abraxaslogs | ( catch-all ) the more that i see myself

[Altaïr slips into the room silently, not bothering to knock at either the front door or Hilda's bedroom; he'd wanted to see for himself that she was all right, or on the way to becoming so. She is, and that's more of a relief than he'd realized it would be, but that knowledge doesn't send him off again. She's asleep when he'd arrives, and he's not about to wake her, so he settles into a nearby chair and occupies himself with his journal until he hears her speak.]

I didn't tell them. Your home isn't difficult for someone who knows what they're doing to enter.

[He sets the journal down on his lap and closes it, leaving a marker on the page for later.]

How are you feeling?

[ If the dragon didn't kill her, waking up to see Altaïr seated in her bedroom like some silent phantom might. She's already had a strange mixture of nightmares brewing in her mind as she slept and this certainly didn't help matters.

The tiny scream that leaves her mouth sounds a lot like how shocked and incredulous she looks. ]

Gee, I don't know. Maybe on the verge of feeling like my heart is going to burst out of my chest because I just woke up to find you sitting in my room? Did you honestly pick the lock to get into the loft?!

Edited 2023-09-12 23:52 (UTC)

[He shrugs, looking neither surprised nor bothered by Hilda's reaction.]

If you don't wish the lock to be picked, you should choose better locks.

[That's an obvious conclusion to draw. In a way, he's done them a favor by demonstrating the unacceptable level of craftsmanship.]

Am I such a scary thing to wake up to?

[Genuine question.]

[ The incredulous expression on her face doesn't budge. It probably goes without saying that the locks are in place for a reason - even if said reason isn't meant to keep out trusted friends. She might have to start rethinking that policy though. ]

No, you aren't.

[ She could probably add that a handsome face greeting her isn't the worst scenario in the world but she's pouty and still trying to get over the fact that he had picked a lock to get inside. Her arms shift gingerly to cross over her chest. ]

I was just...I had a nightmare before I woke up. I wasn't expecting it.

[He knows the locks exist for a reason, he just doesn't care.

Altaïr's face grows a little more serious at that; a nightmare is nothing fatal, but he knows how they can shake a person. He'd prefer Hilda have no nightmares.]

Do you remember it?

[He doesn't always remember his own, only the feelings they leave behind for hours.]

[ 🙄 ]

[ It's not that she's surprised he thinks to ask about her nightmare. Well, maybe she is. Especially when she glances towards him to see him looking serious and immediately distinctive from his normal resting face.

There's a pause before she answers as if she's debating telling him the truth. Her fingers fiddle listlessly with her comforter and when she does speak she sounds like she's trying to remain as Fine about this as possible. ]

It was mostly me dying in different ways. The last one involved a lot of teeth and fire.

[His expression doesn't change much from serious, perhaps just a twitch of an eyebrow, but it's an empathetic twitch of an eyebrow.]

I can see how that would be unpleasant. One encounter with death should be enough for people — and hopefully far in the future for you.

[ Telling Altaïr didn't mean that she was fishing for sympathy. If she wanted that, she would have been making far more of a fuss about her current state and therefore would have had a more intense reaction to his (perceived) lack of one.

Instead she finds herself somewhat grateful for the steadiness that comes in his response and perhaps that's what gives her enough momentum to keep discussing it. The fiddling of her comforter migrates to her nails. The skin is a little red and obviously been picked - far from their usual immaculate state. It's not her usual nervous tick but it seems unconsciously done. ]

That depends on the timeline you're referring to. [ Her voice is oddly detached and dry. Her gaze skips towards him. ] How much has Claude told you about our situation with our friends?

Not much.

[Perhaps nothing at all, at least in comparison to the quiet depth of distress he can detect in her. He's learned things about about Claude's life, his experiences, just as he's shared things with Claude in return. But this is about more than any of that, he's instinctively sure.]

It's up to you if you'd like to share any of it yourself. If you do, I will listen.

[ Her mind wanders to the long discussion and mapping of their timelines that had resulted from it still sits chaotic and resolute in Garreg Mach. In her boredom over the last several days she had gone there to sit in front of the sprawl of information trying to make sense of it.

Those from Fodlan had spoken at some debate about whether or not to make it available to others; she still didn't think anyone would have any interest in it but she still felt protective about their respective futures and the information written there all the same. But she doesn't have to second guess whether or not she trusts the man who had just picked the lock to their loft (ironic, we know). Despite all of her whining and teasing she does actually trust Altaïr more than she's willing to vocalize. ]

Sylvain, Claude and I are from the same world but we remember things differently. We've lived through different points in time but Sylvain and I come from the same battle. Claude comes from my timeline but from the end of the war where no one from Sylvain's territory survived, and our friend Linhardt in Thorne - he comes from a timeline where none of us survived either.

[ The tone of her voice almost denotes a disinterest, like some book that she clearly has no interest in reading but has to make a show of some effort. ]

Apparently I died or something trying to hold enemies back at a bridge. [ She snorts. ] Except that doesn't sound like me at all.

[What she describes shouldn't be possible. It doesn't make sense; if they know each other, are friends, that their timelines should align. But it's hard to argue against it when the very presence of the Summoned proves that clashes of worlds and timelines are possible. Why not this, too?

It's a little unsettling to hear about — Hilda didn't really experience such a death, but she might have, had things been different. And if he feels that way, it must be more so for her, whether or not she chooses to show it.]

I don't know about that. I find it very plausible that you would put yourself in danger for the benefit of others.

[She's done it here. Done it for him.]

But you're very good at finding a way out of trouble. I don't doubt you're capable of doing so even in such a desperate situation as that.

[ A part of her knows that Altaïr is trying to give him reassurance. It’s a sweet gesture and might have worked on someone that actually wanted to be acknowledged for their fighting skills or prowess like Petra. But Hilda was definitely not her friend who was actually a warrior princess by birthright. Instead of finding comfort it sits uncomfortably on her skin.

Sitting here and dissecting the reasons behind why she feels that way isn’t something she wants to do even when she isn’t confined to bed rest. But deep down she knows that the discomfort has less to do with the prospect of her dying and more to do with her deep rooted fear of letting someone so incredibly important to her down. And if she died defending a bridge for Claude then that meant she had failed him.

It would be easy to wallow in the negative thoughts but Altaïr’s confidence in her ability to wriggle out of things sparks the smallest lift of her lips. ]

Wait, was that a compliment from Mr. Stoic himself? [ The levity lingers only for a moment. ] Even if that is true, it wasn’t true for that battle. And I know dying in battle is…normal. Those things happen in war and it’s just a part of life. But [ She hesitates. ] I’m not even sure that that’s what I’m the most afraid of.

[He'll allow her the gentle jibe at him. Just this once.]

Yes. They do happen.

[Is it unavoidable? War, mankind's willingness to cut one another down? For all the war he's seen, he can't say. All Altaïr knows for certain is that the death and suffering war brings should never be taken in stride. And also, that any timeline would be worse for Hilda exiting it.]

What is it that you fear?

[ Her fear lodges in her throat like a barb at his question. What doesn't she fear? It's a lot to unpack and while she's had nothing but time to be able to do that it still feels like there's more to it than simply the expectations that Claude had laid on her shoulders. But not only that, it was also the responsibility, the trust that he had given her. Surely he would have known that she would have retreated if she saw a losing battle. Her sense of self-preservation was notorious, a skill that she had honed from an early age. Knowing when to call it quits when she knew that something was going poorly (never mind that she often called it quits before she even began), was something few of their friends could compete with.

But how did she say all of that to someone who she's never really expressed any of that to before because the core of their relationship had always been her bothering him in the way a little sister would? ]

...Letting them down. Letting anyone that I care about down.

[ She had defended the bridge and failed because their last hold out had been captured. It's a small solace that Claude lived on in that timeline so if she looked at it that way it was a success. Nothing mattered more than Claude surviving the bloody task they had undertaken. Nothing it seemed, including her own life. ]

[He doesn't mind the pause before she speaks again. It's a weighty enough question that he more than understands the need to collect oneself. And when Hilda does answer, he's not all that surprised by what she says.]

That's one of the most reasonable fears I can think of. Even the most skilled of people are capable of that.

[Which is...maybe not the most helpful thing he could say...]

But knowing that is your fear. Consciously seeking to do otherwise...that makes all the difference in the world. And I have a difficult time imagining your fear becoming a reality.

[ She seems to share a similar thought to his that what he says at first isn't particularly helpful. In fact she has the strongest urge to give him the fiercest of side eyes - until he follows it up with something far sweeter than she ever would have expected to come out of his mouth.

There's no time for her to hide the surprise on her face because processing this odd turn of events is the last thing she would have expected today. Reassurance has always been a tough pill to swallow; no amount of it could rid her of the anxiety that scuttled underneath her skin. It takes her another moment to collect herself - mostly because of the sudden appearance of a lump in her throat. ]

I died doing something Claude asked me to do. [ Her previous thoughts manage to force their way through. ] Isn't that a failure?

I don't see Claude tasking you with something dangerous for no reason. If you died in this other reality, that means you gave everything you could attempting to do something important.

[He doesn't know the details, doesn't know how it happened, doesn't know what came next. But he speaks with absolute conviction.]

No one, no matter how brave or strong or skilled, can offer more than a life. It's simply not possible. And it's somethign to be respected and honored, whatever the outcome.

[ A life being a noble thing to give - she can't dispute that fact. But she didn't want to give her life for anyone. She's a selfish little creature, greedy and desperate to cling onto life doing whatever she wanted until the day she slipped away peacefully in her sleep.

To give her life, something she cherished more than any amount of jewels and gems, for someone's ideals or freedom, or Claude - so much of that still doesn't sound like the person she believes herself to be even after all of these months of sitting with that reality. Her shoulder slump. ]

Some version of me gave her all, you mean.

If you have a connection to that other version of you, then you know that you are capable of doing everything you could until you no longer could, and deserve some of that credit. If you do not, then you are also not bound by her mistakes, and still have every opportunity to overcome future trials.

[He understands what she's getting at. He does. But he also has the luxury of a different perspective.]

I know what it is like to make grave errors that cost others everything. I also know that such errors aren't the full measure of a person, and they don't mean a person can't rise above them.

[ After hearing from Petra that she had died, and having it confirmed by Lindhardt, Hilda hadn't bothered to wonder if there was a version of that where she had somehow made it out alive. But if she had somehow made it out alive, did that mean Claude did too?

A hollowness rings through her at the thought of living any sort of timeline where he wasn't alive and well. Claude could be unbelievably stupid at times, but he had as much determination and drive to stay alive in order to see his dreams come true as she did self-preservation. Her eyes rise to meet his. ]

Did something happen to you at home?

[Altaïr is quiet for a few moments before answering. Even now, after he's done it a few times, he's not accustomed to revealing much of himself. But Hilda has done it already, made herself vulnerable — he can do the same. If he can't trust her with that much, then who?]

It would be more accurate to say that I happened to others.

[Not the men he killed, not the nine Templars or the men who served them. He holds no regrets about their deaths. But others...]

The shorter version of the story is that two of my brothers and I were sent to accomplish a task. Because of my actions that day, one of them died and the other was permanently maimed.

[ He's been patient with her thus far - it's only right that she offers him the same in return. It's difficult for her not to wonder however if he'll say anything at all. Altaïr isn't her most chatty companion. Most of her prattling on end probably annoyed him to no ned, but he hadn't yet told her to buzz off. She wouldn't have blamed him in the least if this is where he drew the line.

But then, remarkably, he does. ]

...But it wasn't like you did that on purpose. [ There's a pause as she searches his face. ] Right?

I didn't intend to fail, no. But I was reckless. I broke our creed several times over.

[He wonders how well she could understand the depth of his failure, even if he explained the tenets of the creed in detail. It's one thing to hear they are important; another to know what they mean, and what his betrayal of them meant.]

I wasn't the one to put my blade to them, but the failure was entirely mine. It took some time for me to accept that.

[ With no context for what sort of creed Altaïr might have made, she can only vaguely assume that it's similar to that of a knight's code. The milage on those seemed to vary depending on the person and their character, but with knowing what she knows about Altaïr and his character - it probably isn't something to take lightly. Especially if he's confessing as much to her now. ]

[ Briefly she worries her bottom lip. ]

As in you didn't believe that it was your fault at first? Or the guilt stayed with you?

[That she probes further shouldn't be surprising, but it is more discomfiting than Altaïr would have imagined. He'd come to terms with his culpability and unnecessary pride, freely admitted it to Malik, but difficult as it was to do so, Malik had been close to the situation from the beginning. This is different.]

Part of me knew all along that I was to blame, but I didn't allow myself to acknowledge it for a long time. When I did, I was able to start to make amends, and I was able to grow — to become something better than wallowing in guilt and denial would have allowed.

( catch-all ) the more that i see myself

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wrap? 🎀

<3