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And that go for anybody, you'll be thoroughly sorry
[ A tomb is a place where the dead rest in peace, not to be disturbed. And certainly that is what this tomb had been for quite some time, still and quite like the peaks to the north, the dust upon the marble stones like fresh powered snow. It had remained untouched like that too for even more time to follow, where in the darkness of the vaulted chamber night and day were as one, and not even the shadows of twilight could interrupt the sealed void that it was.
Then they started coming. First the raiders, who would pillage the tomb and its many caskets for the coin and rings of nobles and priestesses of yore. Then the adventurers and scholars, seeking scrolls and stone to study, bringing back a greater treasure than gold to the surface, that of legends and power. And then eventually the seekers, who came acting upon said legends and power, legends of power, of a sacred, ancient sword still said to be buried within the tomb for centuries.
And that sword? That sword was Jin, the paragon of Torna, a regalia of an ancient kingdom that sank with all of its culture, language, and history to the ages. All that remained was this tomb... and him.
He can't even remember the name of his previous master, for each time a handler of his kind dies, their memories are wiped clean. He assumes that his previous master had been the ruler of Torna, for otherwise his scabbard would not have the great nation's imperial sigil etched across it. He also assumes that they were quite well loved, to be buried with such a lavish structure that undoubtedly had been built to last many, many years.
How lucky for him, then, to be buried and kept within a tomb for years and years without end, guarding the tomb of someone he assumed to have known at one point but no longer does. Such is the life of his kind of spirit, to be re-awakened time and time again. It would have grown old, he thinks, to have had an existence like that. Perhaps that is what his master from before had thought as well, or perhaps that is what he had requested of them in the first place: so as to not repeat the cycle, to be finally buried and sealed away forever, never to be picked up again.
It's a real shame, then, that upon his previous master's death, his memories had been wiped clean of any such notions regardless.
Of course that doesn't mean he is about to head out of the tomb if just anyone picks his blade from the pedestal. After all these years alone and having the time to contemplate his existence, he's come to the troubling conclusion that his previous master had some sort of impact on him. "Troubling" because, well, he has no idea what that impact had been, and only retains eerie remnants of it. For why else would he feel this strange hollowness whenever he would walk too far away from the main burial chamber? Why else would he feel such frustration and regret when gazing upon the casket, its emblems and murals now too faded to read, to know their story? And out of all the adventurers, scholars, and helpless rouges who had tried to lay claim to his blade, there is a voice that snaps that they are not enough, that they can never compare, that they will never bring him the awe and joy he had once felt with--
He could be grieving, he realizes at one point.
Grieving over a person he no longer knows nor ought to care about. He could somehow have retained some feelings of his previous existence-- but that cannot be. Whoever they are-- were-- they are dead, and have been dead for quite some time. And just like them, he will have to remain here alone, with only the occasional hapless person wandering into the tomb hoping for glory by the power of a sword, a single sword that could raze entire armies in one swing.
Light pierces through the darkness as the lair's main doors open once more, sifting dust and dirt along with it. Shadows scatter in the brilliance of the light from above like wretched vermin, but here's nothing in the tomb of worth that refracts that light; the grave robbers have made sure to that ages ago. The only thing of value that remains is the sword that still stands sheathed within a stone pedestal, its blade untouched by the years. Jin, in his spirit form, remains dormant within the blade for now. But he is looking.
Just who has disturbed his tomb now? ]
Then they started coming. First the raiders, who would pillage the tomb and its many caskets for the coin and rings of nobles and priestesses of yore. Then the adventurers and scholars, seeking scrolls and stone to study, bringing back a greater treasure than gold to the surface, that of legends and power. And then eventually the seekers, who came acting upon said legends and power, legends of power, of a sacred, ancient sword still said to be buried within the tomb for centuries.
And that sword? That sword was Jin, the paragon of Torna, a regalia of an ancient kingdom that sank with all of its culture, language, and history to the ages. All that remained was this tomb... and him.
He can't even remember the name of his previous master, for each time a handler of his kind dies, their memories are wiped clean. He assumes that his previous master had been the ruler of Torna, for otherwise his scabbard would not have the great nation's imperial sigil etched across it. He also assumes that they were quite well loved, to be buried with such a lavish structure that undoubtedly had been built to last many, many years.
How lucky for him, then, to be buried and kept within a tomb for years and years without end, guarding the tomb of someone he assumed to have known at one point but no longer does. Such is the life of his kind of spirit, to be re-awakened time and time again. It would have grown old, he thinks, to have had an existence like that. Perhaps that is what his master from before had thought as well, or perhaps that is what he had requested of them in the first place: so as to not repeat the cycle, to be finally buried and sealed away forever, never to be picked up again.
It's a real shame, then, that upon his previous master's death, his memories had been wiped clean of any such notions regardless.
Of course that doesn't mean he is about to head out of the tomb if just anyone picks his blade from the pedestal. After all these years alone and having the time to contemplate his existence, he's come to the troubling conclusion that his previous master had some sort of impact on him. "Troubling" because, well, he has no idea what that impact had been, and only retains eerie remnants of it. For why else would he feel this strange hollowness whenever he would walk too far away from the main burial chamber? Why else would he feel such frustration and regret when gazing upon the casket, its emblems and murals now too faded to read, to know their story? And out of all the adventurers, scholars, and helpless rouges who had tried to lay claim to his blade, there is a voice that snaps that they are not enough, that they can never compare, that they will never bring him the awe and joy he had once felt with--
He could be grieving, he realizes at one point.
Grieving over a person he no longer knows nor ought to care about. He could somehow have retained some feelings of his previous existence-- but that cannot be. Whoever they are-- were-- they are dead, and have been dead for quite some time. And just like them, he will have to remain here alone, with only the occasional hapless person wandering into the tomb hoping for glory by the power of a sword, a single sword that could raze entire armies in one swing.
Light pierces through the darkness as the lair's main doors open once more, sifting dust and dirt along with it. Shadows scatter in the brilliance of the light from above like wretched vermin, but here's nothing in the tomb of worth that refracts that light; the grave robbers have made sure to that ages ago. The only thing of value that remains is the sword that still stands sheathed within a stone pedestal, its blade untouched by the years. Jin, in his spirit form, remains dormant within the blade for now. But he is looking.
Just who has disturbed his tomb now? ]
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Clayton is but one of many of his ilk: gaining rank through boasting and trickery, only to hit the glass ceiling when his superiors were not so easily fooled as his compatriots and underlings. Even is chosen champion disappoints - in the aftermath of the battle, she can't help but feel cheated even as she retrieves the defeated knight's vambraces from the pile of armour, leaving the rest for him to collect.
She had expected... more.
At least with the peasantry they had spirit to make up for lack of skill, particularly one young man with a quarterstaff and muscle that spoke of long, hard physical work in the fields. This champion had been all show and no skill whatsoever. A fat hunting dog expecting easy prey, perhaps.
On the upside, the vambraces are a fine prize. As she buckles the last strap in place she rotates her wrist to test the fit, acutely aware that where on its original owner it reached only mid-forarm, it covers nearly to her elbow on her. Small wonder she leaves the rest of the set considering the breastplate alone would be far too loose for any real protection.
As for the winnings... ]
Better the enemy you're aware of than those you don't see. [ She replies, pausing only to take one of the many blooms thrown into the ring and place it at a jaunty angle by her collar in her sword harness. ] But I will be cautious.
[ Then, it comes as no surprise that Sir Clayton's greedy little eyes are firmly fixed on Jin where he rests at her side, as if seeing through the false crossguard to the gem beneath. Saber's immediate response is to settle a hand on his pommel in an instinctively protective gesture.
As the lordling opens his mouth, however, she brusquely cuts off whatever pomp and circumstance that's about to be spoken. ]
The winnings, if you please.
no subject
Clayton gives the most obvious reaction, his beady eyes darting from he handle of the blade once she covers it to her face as if trying assign it to a name, a family, or a guild. But she is truly no-one, as much a ghost in a foreign land as he is, come to reap the gold.
"Boy, you would do well to speak only when spoken to. It is by our good graces that you may even part with this claim," Clayton replies, pulling at his collar. His smile is an alligator's. "Give us your name, first." ]
Don't. [ Is what Jin tells her, but ultimately it's her decision. He doesn't like the way this Clayton is looking at him-- or at her, like she's simply a bug ready to be squashed beneath his heel.
He doesn't deserve to know her name. ]
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Saber's expression remains impassive in the face of the ruling elite's displeasure. She doesn't respond at first, only briefly stroking a thumb along the sword grip under her palm to acknowledge Jin's misgivings.
Be still. All is well.
The silence stretches for a time beginning to verge on petulant before she does speak, resonant with some innate sense of command despite the fact she doesn't raise her voice. ]
My name is unknown to you. [ Dual meanings there; whether pointing out the Lord's appalling ignorance or lack of connections into higher echelons of society is somewhat unclear. Still, her eyes blaze behind the politely disinterested mask, full of the scorn that she cannot voice. ] The poor know me well. The starving sons that pull the plough greet me as an old friend.
You will not.
[ Her tone implies the cur insult far better than if she outright spoke it, but the meaning in this one is very clear. Even as the ripple of outrage spreads among the stands in front of her, she can hear the curious murmurs at her back from the peasantry.
Farmers, workers, and the common folk deserve to know who she is, but Clayton has yet to earn that right. He can threaten until he goes blue in the face and she will be unmoved. ]
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There was one a time where Clayton could have kept his emotions in check, and that talent of his had partially gotten him to where he is today. But now he can hardly stifle the sputter at his lips when the boy replies, and he grabs at his goblet and gulps it down as if it could clear his throat.
"Then you will not receive this prize," he spits, and then his mouth twists into a hateful smile as wine drips down the tangled mess of his beard. "Unless... you trade your blade for it. For the Paragon of Torna, the Fang of Morythra... the White Demon of Caldea."
--And there it is. Their fear of being recognized, all laid out in the open. He's grateful that most of the crowd won't be able to hear them speak, but the nobles that recognize the legend stir, looking at Saber in shock. And what's more surprising to Jin is that whoever this man is, he... even knows more of Jin's past than Jin does himself! Morythra? Caldea? He remembers neither nation, and he wonders how far they have sunk below the sea of time.
The blade expresses how unsettled he's become by becoming cold to the touch, as if her hand is now upon ice rather than steel.
"In fact, I will give you three times the amount for your sword!" Clayton cries out, this time enough for all to hear. That causes more of a commotion among the crowd; to many it would be enough to give their children away for it. ]
no subject
The titles he spits like venom are new to her. Although Saber doesn't show any reaction, she can feel Jin's dismay, and the cold radiating through her gloves is nearly enough to leave frost on the metal buckles at her wrist. Despite the plummeting temperatures however she doesn't pull her fingers away from Jin's pommel.
For a moment it may seem she's weighing the odds of sword vs monetary gain from how her eyes drop to the prize bag, practically overflowing with gold coin, the susurrus at her back quieting only slightly when she looks back up. ]
No.
[ For such a simple one-syllable word, the sheer willpower behind it is like the death knell at a funeral; final, end of story, not up for debate. The force of it is enough to silence the crowd to point of hearing a pin drop. ]
You offer the sweat, blood, and suffering of your vassals in exchange for my pride and honour. I'll have nothing to do with it.
[ And just like that, she turns her back on Clayton entirely as if he's simply... ceased to exist. The copper coins thrown into the ring are worth more to her than all the ill-gotten treasures their lord owns. At the very least the copper will pay for a modest meal and some meager supplies to see them through to the next tourney - hopefully with better nobility in residence.
That was... disappointing. The thought is tinged with some dry humor as she walks back across the ring towards the exit. Perhaps the next will be better. ]
no subject
The blood boils within his veins, and his anger is so easily visible that the other nobles step back from him, turning to whisper among themselves. A few look on with disapproval; what do they care if some masterless page doesn't take the gold and throws a few insults? They are above such pettiness, for at the end of the day they are well-fed, warm, and comfortable within their homes. But Sir Clayton does care, and he cares quite a lot about it.
As soon as Saber's back is turned to him, he marks death upon the nameless youth. Tonight-- he will have his men pay the boy a gracious visit. ]
Saber. [ Jin speaks to her when she walks out from under the arched exit of the arena, tone stern. What did he say about making enemies? ]
That man... [ Knew quite a bit about Jin. And he can't help but be curious as to how-- and exactly what-- he knows. There is no way Jin would ever want to have the Baron's grubby, sweaty palms upon him, but if only there was some way to have that information for himself. Of course his kind are discouraged-- or he feels that there is some sort of natural suppression at work-- when it comes to learning of their pasts, but when a wall is presented to him, he only wants to tear it down.
His unease remains, but at least his weapon form will not feel like ice. Besides, there's something else he should bring up, even if she's already noticed it herself. ]
He wants you dead.
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At least she has the good grace to look a little regretful about the exchange as she glances down at the sword at her hip, prying her fingers loose from the pommel as if she wasn't keeping a white-knuckled grip on it. A long, measured exhale follows, to centre herself.
Discipline, Saber... ]
Yes, I saw as much. [ She feels more at ease the moment they step back into the shade and quiet of the woodlands, the taut line of her shoulders drooping a little from fatigue. Such a long gauntlet of bouts invariably takes some toll no matter how skilled the swordsman. ] But it's not me he wants. He knew you the moment he set eyes on you.
[ Which is...worrying. It's becoming more and more obvious that for both her sake and his, Saber needs to secure a safe haven and some proper armour just in case. ]
Did you recognize the titles he spoke of? The countries?
[ "Paragon of Torna, the Fang of Morythra... the White Demon of Caldea". All impressive sounding, but none that she herself knows. Jin must know something to judge from his reaction though.
And yet.
Unbeknownst to them, a set of five men leave the village on the same path, all of them armed and whetted with the promise of generous payment on their return. ]
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[ His words fall silent for a moment, and then when his voice returns it's snappish. ]
But what does it matter? Those countries do not exist anymore, and my past along with them. [ It's the standard response of a Blades as they ought not question who they once were, but she might be able to read him easily enough that he's conflicted. When tied to a master like this, his emotions can be felt more easily, like a sudden winter breeze upon her neck.
Distracted as he is with this particular line of thought, his awareness is muddled, making his sense of the surroundings and anyone who intrudes upon it undetected. ] Does your past matter in what you wish to accomplish in the present?
[ It shouldn't, in his mind, as the present and this life's memories are all he has. Because he has no past-- at least, not a clear one from which to draw anything. It's just one more difference between humans and his kind. ]
no subject
His sudden defensiveness doesn't faze her, however, and she continues along the path with an uninterrupted stride despite the wave of cold running along her spine and down her sword arm. ]
Are you certain? [ She sympathizes, as the gentle push back suggests, but he may be a little too hasty to burn bridges. ] The people you met, the life you lived, is that not part of the foundation that makes you who you are now? Not even stone is unchanged by time.
[ But her past...
Well. It's only fair that she offer some insight into her own life if she has tidbits about his. If Jin's memories are a deep wound that keeps reopening, hers is a welt that's long healed, cauterized shut and thick with scar tissue as a testament to what once bled freely.
For a long while only birdsong and the rustle of leaves meets his question. She remembers, of course, but it's much like dusting off an old, beloved book. There's some cobwebs there that need to be brushed away. ]
It has some bearing on who I am now, yes. [ It's said in a mild manner, as if discussing the weather instead of something more somber. She's at peace with the circumstances of her birth now, after many years wondering the whys and hows of her abandonment. ] My parents wanted a strong heir. A boy. I was neither a rightful heir nor a son, much to their shame.
So I was given away. [ She doesn't begrudge them that, knowing who her parents are. She considers Sir Ector her sire rather than the stranger that gave her up so easily; he taught her everything she needed to know to live a good life, even if it's one rife with struggle and hardship.
She tilts her head up to soak in the sunlight filtering through the canopy, the warmth soothing the sore muscles along her shoulders and arms. ] In truth, they did me a kindness. That life would have been a prison and nothing more.
[ Should she?
The titles... she knows by those alone that Jin held important rank not once, but thrice at least. It's been only a short span of time that they've travelled together, but... ]
My name was --
[sssssssssssssTHUNK.
A shock to the senses, enough to make her stumble as the kinetic force skims the curve of her cheek, whistling past so closely the gleam of the arrowhead catches the light before vanishing into the undergrowth.
Saber has enough time to spin on her heel to face their attackers, drawing Jin's blade halfway from the scabbard before the second and third arrows hit home.
She tears one out of her shoulder and discards it before the first of Clayton's retinue closes the gap - the other arrow, sunken deep into her side, is ignored as she meets the broadsword brought down at her head with her own parry in a spray of sparks and the clash of steel.
The other knights aren't far behind. ]
no subject
He listens to her as she walks, noting the acceptance in her voice of her past and her circumstances. Jin cannot speak to the treatment of womenfolk in their world other than it has existed for as long as his subconscious memory extends, but it bothers him nonetheless to hear her talk as if she were grateful to be given away just based on her sex. Clearly she was more a warrior than anyone they faced in the tourney, and she was obviously better apt than any those nobles upon the stage. Her father made a grievous mistake to not name her an heir, and it's all to easy to be angered on her behalf.
Any frustration on his part, however, quickly dies the moment she begins speaking again, attention focusing upon the name she's about to reveal.
And then he hears it too fast, too late, and it's already done. One arrow, two, three, with the last two hitting their mark before Jin can even warn her of any of them coming. Immediately his senses surge and steel themselves, expanding to encompass the area, and he counts five of them total. Five. Their movements are clumsy in their armor which may work to their advantage, but that's only another blow to his pride that he didn't catch them sooner. But that may not help them because she's already been hit. ] Saber--
[ His blade strikes against the broadsword, and the heat of the sparks do nothing to faze him. What does is that he feels how she's holding him-- without as much energy as she had during the tourney, with her grip not as tight, with her in pain.
Legends speak of his power and the impossible battles he helped his wielder win as a single solider against hundreds, but like any weapon or partnership, it takes both practice, time, ...and trust to become strong. He's nothing but another sword in her hands-- strangely long and slender, yes-- but there is no extra power reinforcing the attacks, not so early like this. ] On your left!
[ Well, he can at least direct her attention to the approaching knight to her side, but what good is it if there are others already taking aim at her once more? ]
no subject
She doesn't dare pull it out now that the barb has sunk so deeply. At the very least, she might delay the chance of bleeding out should the arrowhead have punctured something critical.
Jin is right to be concerned. Although her form remains fluid as she moves from defense to offense and back again, it's plain the fatigue from the tourney slows her sword arm and weighs heavily on her shoulders. Every parry is slightly too slow, every retaliation lacking the power she normally has to offer. With the archer at the rear of the ambush nocking another arrow, Saber is quick to duck low under the blade of the knight attacking her left flank, Jin's razor edge leaving a gleaming afterimage of blazing sunlight as she unerringly cleaves through the man's leg in the meager gap left between his battered tasset and cuisse.
And into the leaf litter he goes like a puppet with its strings cut, howling fit to wake the dead.
One down. Four to go. ]
Cowards!
[ The teeth-gritting shriek of clashing steel nearly drowns out the fury in her voice as she bats aside a heavy overhand swipe from the first knight with the broadsword, only the barest undercurrent of strain hinting at how grim the situation is beginning to look.
Another arrow sinks into the dirt by her leg, forcing her back a step, then another as one of the more heavily armed men comes forward to replace their fallen comrade - this one wielding a halberd with reach far superior to her own. He is more cautious than his companions, allowing the broadsword-wielder to press the attack while denying Saber a chance to retaliate lest she get skewered for her efforts.
Still, that doesn't stop her from trying valiantly to hold her ground. The final knight has not escaped her notice, giving the battle a wide berth to circle around her back. There isn't much she can do about it except break away into the undergrowth and harry her pursuers while ducking behind the treetrunks to keep the archer from drawing a bead on her. ]
no subject
This is no time for an impromptu lesson of how to use a magical Blade like him, but if he doesn't do this now, there may not be another time.
With one down and howling upon the ground even with arrows hampering her movements, some of the men seem to notice that they're not dealing with just anyone, yet they still pursue after her like bloodhounds on a hunt. ]
Saber, we can take care of the rest in one swing. I just need you to concentrate on my blade. [ He tells her, his voice grim but still calm, controlling the urgency for now. ]
Concentrate as if you're trying to build a fire with only the pit before you. You have to believe you can light it with just a single look. Don't care how you picture that fire. Just--
[ This is probably a lot to ask of her considering that she's running from their pursuers, but it might be their best chance to get away. ] Ignite it.
[ And if she'll be able to somehow muster the energy to follow those instruction and put it to use, she'll simply know how to use a part of his power, suddenly innate to her because it is innate to him, and it's shared through their bond. It won't be fire as he's described, hot and searing and consuming, but it will be wild, explosive, a torrent of white energy unleashed from her blade that will cleave through her opponents and a good portion of the trees in its trajectory. It's only at the end of the attack the energy finally crystallizes into jagged walls of glaciers, as if its only in afterthought that the energy abruptly arrests. ]
no subject
Not yet.
Not yet.
More arrows pepper the woodlands surrounding them while she slows awkwardly to a stop, turning to face their pursuers regardless of the fact she can feel a second and third arrow sink deep in her left arm and the flesh of her thigh. All extraneous now, her focus narrowing to the blade in her hands and the glow of the gem set in the crossguard.
The fire she imagines is no mere bonfire. A bonfire is for small men with small tasks, warmed by a humble spark for a brief span of time. For her needs she requires something grander still.
It is the radiance of the sun itself that spills forth into the endless golden plain of her mind's eye, the full glory of midday at the height of summer, so bright as to wash out all other colours in existence.
And
Ignite.
As the wave of destruction sweeps up the enemy knights like dandelion seeds in a high gale, Saber manages to stagger forwards first one step, then two, before her legs finally fail her - Jin's blade falling to the moss and wild grasses while she herself drops to her knees, each breath the short, choppy wheezes of an animal in distress.
It's a special horror to feel your body fail around you, and yet remain mentally sharp. Imprisoned in your own flesh. ]
I...
[ This isn't how it was supposed to end. Not so soon. Not with so much left to accomplish.
With one last reflexive jerk, she pulls the arrow in her leg free, and even in her deteriorating state, she can recognize the telltale oily sheen on the arrowhead as she collapses on her side with a clatter of metal. A distant part of her absently notes the bluebells gently waving over her palm where her arm has fallen, outstretched towards Jin in a last futile gesture.
Poisoned arrows. ]
no subject
It's a shame then that after one swing the battle is brought to a clean (or rather, devastating) finish, but it's something he can at least be relieved to be over. However it's a greater shame that after one or two steps the one who had let him unleash that power once more drops him to the ground.
He doesn't understand why she has let go of him, allowing him to fall to the ground and sink into the soft grass so unceremoniously, not until he looks directly from out of his core crystal on his side. He can only watch her fall to her knees, pull out the arrow, and then crumple onto the ground. The arrow that falls from her hand comes into his view between them, and he spots the poison upon its tip. What a dirty trick to use. ]
Saber!
[ The core crystal shines intensely as he calls her name through their connection, but it feels as if he's shouting at her through the thickness of the crystal itself: he can see her, but the connection between them is as strained as her trying to reach out to him. He can't identify the poison from the arrowtip alone, but he's not unfamiliar with what a number of them do. A sudden dread threatens to lock him even within the confines of the sword as he shouts her name again through their connection; will he have to watch her suffer before she--
He's seen it before. That same look, the desperation, the disbelief, the sheer stubbornness to cling to life, the curse at circumstance, the nonacceptance of the fate that's been dealt, the lament of regret, the belief and hope that somehow, someway, the darkness that encroaches will vanish if only by sheer will. It's a different face, a different time, but now they're overlapping with this present repeating the same ending of a past already completed. Her eyes had been as golden as the sun and her hair was an auburn as soft as autumn, but now that hair is blonde and those eyes are blue but it's the same, it's the same, the same expression--
Not again.
It's hurting him now, too, as the poison takes effect over her, and suddenly he's straining to reach towards her himself, as if he could somehow bring an arm, a hand, anything out through the core crystal of his blade. Not again, the words pound through his head like solemn mantra, he can help her, he can save her this time. He's sorry he didn't before, it doesn't have to be the same. Not again.
And then he's looking at her from slightly above, his hand grasping onto hers tightly. How, he doesn't know, but when he blinks he's still there. Somehow his blade form still rests on the ground, and somehow he's kneeling beside her and holding her hand at the same time.
He's not going to complain.
Jin leaves her for an instant, knowing that anyone who carries poison must have the antidote as a precaution, searching one of the bowmen for it. Once he does obtain the vial he's back at her side, lifting her by the shoulders, uncorking the vial with his thumb, and tipping it between her lips. ]
no subject
Worst of all is Jin's reaction.
She can hear him, see him, feel the grass under her cheek and the wind ruffling her hair, but can't respond. She tries - the pain in his voice is enough to redouble her efforts to fight off the paralysis setting in - but it's all for naught. Closing her eyes can't block out the sorrow in his voice.
Just when Saber's about to resign herself to the fact this is a battle she cannot win, the sound of footfalls and breathing is enough to get her to crack open her eyes again just the tiniest amount, morbid curiosity to see who it is that's stumbled on the aftermath of the battlefield.
But it's...
What?
How did he--?!
The complete lack of feeling makes it an alien experience to know realistically how tight his grip must be, and see her own limbs being manipulated, but not get any sensory feedback whatsoever.
The arrival of the antidote leaves a trail of bitter fire down her throat. "Palatable" isn't something that can accurately describe the taste. ]
J...in....
[ How frustrating. She'd meant to sound thankful, even questioning, but his name comes out as a whispering rasp.
The poison has halted, however. While it may take some time for feeling to return to Saber's extremities, her breathing begins to ease almost immediately. ]
no subject
He will have to do what he can while he's still in this form.
It's a risk to move her, but one that he immediately takes. Placing the sword upon his back, it hovers just between his shoulder-blades as if within its own scabbard and straps, and then he practically sweeps Saber up into his arms. Humans aren't made of steel, and they're certainly not made of the mysterious crystal forms his core. They are weak and delicate beings of flesh and blood, and it seems that he had almost forgotten about that fact after centuries apart from them. Carrying her isn't some lesson in human fragility, it's a cruel whip for having forgotten it.
There was an inn just within the gates of the town, and that's where he's heading.
One flash-step and he's halfway to the gates, the trees rusting around them as if nothing but a cool breeze had passed through. The second one brings him into the town, the third is to kick down the door to the inn causing everyone within to turn at the sudden intrusion. He ignores them all as the next step brings them upstairs. Below he can hear the sudden clamor of fear and chaos as many of them cry phantom or devil, wildly running out from the establishment, mugs of ale forgotten upon the wooden tables. They won't be disturbed for a while. Good.
He sets her down on a bed in an empty room, and in the next instant he's taking a basin from below and filling it with the piping hot water the cook had left above the oven and fabric he can find-- curtains, sheets, dresses hung within some other guests' room. He makes ribbons out of them to form into bandages for her, using the scraps to apply pressure to the one upon side. The arrow is still embedded within, but he's not going to remove it without warning her first. ] Saber.
[ It's strange to hear his voice aloud, strained, but he's surprised by what calmness it does carry in this situation. He's saving her life as much as his own, true, but that's not the reason for his urgency in the matter. Because he's already seen her determination, her courage, her will-- and he will not stand for any of those to disappear from her eyes. The mantra continues: not again. ] ....I'm going to remove the arrow at your side.
[ And permitting that she is compliant (or even awake at this point), it's going to come out. ]
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The first flash-step is a surprise. One moment they're deep in the woods, and the next, they're back on the path... and then into a settlement with swiftness not matched by even the finest war horse.
Perhaps the poison's side effects. It's the only explanation for such a feat. She's quite content to blame the blatant disregard for the laws of time and space on the most plausible explanation, but then...
The sunlight bathing her face is blotted out quickly enough that her eyes haven't adjusted to the shift indoors, only hearing the crash of splintering timber as the door snaps like kindling under Jin's strength, and the muffled screams shortly thereafter.
A string of events that simply should not be.
How baffling.
She's able to make small movements by the time he returns with hot water and cloth. Pain, of course, comes with it, but she's far too grateful to be released from her paralysis to care.
At her name, she rolls her head to one side to get a better look at him. ]
Do what you must. [ The connection is tenuous, still, but having the mental link is a boon. At the very least she can blink slowly at him, not shying away from what will be a very unpleasant experience.
Sure enough, the arrowhead only comes out reluctantly, necessitating some force in its removal. Saber herself is silent, only jerking once when the arrow comes free with a wordless hiss of pain.
Her hand slowly moves to cover the one he has braced against her side, squeezing weakly. ]
Jin.
Thank you.
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But her hand is upon his, and he's surprised by the amount of relief he feels himself from simply seeing her move. The antidote is slow to work, but it's still working. For the time he had been carrying her back to inn, he had been worried that what he had given her had not been enough. ]
For helping you? [ He asks with gruff breath, almost a snort as if he's being thanked for simply existing. ] I'd be gone along with you.
[ ...He didn't mean to say it as harshly as that, as if he did not care of her existence outside of her own. Because that's not the whole truth at all. Still, his words carry his scowl along with it, his displeasure apparent, bordering on outright anger. It's that discontent that makes him see her not as the swordswoman who fought bravely and survived numerous fatal attacks, but as a victim that he could have prevented from being one in the first place. He should have been able to protect her from the very beginning...
And as he wipes away a bit more of the blood upon her side, Jin sees that now she will have scars because of him. So he tries again with his words, this time speaking a bit more softly, controlling the irritation within. ] Just... try to rest. I'll take care of the rest.
[ After a few minutes of holding pressure he looks under the cloth; it's stopped bleeding for now, at least outwardly, but he'll be sure to assess for any purple discoloration trailing under her skin to her backside intermittently. Now it's time for the one upon her thigh, the second-deepest wound. He had been able to get away with not removing any of her clothes for the first one because it had slashed the fabric there, but this one still remains covered.
As she'll soon come to know when it's dealing with Jin, the quickest way for him to get to anything is to destroy it, just like the door to the inn. Without so much as a warning, whatever sort of trousers or leggings she is wearing are just going to be torn in a spot wide enough for him to work with... and then some, oops. ]
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The strength of emotion warring in his expression and tone of voice doesn't escape her notice while she watches him tend to her wounds with a surety that speaks of long experience. Whatever it is he has bottled up inside, it must be the result of something so profound not even time itself has sufficed to smooth it over.
An incident from his past? Who knows.
Despite his reassurance that she can let herself give in to the drowsiness that's sunk deep into her bones after the ordeal, she only allows her eyes to close halfway. It doesn't feel right to leave him to stew in his rage. Rest will come soon enough. ]
Regardless, thank you all the same. [ Saber's going to dig her heels in on this despite the gently reprimanding tone it's delivered with. ] Do not dismiss your valour so easily.
[ Her eyes track his movement as her eyelids drop lower - a sliver of green the only hint that she's still awake and aware.
At least
Up until he goes and tears a huge honking hole in her leggings, anyway. Were she hale and hearty, Saber might've sat bolt upright in outrage (this is indecent, Jin!!!) but as it is really all she can do is flinch at the sound of ripping cloth and give him a reproachful look in lieu of a proper upbraiding.
Where's she gonna find new pants in her size now, huh? ]
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Jin begins with this injury as he did with the last, with taking a strip of cloth and dipping it into the basin of hot water to clean the wound, followed by applying pressure to it with his hands upon her thigh. Everything about her is so petite, it's hard to imagine that she had bested everyone in the tournament earlier...
The bleeding subsides more quickly than the one to the side, and they're quite lucky the tip of the arrow did not nick one of the deeper arteries or veins of the leg. She'll have to endure a nasty bruise and the aches of muscle tissue repairing, though.
And with any of the wounds she carries, there is always that troublesome risk that they can become infected. That.... he cannot do anything about.
It will the same for the wound on her arm and shoulder as well, and when he's eventually finished with those as well, applying fresh bandages to them, only then does he pull back from his work, inspecting the wound at her side one last time. ]
Still with me? [ If she's fallen asleep by now, he won't disturb her. ]
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Saber is quite small compared to many hardened warriors, but only a fool would fail to take her seriously. Smaller target, lower center of gravity, superior agility... all of which more than sufficient to put down a man twice her size in heavy plate on an even playing field. It's merely a matter of lacking the status or coin to acquire plate of her own.
For now.
She obligingly moves and shifts under his direction to allow Jin to reach the puncture wounds more easily - the tremors in her limbs weaker now as the antidote runs its course, but still tangible under his hands. It would seem this strain of poison is particularly virulent. ]
I am.
[ Saber's voice is steadier now, more like her old self while she opens her eyes from the semi-dozing state she was in for the tail end of his ministrations. Her brow furrows a little as she looks down at herself.
By God, she looks a fright. Far more like a wildling than knight. ]
Although... I wonder if I am still dreaming. How is it you have a tangible body, Jin?
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But will she? Those that attacked her were not the sort of brigands one would encounter on the road from one village to the next. They were organized, they had a directive. And whoever gave them that directive must have wanted the job done thoroughly to send five trained men, all their weapons, and poison along with them. As for who was truly responsible for the attack...
He can't help but think of the baron back in the area as Saber refused the gold offered for him. How he had looked as if the vitriol within were about to burst from his lips. His eyes had told Jin all he needed to know about the man's intentions.
Humans. When they are denied what they wish, they take it by force. Isn't that how they have always been?
Saber's question shakes him from his thoughts, and he looks over to her once more. ] I'm not sure. [ That's his honest answer. Something else tells him that given enough time he would be able to manifest it on his own anyway, but so soon, and tangible at that? That part he's uncertain about. His gaze drops to the cloth he holds, and he finds that he can't exactly wash all of her blood from his palms. ] Maybe it's a defense mechanism.
[ He motions to her with a hand, and then to himself. ] We are... tied together, after all.
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Tied together. Or perhaps "fettered" might be a better term. To say Saber is greatly shamed by being struck down so quickly is a massive understatement. Frankly, she doesn't particularly blame Jin if he's reconsidering who he's made his pact with.
She should have been better. ]
I see. Then... [ The luxury of a second pair of hands is likely to be temporary. Or so it's wiser to assume... she doesn't relish the thought of getting up as she is now, all wobbly like a newborn deer. It seems she'll be spending some time in convalescence whether she likes it or not.
And rest assured - she most certainly does not like it one bit.The pause stretches for some time while she thinks on how to best rearrange their schedule of travel, and when she glances up again... ]
Pendragon.
[ It's said rather casually while she smooths down her sadly ruffled and torn tunic, inspecting the ragged edges where the arrows had punctured the cloth with a resigned look. It seems she'll need to spend some of her meager coinpurse on more travel clothing. ]
My name. It was Arturia Pendragon, since we were interrupted before. I owe you that much at least.
[ Which in all honesty probably doesn't mean much to him, being so new to the country, and Saber herself has no plans to expand on the unusual surname. A dead name for a dead life.
She breathes out slowly, closing her eyes fully as the day's weariness begins to take effect. ]
Give me a hour or two to rest, and we can leave.
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His kind have names. Single names, with their titles changing throughout the centuries depending on who uses them. Azami, the Nightmare. Dagas, the Fire-Kaiser. Brighid, the Jewel of the Empire. All Blades lost to history, and he remembers them only by the names, he suspects, because they are-- or had been-- common knowledge in his time. Or, perhaps, because he has clashed with them before across multiple lives, lending them into the stores of his subconscious memories.
But he's content with knowing hers. Not Saber, not a Blade-like name which he would only associate to those others of his kind that had been lost to time (with he himself almost among them, should he have stayed in that tomb). But an actual person, someone who will be remembered.
Should be remembered, with her valiance and sense of justice.... For a moment the light in his eyes changes at he looks at her, the steeliness fading into something warmer, like frost fading from a windowpane at dawn.
But when she say that, they narrow once more. ]
Unless humans have somehow grown stronger within the centuries I've been gone, I doubt that you'll be ready to leave in a couple hours.
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[ Blunt as ever, this woman. ]
There will be more that try to take you by force. As I am now... [ A meaningful silence, here, while Saber remains in repose on the bed, hands neatly folded over her abdomen, eyes closed. ]
We are exposed here - too vulnerable to attack. Time is a luxury we do not have.
[ Ruthless pragmatism, really. Five were sent before, and when they don't return to their master, it wouldn't be surprising to have a larger retinue sent in pursuit. Moving to the domain of a noble in direct competition with Clayton could buy them time.
The problem, of course, is travelling such a distance in a short span of time without horses and without aggravating her wounds.
Her pain means little when it comes down to keeping Jin out of the wrong hands. He's her partner, after all. ]
Trust in me. I'll survive.
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Here comes THE TALK
(ノ ゜Д゜)ノ ︵ ┻━┻.
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