.

Sheathing her sword, she took his arm and pulled it over her shoulders. “Just don’t try anything dumb. I can gut you.”
* * * She got the young man’s stupid self to the town healer, who was none too happy about being woken up in the middle of the night and seemed even more annoyed at who the patient was. Apparently, she had history with him. She agreed to take him in, but again, looked none too happy. Natlya stayed just long enough to hear that he wouldn’t die, and she turned to leave.

It was only after walking out that she recalled the younger man who’d been with him. He must have run off.

Returning to the graveyard, she gathered the things that she’d left and said one last farewell to Morgan. Her body was tired, and her heart was weary. Once more confronted with the eternity of Morgan’s loss, she all but forgot about the fight. She took up the rest of her mead and went back to town to take a room for the night, passing out after a few more drinks and not waking again until morning.
* * * Upon waking, she rubbed her throbbing head and washed up as best she could. She took breakfast in the common room, even though she had little appetite. She knew it would help with easing her overindulgence of the night before, however, and so she did so. With few belongings to her name now, she gathered Maggie and the now-empty cart, and she left the town.

Somehow, the road seemed emptier on the way back. She knew it was foolish, since as a corpse Morgan had hardly been any kind of company, but still… Now it was final. Now it was done. There was something sorrowing about that last step, and now she had taken it. But, it having been taken, there was nothing she could do but keep walking.

At least, until someone blocked the road.

Up ahead, there stood a man. He had the breadth of age, but still stood upright as one not yet too aged. There was something familiar about him, although she could not place it. The way he looked at her as she rode up, it spoke of his finding familiarity in her also. She brought Maggie to a stop and looked at him. He held her gaze. Neither spoke for a while.

“Is there a problem?” she asked flatly.

“Aye,” he replied. “You hurt my son pretty bad last night. I look to take from you the cost to the healer, and some for the emotional wear and pain.”

“Your son tried to rob me, sir,” she replied. Her expression remained without emotion, but inwardly, she felt sick. He was bigger, and looked like he knew his way around a weapon better than his son had. Plus, she had been a little drunk the night before, which had made her brazen. She had no such benefit today, but also knew that neither Maggie nor the cart could make a swift escape. “Perhaps you should teach him not to rob a lady.”

His lips lifted on one side, but it wasn’t a happy expression. “With what you did to him, you are clearly no lady.”

It was hard to argue with the truth.

There was no way around him. She couldn’t run. Sighing, she dismounted and pulled her sword. It had seen far more action during this trip than ever it should have. Ignoring the gaping pit in her stomach, she rolled her shoulders.

“I will not pay for your son’s mistakes,” she said simply, wondering if she was about to die. Would they bury her next to Morgan? She had, after all, told them she was his wife.

He pulled the sword from his hip. She moved into guard, and waited. Again, she would not move first, so she waited. He moved towards her casually, like viewed her as no threat. Perhaps she wouldn’t be. It had likely just been his son’s lack of training and ability that allowed her to win the night before, and maybe the mead, but now… She hadn’t been able to save Morgan against a well-trained soldier. He had the look of one and would probably do her in now.

She’d at least go down swinging.

When he came in reach, he lazily moved his sword-arm into a guard. They stood and stared at one another for a moment before he feinted left. She moved to intercept, not realizing it was a feint until it was already done. He feinted right, and again, she moved for it. If he was trying to goad her into attacking him, however, he was due to be disappointed. She would not be provoked, even less without the mead.

Finally, his surges came with true swings. He brought them left and right, with far more ferocity than his son could manage. She just barely managed to lift her own blade to meet his, the shock of metal meeting metal sending vibrations down her arms. Nat gritted her teeth, desperately trying to not lose her head (literally) as he sought to remove it. With every block, she was forced back a step.

Eventually, her back hit a tree. Panic flooded her as she felt herself trapped. The realization hit his gaze as well as he moved for the swing that would finish her off, but the extra moment he took to give it power was enough for her to duck. His sword bit into the bark of the tree and she was able to spin out and around him just in time.

He struggled to free his blade as she came around to take a swing at him while his back was turned, but unfortunately for her, he freed it just in time to block her.

Using his superior weight, he swung his sword and pushed hers away before freeing one hand and punching her clear in the face. She gasped as pain exploded around her eye and she staggered back, biting her lip in the process and tasting the metallic taste of blood on her tongue.

The man saw his opening and surged forward, again taking his powerful left and right swings.This time, she could not block them and only just managed to avoid them--just enough to not get seriously injured, though its tip and its edge caught her in enough glancing hits to draw thin lines of blood on her arms and chest and cheek. Any one of these blows could have killed her, if it had just been a little closer.

Finally, she was able to raise her blade and block. He locked his sword with hers, and yet again, used his strength to push hers away.

But this time, in adrenaline-fueled desperation, she was able to shift her weight enough to drive the flat of her boot into his gut.

Now it was Natlya’s turn to seize the advantage, surging ahead with a series of downward chops at his head while he staggered back coughing from the air being driven from his lungs. She would have split his skull in two, but even stumbling and hacking, he managed to bring his blade up to block her. Much to her growing frustration…

After her third swing, the blades caught long enough for him to push her away and straighten. She used the momentum of his push to come back, pivoting and slicing at his midsection. She was just close enough to cut open his leather jerkin and draw blood along his stomach. Not wanting to lose the moment, she reversed her trajectory to keep the blade edge out and swung back the other way. Another red stripe opened on his torso. This one bled more freely.

He wrapped his arm around his bleeding skin. It wasn’t deep enough to kill him, or even incapacitate him, but it had to hurt.

Fighting with just one arm, it took a lot more effort to block her swings as she came at him left and right like he had before. Yet even so, he did block her. She admired his strength, as she felt her own flagging.

She would die if she could not gain an advantage, and soon.

Their blades locked for a moment and he surged ahead, regaining his steam and driving her blade away. She let it flow to the side, but released one hand and instead reversed the motion to drive her fist, backhand, across his face while his sword remained out of guard. He staggered back again, looking a lot like his son in his utter disbelief.

Spinning, moving on instinct more than thought, she brought the blade across his neck. It gaped open, blood spurted out, and he fell to the ground.

She fell to her knees beside the twitching corpse, staring at him in shock as he bled out into the dirt before her. There was no time now, no healer to be brought in. She had killed him. She felt...sorrow for having done it, and yet an even deeper guilt. Not just for the taking of a life. She knew a warder had cause to take many a life… But guilt that if she could defend herself so well, if she had been capable of this, why could she not have protected Morgan?

Why did she live now, and not him?
*** Natlya left the body in the dirt. He had tried to kill her. His son had tried to rob her.

She owed them nothing. She owed no one anything anymore.

Fetching Maggie from where she’d been scared off into the trees, she rode to the intersection and on into the clearing just shy of midday. One eye was black and blue, swelling slightly, her lip was bleeding, and she was littered with cuts as she sat and waited for Madalena, who arrived shortly thereafter.

The Aes Sedai arched a brow. “Are you...all right, child?”

“Yes,” Nat lied flatly. “I’m fine.”

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