random thought, feel free to ignore- but i wonder, considering the similarity in location, if the "selunite enclave outside the city" aylin and isobel mentioned would be hector's monastery in this worldstate?
HOLY SHIT. \o/
Hang on, I need to drop everything and roll with this idea because I love it. You just made my whole evening.
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"Father Enric!"
The young acolyte is breathing hard as he comes to a stop inside the small chapel on the north end of Silverlight Monastery.
Enric, startled from his prayers, looks up with a raised eyebrow, then slowly, painfully shifts himself to his feet. (Age is telling on him, after all these years, despite all the training and discipline to which he has devoted his life.) "Calm yourself, Jakob," he says gently, keeping his voice deliberately calm in the face of the younger man's agitation. "Speak softly and without heat. What is it?"
In truth, he can guess. Another sally by the Absolutists - that terrible cult that has risen from the south. They have made three attacks against the monastery thus far, and the walls have held against their arrows and battering rams-- but not without damage, and not without casualty to the monks and clerics within.
The last attack was only three days ago, he thinks bleakly. We are not ready for another so soon.
But Jakob's news surprises him - it is not that at all.
"Two visitors on the road, Father Abbot, sir," the boy says. He is trying to maintain his composure but failing-- there is fear in his expression, and also a sort of perplexed excitement. "They come alone, but armed. One of them is an aasimar, father, and Brother Lloyd on the wall says that where the moonlight touched her, she glowed like a beacon!"
Enric's eyes widen. He reaches out to put a hand on Jakob's shoulder. "See that they are brought to my office at once. And wake someone in the kitchens."
-----
An hour or so later, there is a soft knock at his office door.
"Come in." He turns from where he is standing by the window, and finds himself meeting the eyes of a woman some three or four inches taller than he himself.
She puts an arm across her chest, bows respectfully. "In the name of the Lady we both serve, I greet you, Father Abbot," she says gravely.
Her eyes are so pale as to be almost white, and her skin to match, shot through with lines of gold like a piece of mended pottery. The wings at her back would likely stretch the width of the small office if she extended them, but one is furled at her back and the other wrapped around the shoulders of a smaller and rather exhausted-looking human woman, who is leaned up against the aasimar's side as if huddled against a tree in a storm.
"And I you," Enric answers, inclining his head politely. "You are--" He hesitates. "I hope you will forgive the presumption, but I hope my guess is correct. Are you the Dame Aylin that once walked these lands as our lady's right hand?"
She smiles slowly. "I am. It may be told by the moonlight upon my sword and the righteous fire within my heart."
Enric allows himself the briefest flash of pride at the monastery's record-keeping; even to the armor she wears, she looks exactly as the histories describe her. But that pride is almost lost in a much greater wave of emotion that is pure awe, for Dame Aylin (those same histories say) is the daughter of Selune herself. She has not been seen in the flesh for over a century. The last records of her are in letters from Moonrise before that cursed place fell to darkness.
"You honor us with your presence at Silverlight," he says. He starts to kneel, but she shakes her head impatiently, reaches out and takes him by the arm.
"We have come to aid your fight," she says briskly. "For we have seen the darkness of the Absolute face to face, and know the struggle that has set upon you these many weeks. My darling Isobel and I shall be the sword and shield of my mother on your behalf."
The human at Aylin's side -- Isobel? -- smiles wearily. "After a night's rest, I should hope," she murmurs, then adds to Enric, "We have come many leagues in a short time, that we might be of service to you."
Enric's practiced self-control is serving him well here -- but only with difficulty. The urge to simply gape in astonishment at the two new arrivals is considerable. "To stand at your side against this evil is a blessing none of us would have dreamed of," he says softly. "We would gladly accept, and offer you in return all that is ours in sustenance and shelter."
Aylin looks pleased. "A bargain it is, then," she says. Lifting one eyebrow, she studies Enric thoughtfully for a moment. "I see shades of him in you, most certainly - the shades which would have been passed by a lifetime's teaching. I am sure you are the man Hector has often spoken of. Enric of Trielta."
Enric is so startled that for a moment his self-control slips utterly. And though some of the surprise is at hearing this divine creature utter his name, more is for the source she mentions for her knowledge.
"Hector?" he asks. His eyebrows lift in sudden urgent question. "Forgive me-- do you speak of Hector Carlisle?"
Twin smiles flash onto the faces of both women at the name. "She does indeed," Isobel says.
"Hector is alive?" Even Enric himself is a little surprised at the rush of joy that goes through him at the news. "We all thought-- when the attack came upon the city, that terrible ship... we thought he must be dead. He was only in the market long enough to purchase supplies, but he never came back..."
"I can assure you," Aylin says, "Hector has not only climbed from the pit of that ship but triumphed over forces the likes of which we may all fervently hope you can never comprehend. You should be deeply proud to call him brother."
"As I am, and have been, and will be. Moonmaiden be praised... you are truly a bearer of all the best of news."
A flash of something that might be humor goes through the aasimar's eyes. "Should you expect anything else of Dame Aylin?" she says, raising one eyebrow.
"I--" He blinks, stammering uncertainly.
"My love jests," Isobel says, a little dryly. "It is hard to tell sometimes, I know."
Aylin makes a soft snorting noise but does not dispute the statement.
"But what she says of Hector is true," the human goes on. "He saved us both from a deep darkness at Moonrise Towers, after a century of loss, and has gone on to the city to face down the heart of the Absolute. I will not tell you his story while he still remains to perhaps one day tell you himself... but I will say that he speaks of you, of this place, every day-- with loyalty and gratitude."
She hesitates, then adds delicately, "You may, I suspect, not quite recognize him as the man who left, when he returns again."
That is a sobering thought, and Enric has to pause to consider it for a while before answering. "If he has faced the darkness so closely as you say, it would be foolish of me to expect it," he says finally. "But I cannot express how much it gladdens me to hear that he lives. He has been greatly missed, these last months."
He gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. "Please. Sit. I will have food and drink brought, and I hope you will tell me more of what you have seen, and what still lies ahead to do."
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Imagine you have a character, a broken, vicious man who bites and spits venom even at a person he loves the most, who pushes the buttons of his love just because this toxic familiarity is all he knows, just because it's all he feels safe doing. And then his love finds another person who brings out such a different part of them, a part this character never could or maybe just long forgot how to do. He drowns in jealousy, in his bitternes, he hurts his love, he hurts his love's beloved, their crew... And finally gets what he wanted. Finally has his Blackbeard back, finally can forget about the part of Ed he can no longer reach... But suddenly Blackbeard is unpredictable even to this character.
And suddenly everything changes as he slips and can no longer even enjoy the familiar toxicity because he saw something better and kinder and selfishly wishes for it too, despite it all. And suddenly he understands people around him, people who never saw the evil in Edward, and suddenly he realizes it's his fault. All of it, just a part of it - doesn't matter. He caused this and nobody is happy, not even him.
And then, despite everything, others start to care for him. They tell him "We think you're in a toxic relationship" as if they didn't know it was him who brought Blackbeard back and they hug him tight as if he wasn't the once to sentence them to this horror and they hold his hand when he panics. They experience kindness and hope in a miserable place, maybe a glimpse of what made Blackbeard so soft for a moment there. And when everything falls apart, when he takes the final tumble in this horrible dance he has with Blackbeard, somebody is there to hold him up. Somebody is there to criticize his drinking and make him a new leg and call him their unicorn. The character is "their bastard", he is part of them. He is part of something kind and accepting and he shyly embraces the new familarity-that-might-be, even when he still insults and retreats and bottles stuff up because maybe if he seems fine he can help others, maybe in the end he can be loved in a way as kind as theirs. Maybe he can have a family.
So once they are again in danger he takes the chance and speaks boldly and captures the ominous attention of the enemy. He takes a risk for them. He takes a bullet for it. He rests in the arms of his love and tells him he's sorry even when he could never accept the other's apology. He never gets the chance to try more and forgive more and try to be forgiven more. He can only ever serve as a tool for another character, can never evolve to existing on his own, to healing on his own.
You are Izzy Hands. You are drowning in your mistakes and the toxic familiarity you're too afraid to get out of. And once you dare to try...
The show would rather have you die than give you a chance at healing and happiness.
Your death doesn't prove a point and it doesn't mean anything. It's just cruel.
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