Aegis

“It’s hard to forget, sometimes. All the rage, all the pure, utter hatred I carried in my youth. No matter how many days pass by or how deep I try to drown myself in booze, those memories remain clear. They stick out like a bad headache—always lingering when you’re at your worst.

“And of course, I do feel a bit embarrassed. There are things I could have handled much better, relationships I could have saved, but even so… I don’t feel regret. I was justified in what I did, and when I begin to think otherwise, I remember the pain she inflicted upon me. I remember the moments where it felt like my heart was being strangled, drowned, and all I could do was grit my teeth and hope my screams wouldn’t leak out. All I could do was hold back my tears because I wasn’t even allowed the freedom to cry.

“Crying was for the weak. Weakness was for the poor. I was forced to kill my feelings, and what did that bring? An emotionless doll. A toy for that woman to project her expectations on—expectations to be a leader. There was never any other path for me in her grand design, and so I did as she demanded. Even when my back was marked red with lashes, I tried my best to satisfy her. Even when I cried myself to sleep, begging, hoping, for someone to whisk me away into the night, no one ever came. All I could feel was just how alone I was, and that pain hurt more than any would she could ever inflict.

“And what disgusted me most was how she always tried to claim it was for me. ‘This is for your own good, Annalay.’ ‘Everything I do is for you, Annalay.’ ‘Why can’t you see just how much I care about you?’ I loathed those damn words… because it never allowed me to truly despise her. I know - in her own twisted way - that she really did care about me. Love me. So what was I supposed to do? It would have been much easier if she had always treated me like filth, but in the rare moments where I wasn’t disappointing her in some way, we were happy. We would walk about the city, hand in hand, and visit the theatres. We would attend plays, watch musicals, and laugh and giggle and love the day for all that it brought. And whenever I got sick, she would be there by my bedside—holding my hand and comforting me all through the night.

“Why couldn’t she just decide? Why did she need to give me hope that all that pain would be worth it? I despise her. I wish for her to be dragged into the foulest pits of the hells, but I… I don’t know. It’s a strange feeling: like I’m just tired of it all. I can’t even muster the effort to even think about her anymore. Heh, guess the drink’s finally starting to work. Pour me another one, would you, Lorelai?”

- Annalay Virtue of the Nature’s Throne

———

The Knight

Ascalon is now leading the Knight into the bowels of the castle’s underground. The bright marble and gleaming white of the surface is gone, replaced by a rustic brown as aged wood now encompasses the worn exterior. It is reminiscent of a forest cabin: serene in some manner in the isolation it provides, yet stale with smells of musk permeating the tight corridors. This place is a prison, and judging by the commotion caused upon their arrival the previous day, the Knight can surmise who it is the King wants to introduce.

“This is a rather odd location to meet a friend,” it teases. “I suppose it’s Annalay we’re meeting?”

“You would be correct,” he chuckles whilst carefully taking its hand and descending deeper into the darkness. With every step, a hollow echo resonates around them, ringing through the passage and empty cells slowly coming into their view. “It must be a nostalgic experience for her, to return to the gaol. Well, it is used nowadays more as a penitentiary than any other; this space once was reserved for traitors of the nobility, but as time went on, we changed its purpose to serve as a rehabilitation center for our rather unruly knights. You can imagine a few days locked up in this dreadful place would make any soul feel repentant.”

The Knight has seen worse: dungeons covered in an inescapable fume of flayed flesh and tortured bodies. The Polus gaol is quite the paradise in comparison. Though there is an air of stuffiness, the cells appear to have been wholly scrubbed clean of filth. The room within is also quite accommodating: spacious, a neat mattress, a private space to relieve oneself, and multiple bundles of cloth to serve as blankets. There are even a few odd candles to serve as a light source. For the winged ones who yearn for open skies this may seem to be torture, but the Knight finds it rather quaint.

“Why would Annalay feel nostalgic?”

A strange aura envelops the King. Pity? Sadness? It is a mixture of many emotions: complex, but not entirely negative. There is a hint of fondness in his rigid stride—of memories both fickle and comforting.

“Before she became a Throne, Annalay was known as the capital’s resident troublemaker. She still is, to an extent, but in those early days there was no end to the chaos she stirred. Taverns were left destitute, woman found themselves by her bedside, and it wasn’t rare to find her sprawled out on the street after a heated brawl. Hehe, the court really despised her, said it was unbecoming of a noble to behave in such a matter, but she cared not. So, they resorted to more drastic measures and imprisoned her in the gaol after every one of her antics. Unfortunately for them, Annalay actually grew to like sleeping in these worn cells; she spent more time here than in her own barracks.”

I can see why. Sometimes, it is nice to have a silent shelter all to oneself.

“I never did find out why she liked being here so much. Perhaps this is the time to sate my curiosity.”

Just as he finishes speaking, a loud, rumbling snore pierces through the quiet. It is a snore one cannot achieve without being thoroughly relaxed—mind content with losing itself in the land of dreams in a manner only the defenseless can display. Ascalon has not lied; she really is at peace here.

They walk up to her cell, and the first thing the Knight notices is its uniqueness compared to the others. The room is larger, hosting two mattresses in order to hold strong against her colossal size, and numerous little markings are carved upon the wood: some shaped into crude drawings while others appearing to be mere gibberish and long-winded rants. They are far from new, and judging by how faded the dents are, it estimates their creation to be about a decade old.

There, stretched out on her back with nary a care in the world, is Annalay whilst still donned in her thorned armor. The spikes pierce the mattresses and leave behind holes of exposed cotton, but it supposes her position must be comfortable if she is able to slumber in such a position.

Ascalon sighs and shakes his head. His expression conveys that of a disappointed sibling, and so he walks up to the bars, raises his hand, and knocks against the cell. “Annalay, it is time to wake up.”

She grunts and, with great effort, forces herself to rise—doing so one limb at a time as if her bodily function has yet to fully awaken. An arm is raised - sluggish and flopping about - and then so is the other until she collides face-first into the bed and pushes up—all the whilst smacking her lips together in a bid to rouse her dry throat.

“Mmm, Ascalon? That you?” Annalay mumbles, stumbling onto her feet as she tries to rub her eyes to no avail. “Ah, that old codger probably told you to come lecture me, didn’t he? That’s fine and all, but I’d appreciate it if you could give me a few more minutes. Hells know how long it’s been since I’ve had a nap this nice. It’s good to be back home.”

“I’m glad,” he says with a small laugh. “Unfortunately, your time here is at an end. I have another punishment awaiting you.”

“Stars… really? Maybe I should’ve caused more trouble.”

“Please don’t. Besides, I think you’ll quite like this punishment.”

“Hoh? Sounds like you’ve got something real fun in store for me. Is that about Celia?”

“Well, why don’t you see for yourself.”

Ascalon steps back and waves the Knight forward. And as it does so - the candlelight illuminating its armor in a cloak of rippling flame - it is as if the Nature’s Throne has just bore witness to the arrival of a divinity. Her voice becomes silent, she collapses onto her knees, and her hands grope her own body, smacking herself as if the pain will cause the sight before her to disappear. But it does not. This is reality, and as soon as she comes to that realization, Annalay springs forth and bends the cell bars back—ripping them apart effortlessly as if they’re made of clay. In an instant, the Knight is once again trapped in her hold.

But this time is different. This is not the hold of one welcoming back a beloved friend. This is the hold of a desperate little girl, clutching onto the manifestation of her hope. Her savior. The one who gave her the courage to rebel. It does not understand these feelings emitting from the burly woman, but such peculiarities have become all but common lately.

“It really is you, isn’t it?” She says with a trembling whisper. “Hells, I… I really am a fool. Didn’t even notice the entire time we were together. Some friend I am, huh?”

The Knight strokes her back and allows itself to stay with her in the moment. Love is a powerful thing; it turns even the most wild of souls into a fragile, bleeding heart. “Oh, Annalay. Dear, sweet Annalay: Of course you wouldn’t have known. I’m not Lorelai anymore; not the same, at least. I’ve changed. But, even so, I’m still here. I’m still alive, and I have the chance to strive towards a new me, so please don’t blame yourself. From now on, I’d like to make new memories with you—to start from the very beginning as a friend. Is that ok?”

She pauses, and in her helm’s slits is an onslaught of thoughts. There is torment in them. There is longing. But, above all else, there is a wish for fellowship once more. “Heh, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot. But you’re wrong about one thing: You are still Lorelai. A different one, sure, but even now I can feel that you’re the same as ever.”

Annalay lets go, hesitantly and with a shaky breath; she steps back with an uneven gait until her body rams into the remnants of the cell’s bars. There is still something that preoccupies her mind, but she tries hard not to show it—the worry hidden beneath her outer bulwark. The Knight believes it knows the source of her behavior, and it has to do with its first assumed identity.

“Just tell me one thing,” she begins, voice breaking with an obvious melancholy. “Is everyone else dead?”

“… Yes.”

“Even Celia?”

“I saw her body. She’s gone.”

“H-Hah.” The Nature’s Throne struggles to keep herself standing, but she remains stoic in the end. Or rather, she has already long come to the truth. To have it finally confirmed, however, shreds away at any vestiges of erstwhile hope—no matter how implausible it may have been. Still, despite the grief, there is a peace in her appearance. Peace in knowing she need not suffer under the worry of an ambiguous fate. Her friend can finally rest. “Right, it’s a miracle you were even able to get out. And while Celia’s strong, she—ah hells, did you really have to go and see the Stars before me? Guess spending all that time cooped up here made you soft. I always did tell you to get some fresh air once in a while, and look at you now. You better be feeling sorry up there for leaving us behind, damn idiot…”

The Knight doesn’t say a word. Sometimes, silence is more comforting than any consolation. Annalay wishes to cry in silence, and so she does. All it can do is foster a safe haven for her—a retreat where she may let loose her emotions unburdened. Ascalon appears to have the same sentiment, and so the three of them pass the time together, sharing in a private period of mourning.

When her tears have finally dried, she makes no attempt to put on her previous facade of unruliness. This must be the true Annalay: a thoughtful, softhearted woman full of care. That she now bares herself shows her trust in the Knight… a trust that will be cherished very, very well.

“Sorry. I—forget you saw that,” she says with an uncharacteristic meekness. “Heh, sometimes you really need to let out a bawl. People aren’t meant to bottle up their emotions; being true to myself is how Celia would want me to carry on. Though, it doesn’t change how embarrassing this is.”

“I, for one, am quite honored to see a new side of you,” Ascalon says with a perhaps poorly timed attempt at reassurance.

“Oh, shut up your majesty. You’re only making this worse.”

“Ah. I apologize.”

The Knight bursts out laughing with a strange, exhilarating rush of delight it has not thought possible of itself. Its body doubles over, hands desperately clutching its stomach in an attempt to calm the joy spilling forth without abandon, and soon tears from its own eyes begin to flow out in a cascade of hilarity. It does not know why its acting in such a manner. Is it because of Annalay’s flustered tone? Is it due to Ascalon’s clumsiness, his demeanor abashed as if he’s a plump-cheeked child being scolded by their caretaker? It does not know. This feeling is frightening, foreign, and yet it can’t help but give itself to this bliss. How terrifying. How utterly baffling. And yet, I cannot stop. Why? I—this isn’t right. This is the second time I’ve been subjected to such abnormal behavior. Has a curse truly been beset upon me?

The other two join along with its merry fit, laughing along as they surround it in a wide hug from all sides. There is no escape from their affection, and most concerning of all, it doesn’t want to. The Knight feels a bit of kinship with them in this moment, as if it truly is the Lorelai they have come to love with all their warmth.

But it must never forget: the Knight is an imposter—a creature only wearing the skin of the one they so adore, slain by its own hand. It doesn’t deserve this happiness. This life is built on deception. Eventually, it will all come crumbling down, and the only thing that shall await it is further sorrow.

Remember who you are. Remember your duty.

“I-I’m so sorry,” it says to the giggling pair. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Ah, it’s all fine. I think that little laugh brought me back to my good ol’ self, anyways,” Annalay says with a hearty squeeze from behind. “Come to think of it, was this really supposed to be my punishment? I doubt me blubbering my eyes out was what you wanted, Ascalon.”

“That’s right, I nearly forgot!” he says, leaning in close to Annalay’s side and patting her shoulder. “You are correct. Your actual punishment is to escort Lorelai through the city.”

“Hm? That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I’m glad you think that way. Because your first destination is the Virtue’s central office.”

Annalay’s mood shifts in an instant. She stiffens in place, hands clenching together with such intensity that they begin to tremble, and a layer of venom coats her next few, furious words.

“Is that hag still there?” she growls with the savagery of a wild beast.

“Yes, Annalay. And she’s waiting for you. She’s been waiting ever since your return, but I wasn’t able to find the right time to inform you until now.”

“… Damnit.”

“Please. Surasha is there as well, and I’m sure you know as well as I how much she’s missed Lorelai. If not for me, do it for her.”

Annalay doesn’t respond. She merely begins to walk away with lumbering, weighty stomps. It can see her every move is instilled with a suppressed wrath, and yet she tries her best to remain carefree as usual—however poorly veiled.

“Come on, Lorelai,” she eventually grumbles. “Let’s get this over with.”