( the clear truth of it: no. paul would not want her to cower and slink into the dungeons like a monster forced back into the dark, away from civilization. alina wouldn't ask her for it, if she had her way. and still: )
Fighting them won't help. We've lost enough already, Alia.
[It might be fun, Alia might've joked, even a week ago, when things were still summer-warm and safe and dreamlike. Then, she might've revelled in promising to tear out a throat or two with her teeth.
But now: autumn. The leaves will change, the lake will freeze, the moon turn orange and heavy, and Alia will see none of it, without a miracle. And she already has two of those, more than many are permitted, even if her soul tells her the dream with them is ending.]
Then I won't. I will not leave you my mess to clean up.
I've sworn to clean it. What you break, I will fix.
( jacaerys is not chipped glass scattered across a floor, meant to be swept away to keep from cutting herself on alia's mistake. but if (if, if, if — a repeating refrain in her head, stuck in a maddening loop) alia had been the one to break him —
she'll painstakingly forge his pieces back together. kiss the scrapes and bruises that alia has taken in her fall, like a child that's taken a tumble, in her steps to be just-alia — a little girl afraid as alina has ever known her to be, born from sun and sand and cursed bloodrights, wanting better for herself than a boy's blood caked into ehr hands. alina will give herself as a mother would, as a saint should, paying great costs. costs that don't feel so enormous, when they're for alia. for paul.
costs that they would not have allowed her to take on herself, if they'd known the bargain she meant to strike with alicent before it was formed. )
Any price is worth keeping you safe. I won't let any harm find its way to your door.
What if I am all they say? What if you are wrong to protect me? Alina, there are things within me, terrible things, voices and whispers and ghosts. I am a scabbard for a knife that I do not remember using. There are things I've never told you. You offer yourself on the altar of a false god.
[Within her, that voice, that one, the one who Alia has felt since she was a child, since her mother loved her still, since her world was sietch and spice and sand. What if it was him?]
You were wounded, preyed upon, and all eyes turn on me and ignore the monstrosity of that. I should be seeking the man who put his hands on you and tearing his body open. I should be giving you his heart as penance for harming you.
( voices and whispers and ghosts, alia says. a scabbard for a knife, alia claims. alina's mind flashes with an image — not of alia, emerging from the lake like a rusalka, drowning lost boys in her murky waters, but of alina. of a city submerged in shadow. of the darkling's poison whispering doubts into her ear, in the dark, growing in the corner of her mind like cobwebs. a filth inside of her head she could never clean. a madness she'd thought her own, until she had learned of the tether that chained them, eternal prisoners of each other. tied together not just by the iron links of fate, but his rare humanity, and her hidden ugliness. )
It's not fair. But I've never fooled myself into expecting fairness.
( a lie, of course. she had wanted more, wanted better — but when does an orphan not want for what they can't have? she's silent, for a stunted moment longer, then: )
I loved someone, once. Or who he fooled me into believing he was. And all he gave me in return was a collar. A leash to hold my power on. He's been punishing me since the day I broke free. Coming to me in dreams. Letting me believe I was calling to him. That I had gone mad.
But it was only ever him, trying to make me doubt myself. Trying to make me a monster, like him. If you're going to call yourself an abomination, you have to call me the same. I dare you.
[As beloved as anything Alina gifts her is – including this, the glimpse into her past, her life before Saltburnt, a cracked door through which shadows spill – Alia loathes the cause of it. The monstrosity of this place has wrenched away the safe, peaceful, sunlit bubble of safety they had created, her and Paul and Alina, the idea that any of them could simply be young and in love and not chosen or marked by fate.
The veil is gone. The bubble, popped. The story that should’ve been given in time, bits and pieces offered as she and Alina grew together, twining vines, shifting sands, as they built a new home, a new family, a new life. It should be murmured in their bed, sunshine streaming in the windows, Alia’s fingers stroking through Alina’s curls, twining one around her fingers as this chapter of her beloved’s life is revealed. It should’ve been told when Alina was ready, and not one moment before.
But they don’t have any more moments. A windowless cell, beneath their feet, awaits Alia by any measure, her accusers stand triumphant, and whatever comes, she will not be there to shield or comfort those she adores. And who knows what the morrow will bring?]
It was him, who I felt. That night I stepped into your mind. Like an echo. Like a dreamed memory. That is how it is, for me. You did not choose that, Alina. You would not. It wasn’t your fault.
I carry my ancestor’s minds inside my own. They whisper to me, they command and cajole. I have heard them since before I was born. Sometimes I cannot drown them out. Once, here, my control slipped. I do not remember that night, Alina. I slept and had no dreams, awoke without blood on my hands, but I do not remember that night.
If I am what they say, they will seek vengeance. Paul will try to fight them. And I will be locked away, unable to help.
( like an echo, like a dreamed memory. it's not inaccurate, so much as it's too understated for what aleksander truly is. the other half of her, as if someone split a single soul down the middle, divided its parts between holy and unholy. aleksander's monstrosity. her humanity. never meant to merge back together, without one corrupting the other. still, she'd rather choke on the words and die than put it into terms alia would better understand: aleksander is to me what paul is to you. it's too dirty to say, smearing filth on the connection paul and alia share, willing servants to the bond that traps them together. )
Don't. You've no idea what you're talking about. You weren't there. You don't know the girl I was, or the things she was made to do. I did choose it. I don't deserve any forgiveness for that.
( she'll forgive alia for the blood on her hands, but not — this. not undeserved absolution, as if alina's greatest mistake only led to scraped knees and swollen bruises that can heal with a forgiving kiss. as if believing aleksander was only as destructive as tripping down the stairs, an oops that can be brushed away and forgotten. it's her responsibility to accept, and live, with the ugly truth: no matter how unwelcome the collar had been, she had wanted to belong to him. still wants, stupidly, after all this time.
and what had that want cost her? her freedom. a hundred innocent lives, subsumed by darkness. a city sunk under a shadowy sea. too high a price to pay, for alina to forgive herself for it. )
I won't let anything hurt you. Not our enemies. Not your ancestors. I know I couldn't help you before. ( before jace. before alina, too, was convinced alia was used against her will. ) But I can help you now.
[There is a pause, while Alia considers this, thoughtful, careful. Would she accept forgiveness for her acts, for the ways she has manipulated and connived and murdered her way into her role as sister, goddess, seer, saint? Would Paul extend it, for that matter, if he knew the full extent of blood shed in his name? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it isn’t his to give, just as it isn’t hers to ask. What’s done is dead, what’s dead is done.
Besides, the fact of the matter: she doesn’t care what blood is on Alina’s hands. She doesn’t care what terrible acts she may have committed, what marvelous and deadly and horrible depths are contained within the same chest Alia has slept against, the same heart she has heard throb with life, with blood, with vibrant beautiful power. Alina is Alina, and there is no world in which Alia does not love all that she contains.]
I am Saint no longer. I cannot give absolution, and I do not offer it. You do not need my forgiveness, Alina. I only give this: if you told me to turn my blade on myself, walk into the lake, step into the fire, and you told me you would keep me safe, I would not hesitate.
There are two things in life I trust, and you are one of them.
( her forgiveness. a gift too easily given. wanting makes us weak, the darkling had said — she wonders if the same isn't true of alia, tame in her palm, so desperately hopeful for alina to be perfect that she's blind to her cracks and creases. that she might thank alina for every hurt that she's been made to endure, under alina's watch — as if she's forgotten the blood on her hands means alina's are equally dirty, too, in spirit.
her sister, her responsibility, her mess to clean. )
If I had kept you safe all this time, you would have never become a weapon in their hands. I would have known how to help you. I would have never let this place use you to punish us. You needed me, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't free you.
I am the worst person to speak of "should", Alina-my-dear. Perhaps I should ask for it as well. I do not think it would be given, though.
[From the Targaryens, from the thousands whose lives she's given to the desert, from the people of Arrakis who fear and loathe and worship her. Alia has never sought forgiveness from anyone -- save Alina, that night, on her knees, shame-faced and penitent for the first and only time.]
I did not tell you about me. What I could do. We agreed upon that, remember? Just-Alia. Just-Alina. You gave me what I wanted, what nobody else ever has. Do not apologize for that.
And I allowed this place to take that dream from you.
( from the both of them, existing in their little cozy fantasy bubble — this game has taken a pin to it, deflating it with one echoing pop. alina scrubs a hand over her face, pinches between her eyebrows. for all that it's true, she feels spun in circles, following the cyclical nature of this conversation. alia forgives her. alina doesn't want forgiveness. neither of them were meant for compromise. and so the circle continues.
she pivots toward an issue with an easier solution, instead. )
They don't have to forgive you. They just have to accept what's done is done.
I've made a bargain with Queen Alicent. She's promised me your safety. Whether you believe she means it is another question.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Fighting them won't help. We've lost enough already, Alia.
no subject
But now: autumn. The leaves will change, the lake will freeze, the moon turn orange and heavy, and Alia will see none of it, without a miracle. And she already has two of those, more than many are permitted, even if her soul tells her the dream with them is ending.]
Then I won't. I will not leave you my mess to clean up.
no subject
( jacaerys is not chipped glass scattered across a floor, meant to be swept away to keep from cutting herself on alia's mistake. but if (if, if, if — a repeating refrain in her head, stuck in a maddening loop) alia had been the one to break him —
she'll painstakingly forge his pieces back together. kiss the scrapes and bruises that alia has taken in her fall, like a child that's taken a tumble, in her steps to be just-alia — a little girl afraid as alina has ever known her to be, born from sun and sand and cursed bloodrights, wanting better for herself than a boy's blood caked into ehr hands. alina will give herself as a mother would, as a saint should, paying great costs. costs that don't feel so enormous, when they're for alia. for paul.
costs that they would not have allowed her to take on herself, if they'd known the bargain she meant to strike with alicent before it was formed. )
Any price is worth keeping you safe. I won't let any harm find its way to your door.
no subject
Alina, there are things within me, terrible things, voices and whispers and ghosts. I am a scabbard for a knife that I do not remember using.
There are things I've never told you. You offer yourself on the altar of a false god.
[Within her, that voice, that one, the one who Alia has felt since she was a child, since her mother loved her still, since her world was sietch and spice and sand. What if it was him?]
You were wounded, preyed upon, and all eyes turn on me and ignore the monstrosity of that. I should be seeking the man who put his hands on you and tearing his body open. I should be giving you his heart as penance for harming you.
no subject
It's not fair.
But I've never fooled myself into expecting fairness.
( a lie, of course. she had wanted more, wanted better — but when does an orphan not want for what they can't have? she's silent, for a stunted moment longer, then: )
I loved someone, once. Or who he fooled me into believing he was.
And all he gave me in return was a collar. A leash to hold my power on.
He's been punishing me since the day I broke free. Coming to me in dreams.
Letting me believe I was calling to him. That I had gone mad.
But it was only ever him, trying to make me doubt myself. Trying to make me a monster, like him.
If you're going to call yourself an abomination, you have to call me the same. I dare you.
no subject
The veil is gone. The bubble, popped. The story that should’ve been given in time, bits and pieces offered as she and Alina grew together, twining vines, shifting sands, as they built a new home, a new family, a new life. It should be murmured in their bed, sunshine streaming in the windows, Alia’s fingers stroking through Alina’s curls, twining one around her fingers as this chapter of her beloved’s life is revealed. It should’ve been told when Alina was ready, and not one moment before.
But they don’t have any more moments. A windowless cell, beneath their feet, awaits Alia by any measure, her accusers stand triumphant, and whatever comes, she will not be there to shield or comfort those she adores. And who knows what the morrow will bring?]
It was him, who I felt. That night I stepped into your mind.
Like an echo. Like a dreamed memory.
That is how it is, for me.
You did not choose that, Alina. You would not.
It wasn’t your fault.
I carry my ancestor’s minds inside my own. They whisper to me, they command and cajole. I have heard them since before I was born.
Sometimes I cannot drown them out. Once, here, my control slipped.
I do not remember that night, Alina. I slept and had no dreams, awoke without blood on my hands, but I do not remember that night.
If I am what they say, they will seek vengeance.
Paul will try to fight them. And I will be locked away, unable to help.
cw: victim blaming
Don't. You've no idea what you're talking about.
You weren't there. You don't know the girl I was, or the things she was made to do.
I did choose it. I don't deserve any forgiveness for that.
( she'll forgive alia for the blood on her hands, but not — this. not undeserved absolution, as if alina's greatest mistake only led to scraped knees and swollen bruises that can heal with a forgiving kiss. as if believing aleksander was only as destructive as tripping down the stairs, an oops that can be brushed away and forgotten. it's her responsibility to accept, and live, with the ugly truth: no matter how unwelcome the collar had been, she had wanted to belong to him. still wants, stupidly, after all this time.
and what had that want cost her? her freedom. a hundred innocent lives, subsumed by darkness. a city sunk under a shadowy sea. too high a price to pay, for alina to forgive herself for it. )
I won't let anything hurt you. Not our enemies. Not your ancestors.
I know I couldn't help you before. ( before jace. before alina, too, was convinced alia was used against her will. ) But I can help you now.
Can you trust me to keep you safe?
no subject
Besides, the fact of the matter: she doesn’t care what blood is on Alina’s hands. She doesn’t care what terrible acts she may have committed, what marvelous and deadly and horrible depths are contained within the same chest Alia has slept against, the same heart she has heard throb with life, with blood, with vibrant beautiful power. Alina is Alina, and there is no world in which Alia does not love all that she contains.]
I am Saint no longer. I cannot give absolution, and I do not offer it. You do not need my forgiveness, Alina.
I only give this: if you told me to turn my blade on myself, walk into the lake, step into the fire, and you told me you would keep me safe, I would not hesitate.
There are two things in life I trust, and you are one of them.
no subject
( her forgiveness. a gift too easily given. wanting makes us weak, the darkling had said — she wonders if the same isn't true of alia, tame in her palm, so desperately hopeful for alina to be perfect that she's blind to her cracks and creases. that she might thank alina for every hurt that she's been made to endure, under alina's watch — as if she's forgotten the blood on her hands means alina's are equally dirty, too, in spirit.
her sister, her responsibility, her mess to clean. )
If I had kept you safe all this time, you would have never become a weapon in their hands.
I would have known how to help you. I would have never let this place use you to punish us.
You needed me, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't free you.
no subject
[From the Targaryens, from the thousands whose lives she's given to the desert, from the people of Arrakis who fear and loathe and worship her. Alia has never sought forgiveness from anyone -- save Alina, that night, on her knees, shame-faced and penitent for the first and only time.]
I did not tell you about me. What I could do. We agreed upon that, remember?
Just-Alia. Just-Alina.
You gave me what I wanted, what nobody else ever has. Do not apologize for that.
no subject
( from the both of them, existing in their little cozy fantasy bubble — this game has taken a pin to it, deflating it with one echoing pop. alina scrubs a hand over her face, pinches between her eyebrows. for all that it's true, she feels spun in circles, following the cyclical nature of this conversation. alia forgives her. alina doesn't want forgiveness. neither of them were meant for compromise. and so the circle continues.
she pivots toward an issue with an easier solution, instead. )
They don't have to forgive you. They just have to accept what's done is done.
I've made a bargain with Queen Alicent. She's promised me your safety.
Whether you believe she means it is another question.