yet these hands will never hold anything--

[sageprincess]

Who: Zelda and Archer
When: April 2nd
Where: The workshop of murder and angst aka Archer's mind
What: Local man grows swords instead of bones. Local woman wonders what the frick.

[This is the height of foolishness.

She doesn't know what she expects to accomplish here. What does she have? A few stolen pieces of information, brought to her by accident and necessity? The ability to poke around in a man's head and occasionally make him see a fish instead of a bird? That's hardly enough to save someone's life with. Once again, she's poking her nose in where it has no business being, and she knows it.

But (and it seems everything she does comes with a but), knowing what little fragments of truth that she does, having the power she wields-- can she ignore the screaming of her instincts? Could she live with herself if she knew all this and did nothing?

The answer to these questions, of course, is no, because if given the choice Zelda will almost always damn herself with her actions than allow herself to be damned through her inaction. And so, as Archer sleeps, she takes the plunge into that strange, deserted workshop world once more, not even bothering to hide her intrusion as she calls out across the field of blades:]

Archer!

Comments

cw: workshop of angst and murder, pincushion Archer, injuries

[boneofsword]

[The desert is as uninviting and eerie as before, smoke and embers drifting in air. At first nothing happens after Zelda's call. However the smoke clears slowly, uncovering a path among the blades that leads forward.

Archer doesn't seem to be anywhere; there's not even a hint of the red overcoat he's wearing. Yet further down the path there's a first hint, a piece of torn sandy fabric.]

[He's starting to lose track of time. How long has he been here? The details are all muddled, sometimes showing with startling clarity to fade away with the smoke. Each breath he takes is slow and measured, to not jar the weapons piercing his chest. Some he can recognize, even if the dream doesn't allow him to focus for long enough to recall its names or owners. The red spear is oddly familiar, going through where the oldest, most faded scar rests over his heart. It's a miracle that he's still alive.

His black armor is oddly intact, as his sandy cloak, shielding him from the sand and smoke. He's kneeling on the ground, hand gripping the hilt of sword; its blue and gold inlaid visible if he tries to rise his head. Pain is a dull constant somewhere on the edge of his consciousness.]

Princess...? [presence of another living being here, in this stagnant place, startles him. Is she's real or part of his dream? But pieces of memory - the incomplete memories of the world his current body is start falling into place. High above the monolithic gears turn.]

No one comes here... what brings you here?

[sageprincess]

[Zelda follows the path through the blades, indistinct as it might be, at a brisk pace that breaks into a run the moment she catches a glimpse of a vaguely humanoid figure kneeling amidst the scattered weapons. The lingering smoke and ash burns at her eyes, burns in her lungs - this intruder that should not exist in this space - but she presses onward relentlessly until she reaches the avatar of this world's owner, and...

... She has seen plenty of impossible things during her time as a dream-walking goddess. It is something to be expected, in fact. But here and now, it is very hard to look at the man kneeling before her, skewered on all sides by a dozen different weapons, and rationalize "this man is going to live." That spear alone should have killed him.

(She's seen it kill him before, during a time her emotions were lost to her, a time she prefers to forget.)

But Zelda is very good at compartmentalizing, and after taking a moment to swallow down the nausea that wells up within her at the sight, she kneels herself, her skirts billowing and kicking up dust around her as she puts herself into his limited line of sight, another blur of blue and gold to match the sword he holds before him. Concern is written clearly upon her face.]

What do you think? [She asks, and it's a rhetorical question, as she follows it up with the much more pertinent:] Archer, what is happening to you?

[boneofsword]

[Archer blinks, a bit startled by her sudden question. Her presence forces him to focus and brings a bit of clarity. He frowns as he tries to recall the events that brought him here, to this forgotten and forsaken place.

Right, he fought. No, they fought, he has been providing Caster and the other- Berserker - with weapons. After the ayakashi were dealt with there were mages.]

I guess I overdid it, and my abilities do have limits. [he muses aloud, more to himself than to Zelda.] But I have fulfilled my duty.

[This is what defines who he is and what he believes into. Fate, justice, loyalty, and the unwavering will to pursue his goal no matter what happens.]

[sageprincess]

[Her brow furrows, and immediately she's shaking her head. Perhaps she is not someone who should speak about what duty is and is not, given her own struggles with it, but the reasoning he gives for his state just sounds too wrong to her ears.]

This-- This is not fulfillment.

[She can understand, to an extent, where he's coming from; she can still remember the knights that threw themselves in front of her during Ganondorf's attack on Hyrule Castle, and for the briefest of moments the cracked earth beneath her flickers into finely cut stone before the power of the Reality Marble swallows it back up. She can understand, but she doesn't agree, and while there are a great many arguments swirling around in her mind, she chooses the one she imagines will be the most personal for Archer, the one most likely to cut through the haze of his pain. Even if it is not necessarily the most merciful.]

What you have done is left Caster alone. Without his longest partner - without his friend. You have worried him, and left him in a state where he feels powerless. How are you meant to stand beside him if you can barely even breathe?

[What protection can a corpse offer?]

[boneofsword]

[It hits him hard, and the realization makes him breathless. The pain it causes is not physical, not something he knows so well and can - to some extent - ignore. No, this one cuts to the bone, tearing right into what's still left of his soul.

Trying to fulfill his duty has hurt Caster much more than a blade could. In his attempt to do what's right he did the opposite, causing a severe failure. Duty to the god he serves does not equal loyalty to his friend nor the justice to his lover.

What a fool he has been!

Archer pales under the tan; his grip tightens on the hilt of Calibur, knuckles almost turning white. This time he doesn't hide his feelings under the mask, all of it written plainly upon his face.]

Isn't duty the most important? [for once he doesn't hide the bitterness that wells inside.

The gears high above turn again, making grating sounds.]

[sageprincess]

[That, dear friends, is what we call a bullseye. She's gotten through to him to some extent, that much is certain, but the bitter question he poses to her in turn gives her pause, her eyes briefly fluttering down and away. After a moment of nothing but silence and acrid smoke between them, she lifts a hand to place it gently over the much larger one that holds that familiar sword so ardently.]

... I would be a hypocrite if I were to tell you otherwise.

[Duty will inevitably take her away from here, away from these people she's learned to cherish and love over time. What's more, she will follow it willingly, dancing along to its demands like a puppet on a string. It is something she has ensured everyone who surrounds her understands: if given the choice between them and her country, she simply must choose her country, every time. She bears this burden stoically, solemnly, and that quiet loneliness shows itself in her eyes as she looks back up at Archer.

And yet--]

I no longer believe it is as black and white as that, however. Consider this: Caster considers it his duty in turn to ensure your own well-being. But by pushing yourself to this state, he feels he has failed in that duty, because he does not know how to help you.

[She's extrapolating a bit from the brief text conversation that lead to this encounter - Caster did not tell her that he felt this way in so many words. But she feels like she knows him well enough by now, for better or for worse, that she can assume these things with a comfortable amount of confidence. They're all messed up when it comes to the big D-word, in one way or another.]

You must find a middle ground, for both of your sakes.

[boneofsword]

[Duty is a burden each of them bears differently, yet all are ready to sacrifice themselves for without a second thought. Often bringing dillemas that are not easy to face.

It's been his mistake to assume that as long as he survives the strain from bringing too many weapons in short time won't be important. He's been wrong; it doesn't matter that Archer wasn't aware of how serious the consequences will be. What matters is that Caster considers his well-being as more important than his beloved weapon.

Considering his own well-being is a struggle. While Archer knows (and accepts) the fact that him not getting any rest will make Caster worried, accepting that injuries makes his partner just as worried is much harder. He's tough, and he can survive-

then he recalls his own reaction to seeing bruised Caster after the spar with his teacher.

The truth is hard to swallow.]

Duty rarely is flexible enough to allow for a middle ground.

[For the first time he raises his head, looking at her hand resting on his. Much smaller and paler, but also bearing marks of one forced to fight.]

Will your duty ever allow it?

[sageprincess]

... No. It will not.

[Her soul was sold to destiny centuries before she was born, and though it may frustrate her, though she may rail against it like a wild animal trapped in a cage at times, she is under no illusion that she will ever be able to escape it. It is what she was made for, and she would never be able to abandon the love she holds in her heart for the country she so dearly wishes to protect, not in a thousand lifetimes.

She smiles up at him, despite this. Sadly, of course; it doesn't reach her eyes in the slightest, but it carries the hope of forgiveness regardless.]

Your fate need not be the same as mine, however. Your duty is to a man, not a country or an ideal. You can speak with him, tell him of your worries and expectations, and know that they will be heard, eventually. [Caster's a stubborn hothead sometimes, she knows that. It might take a few tries but it'll work out--] Because besides your duty, you are friends as well.

[And more, of course, but her heart's breaking enough already without admitting aloud she's going to have to give up her own whirlwind romance alongside the friendships she's made.]

You trust him to do that much for you, do you not?

[boneofsword]

Fate never lets go of someone it has clutched in its claws.

[No matter how many different timelines he has seen and how many far-reaching plans, he's never been able to escape. It's not easily forgotten. As well as the sudden bitterness that arises when she mentions following an ideal.

Archer doesn't follow this line of thought, forcing himself to focus. Not on ash and smoke drifting in air and filling his lungs with each too shallow breath. Not on the coppery taste in his mouth, nor on the weapons weighing him down. Yes, his duty here is to a man, to someone he values and trusts fully. It shows in his eyes when he finally looks at her face.]

I trust him.

[To help or to grant him a swift death if all else fails.]

[sageprincess]

[Zelda nods. Archer is telling the truth, she can see that much, but following up on that truth, ensuring that this haywire state won't happen again... that's something Caster and Archer will have to work out between themselves in the waking world. Perhaps the more correct thing to do would be to deny his fatalistic outlook, to demand him to have more hope for himself, but such an assertion would only ring hollow, coming from her.

Instead, she considers the reason she came here in the first place. They might be able to work out something to prevent this from happening again, but it remains a problem they have to deal with now, and her eyes fall from Archer's face to the spear piercing his chest.

Leaving the offending object within a puncture wound can stay the bleeding for a little while, but the body cannot hope to heal properly so long as it remains. She prays the same rules apply in this deserted world.

Zelda stands, pulling that hand away from Caliburn to rest it steadily against an uninjured part of Archer's shoulder. Leaning forward slightly, she grazes the fingers of her other hand against the cursed lance with a feather-light touch, careful not to disturb it pre-emptively.]

Do you trust me?

[boneofsword]

I do.

[There's no hesitation in Archer's voice, nor taking time to think, for the answer comes immediately. Caster has chosen her as his Master, it's true, but Archer has seen enough of her to hold her in high regard. She's brave and strong, wise and loyal, as well as willing to sacrifice herself for duty. She's someone who deserves happiness first and foremost. Isn't it ironic that he considers it his duty to ensure that Zelda finds at least some.

They're all so messed up.]

I'm not going to die from a flesh wound.

[No matter how dangerous it may look, all those weapons have missed his vital parts, and he can stand the pain.]