voicetest the voiceless

[focusedvoid]

They're not dead.

Less dead than they'd felt, at least. Their shell doesn't normally take so long to reform.

Then again. Their shell doesn't usually break of their own violation as they ascended in a boiling rage, ate at least one realm, a god, and all the Godseekers.

(That last point is debatable, actually. There's some odd sense, deep under their...shell? Void? Wherever they once stored things like Isma's Tear, much deeper now...that the sea-mind is still there, sluggish and held in a stasis. They're already adjusting enough, and they don't seem to be dying or trying to kill them, so that problem is neatly sorted as 'for later'.)

They push their body to stand. Their horn clangs uncomfortably loudly against the grate they've apparently woken up beneath. They're somewhere in the Royal Waterways. A quick check of the map--or, not so quick, as it takes time to locate where it had been--shows they've risen about halfway through, closer to the City of Tears than the White Palace. They'll go to the Stag Station in the City Storerooms next.

So they think. Complications arise on the way.

The Infection is gone, leaving dead Flukes, Pilflips, and Hwurmps in piles enough it takes time to force their way past. Their body seems too small. No, their body is fine--there's something wrong with perception itself. That will take time to adjust to.

Then, they discover the Monarch Wings now stretch and warp when used, twisting around the nearest pipes after landing before the Knight forcibly calls them back. Shade Wings, they decide to call these.

Once they're high enough to hear the rain above, they realize a noise they'd ascribed to water running in the distance is, in fact, something swirling behind their mask. Many somethings. All the fragments of Siblings with enough self left, staring out from their eyes. It's disconcerting.

By the time they actually get out of the Waterways, they're using their Shade Wings to grip ledges and drag themselves up, with those holding onto things better than their own arms are with the Mantis Claw. 

The Knight faceplants awkwardly onto the floor of the building Lemm's shop is in. If the City is the same as below, there's little left to try killing them in the area.

They'll just take a moment here, thanks.

Comments

[capitalcurator]

He's shaking a bit. They don't have to worry about being stared at any more, because he can't even make eye contact, he's just fidgeting and casting about for something else to look at. He needs to go for a walk.

But he waits, as he is beginning to think he always will, for the Knight to finish speaking.

"...I know all of this. You don't have to tell me what I..." This is cut off by a frustrated little growl, and he shakes his head roughly. They're letting him go. So he'll go. "Thank you," he belatedly course-corrects, stiff as a board.

The guilt at begging so much more of their patience - especially when he's tested it so badly before - is only a hair less important than what he needs it for right now. Lemm turns and strides straight for the door and disappears out into the hall.

His footsteps are brisk, but they won't take him far before turning abruptly around and heading the other way. It will be clear enough he's not walking anywhere with intent, he's just... walking.

[focusedvoid]

They don't like how everything's spiralled so quickly. They don't like having have told him. They don't like watching him tremble as he hadn't when he had watching a Goam tear its way from the roof above him. They don't like any of this.

They understand they're afraid on some level, but of what is so nebulous they can't get a grasp on it.

The Knight listens enough to make sure he's not about to flee from the Mansion itself, as they might have done in positions reversed. They'd feel off not shadowing him back to at least the Resting Grounds.

When it's clear he's not, they turn back to their self-decided task of organization, on the bed and around it.

It's something to do that isn't tearing the entire room to shreds.

[capitalcurator]

Lemm's head is spinning, and his insides feel like they're being squeezed unpleasantly tight by some invisible force. When he mindlessly reaches for a door to try, he almost misses the handle. His feet keep taking him in and out of rooms.

Why now?

After all this time - if he's honest, it's been his lifetime, why is it only after he's become so jaded and difficult and misanthropic-? Why is this happening now, after he's forgotten how to try? It's not fair on the Knight. Life's not fair, but he is trying very desperately to make sense of it. He needs to do better. Needs to at least get this part right, and he'll need words for that, and right now they won't untangle themselves.

He paces along past the paintings, staring up at them without really looking at them, lingering only for a moment on the sketch with a suggestion of the Vessel that should not be there.

The facts: the Knight has shared so much with him. Expects him to finish the work he started, so that others can know. And expects so little else - it seemed that way at first, but there are times he thinks they might have expected better of him since. More fool them. He's a ridiculous, bad-tempered old crank and they knew that going in. And they care-

(Lemm misses his footing on a step and grabs tightly to the handrail, all of the restless energy leaving him at once. He lowers himself into a seated position on the steps and resigns himself to staying there a while.)

- they care about him, anyway. Like he cares, like there's a nasty lurch in his chest when he considers the possibility of having to witness the Knight die, and that's with the understanding they'd be back. The Knight doesn't want him dead either, they told him so the first time they had a proper conversation...

No, more than that, much more than that, it's not that they just don't want him dead. It's that they would be upset. If Relic Seeker Lemm left, or went missing, or died, someone would notice he was gone.

It's a far longer time than he expected before he's able to rally himself and traipse slowly back to the Knight. He'll stand in the doorway first, just to make his presence known. A half-hearted little wave to get their attention and let them know he's back. Mentally he's back too. Thanks for waiting. He hopes they're not too angry with him, because this is going to be difficult.

[focusedvoid]

They're not going to follow him. The urge grows, but they would dislike it if Lemm did the same when they needed a moment that became more.

They keep to the papers. It becomes organized in the barest sense of the word, with each rectangle moved to a stack and the stack into a row with barely a thought given to their contents.

He probably isn't going to call things off. It would be counterproductive to his studies. He wanted to be here. Was excited to be here. Isn't right now.

They'll be fine. They should tell him that. They go to their own paper, time and time again, only to put it back with a start of I or Don't without anything else more to add, not knowing how to continue. Discussing their literally-countless deaths prior to his learning this knowledge will not reassure, though the Knight wishes as much. A rare time they wished an ally had lashed out in advance, so they could've got this over with a Journal to the skull the first time they visited the City, so fragile compared to now.

The entire bed is covered in rows, neatly spaced apart. They hopped down at some point without thought to work on some of the papers nearest, and the whole thing's now framed with a couple rows on the floor as well, with the Knight standing and staring at the foot of it as though braced to rip through the near-flawless light-colored surface.

Their head snaps around to look at Lemm once he's finally, finally come back. They leap up to the bed, to be a closer height to him, and wait for the next move.

[capitalcurator]

Tempting as it is to give in to nerves and say nothing, waiting any longer wouldn't be good for either of them - and he thinks the Knight's patience has been stretched far enough. So he takes a deep breath, steels himself, and gets to explaining himself.

...He should probably start with an apology.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you. It seems I've been a fool for a while now and it - I realised a few things that went to my head. Hit a raw nerve. I told myself I wouldn't raise my voice at you again, but here we are. I don't expect you to forgive me this time, either, but I'm very sorry. I hope you'll... understand where an old bug is coming from."

They probably haven't been sitting on the same thought as he has, their mind wanders, he should clarify...

Lemm casts about looking for the Knight's handwriting amid the neat stacks of papers, stepping further into the room. He finds what he's looking for quickly enough - Lemm is as attuned to the look of their writing now as he is to his own - and warily he approaches the bed and gestures to their note.

"I knew you'd had losses, and you don't want more. That I understood. Anyone could understand that. But I didn't understand - I didn't think you meant me. I mean, not... anyone else. Agh, I'm not explaining this very well."

He'd like to sit, but he needs to get this out of the way first. It is as terrifying as facing the Lord of Shades the last time. Maybe worse? That might be pushing it, but Lemm's fears are a little uncommon in priority. He waits a bit, just to see if any of this is landing at all. They'd seemed furious with him.

[focusedvoid]

An apology, easier than ones before. This alone settles them somewhat. Not nearly all the way, but somewhat. In the long run, they don't much care about the volume Lemm rises to when he's displeased with them. The important part is over what he's displeased by, and whether or not it's warranted. Being bothered that they would be harmed in his place is not a strange concept; risking his own brief life for what amounts to a painful inconvenience is a pointless concept.

Though this changes to a different form of distress. While they barely change position but leaning slightly forward, the Knight's black stare bores in as he keeps going, disbelieving. Hurt.

Yes you.

They write this and try to write more, but there's nothing else they can add without his continuing, so they give up with nothing more than a few disconnected lines they cross out. Yes, you, Lemm. They don't understand his lack of understanding.

[capitalcurator]

That does shame him. He winces and looks away to gather himself.

"I hadn't realised," he tells them. "Ugh, but I reacted badly to the thought of you being... hurt. I'll admit that. I - that didn't do me any favours! But it - I get it, now, or I hope I do. This will be a pointless little chat otherwise, and very embarrassing for me."

No, no more excuses, just - make it plain.

"I wouldn't be the first ally in this kingdom to die at your side, you said. I'm sorry."

Lemm unloops his bag from his shoulder and dumps it on the floor, and turns to sit with a huff of total resignation. The bed sinks, and he automatically snaps a hand out to save a stack of papers they'd organised from slipping off, pulling them back on autopilot. Wouldn't be right to undo their work.

"Well, you'd be the first." He's unable to look up. "For me you'd be the first, and not even for something so extreme. I don't have that to go on, Knight, I hope you can understand why I..." A light cough. "I wasn't thinking. I just don't want you to go through anything painful on my behalf. I feel all rotten about it."

[focusedvoid]

The Knight is motionless as Lemm explains. His sitting down would have jarred them if they weren't listening too hard not to automatically adjust.

Knowing isn't the same as experiencing. Knowing intellectually isn't the same as understanding.

The hurt lingers yet. They wonder what he truly thought of their horror and rage and fear, when they fled from his shop the last time. Why they came back as his plea. Why they keep coming back--but this is enough for them to comprehend Lemm's responses here and now. That he hasn't had someone to swear taking injury on his behalf...isn't a surprise, nor necessarily grim. Theirs is a unique position.

Reassurance should come next. In the kingdom that's torn them apart in every way before they put themselves back together, any would feel like lies.

The Knight slips over to Lemm's side, settling down close enough to brush wing against shell.

[capitalcurator]

None of it feels quite right. Not because of the Knight, they're being far too understanding. It feels worse because of it.

The Knight moves - Lemm stiffens, not willing to let a full shiver wrack him in the middle of an important conversation, though it worms its way through him unacknowledged and spurs him to go on.

"I didn't know it'd matter that it was me," he says quietly. "I just thought you deserved to have someone to look to. All I'm used to doing is living through other people's stories, and all of them dead. It felt - I felt like I was... part..."

He bows his head, not in their occasional mutual nod but away from them. It's just shame, burning just hot enough to keep him from reaching out.

"Didn't think I was, though. Just liked feeling that way. I never thought about what I was doing, overlooking you like that. Do you understand? I'm sorry."

[focusedvoid]

The Knight is still for a time. Not entirely. Their tiny fidgets are present while they stare blankly at the papered floor they haven't got to chance to look at, absorbing this.

It fits with what they already know. The Relic Seeker alone in a city of the dead, encountering none more than once, few encounters often leaning towards the brusque and unpleasant.

You are l You're used to being overlooked, and overlooked me at the same time. You expected me to see you as a sha as part of the background, if I'm understanding this correctly, and you're now aware this isn't true.

This is a summary of what Lemm has said from their own view, but this is something that they both agree upon needing to be clear.

[capitalcurator]

"That's-" No!

No.

Curb it.

He laces his fingers together on his lap. He stares down at that. Ashamed. That's all.

"I hope it isn't."

[focusedvoid]

It isn't.

The Knight stops there for Lemm to look at it, and for them to think over the rest carefully. There's a lot for them to be...honest about. Their writing is significantly slower than usual.

You're part of the life I'm finding here. I admit I did not expect that to happen at the start, but I don't dislike it.

I act as guide and guard for you to discover history you could not easily because I want to. I want you to find these things and I want you to be safe, and I want to watch your findings even when I hold less far less interest than you. I am hurt that you didn't realize this, but it hasn't always been this way and I never explained. I'm not used to explaining, as the shadow that others overlook and keep distant from.

I will not let you be injured if I can help it. I will not thoughtlessly leap into danger either. Neither of us want to see each other hurt.

I will be as careful as I can. I promise.

By the time they've stopped, they feel as if they've tugged their own Shade out themselves for Lemm's open examination.

[capitalcurator]

He almost breaks right there. It isn't. He wants to believe it. Badly, he wants to - he wants to cling to it like he's drowning and someone has thrown him a lifeline. He can't quite - but they go on.

And they go on.

His view of their writing is a little blurrier than he'd like by the time their pen lifts from the page. They care. Someone cares. The Knight cares, they have been so patient -

"I..." Non-starter, ends in a stifled little sigh. The second pass goes a little more smoothly. "I'm not used to it either. You're right." He fans a hand over the page, gesturing to all of it. "I promise the same. I'll be careful for myself if you'll... yes. I promise." He too did not expect to find anything in Hallownest but a place to hide and something to occupy his time.

He is quiet a time, fighting hard not to lose his measure. Then he manages to turn to look at the Knight properly and speaks with a shred of raw confidence.

"I'm not speaking as a Relic Seeker when I say it's an honour." He nods, respectful but nervous. "If you'll allow me I'd like to think of you as a friend... I'm not sure how this is done. I hope I'm clear."

[focusedvoid]

Friend. That's a word they haven't wrote, and only understand after it's come from Lemm directly they were afraid to. They haven't even thought it.

A cold weight is lifted from lingering on their back, and late-realized anxiety gives a hopefully-last sweep through the whole of them. Two strange bugs, coming to a dead kingdom on personal lonely quests, only to find so much more.

Two friends.

The Knight's answering nod is perhaps a little jolting. The promises are acceptable. The friendship is more.

They keep to honesty, even while part of them wishes to stop. To flee, to think, and this would be the cruelest move when they know what they truly want.

Yes. I was afraid to think it for myself. I've been afraid to let myself care here at all, even when I know I do, and I'm working out how.

Yes, we're friends.

Friends expect mistakes and forgive them. We've both done much of that so far. Know I'm happy to be seen as yours regardless as we learn.

After a moment's hesitation--it feels far more than a moment, turning, lifting their arm up awkwardly, nervous (afraid)--they offer their paw. To shake. (To take.)

[capitalcurator]

For him too it has been exhausting trying not to think it. But if there were ever a time to drag that word out of hiding he thinks it might be now, and luckily for both of them he is good at being blunt.

"I know exactly what you mean," he admits. "Frightening, I'll admit. Friends, though..."

His hands are trembling, and he wouldn't dream of shaking hands on anything like this if it was actually transactional, if it was anyone else. It would be bad form, show weakness, make him seem like someone frail to be pushed around.

Lemm does not care about that. He takes the Knight's paw with a distinct lack of hesitation, shakes on this, once, and does not let go. Not yet. Let him convince himself.

"To know we're... that I'm part of this will take some getting used to, but at least I understand it now. I think that makes me - happy, yes." He gives their paw a light squeeze, an accidental outlet for a frankly overwhelmed old bug with no experience to lean on. "I'll do my best for y- for us. To deserve it."

[focusedvoid]

At this angle, one-handed the Knight can't write to respond, and they suddenly don't know what they might in the first place.

Maybe that they're glad they're both on the same page now, or closer than that. They're both aware--Lemm is better aware of his importance, the Knight is aware of his feeling a lack of it. That they both care. That they're both going to be clumsy and afraid on the way over it.

Not enough to hurt, not the desperate cling of being brought back from miserable grief or a temporary grab for leading through danger, their grip tightens in simple acknowledgement.

[capitalcurator]

Apparently Lemm's done talking about it as well, thank goodness, because otherwise he might go on for far too long. He just sits there in the quiet for a while, staring off into space and letting the dust settle in his head.

So many of their interactions had been coloured one way or another by him quietly, sourly wishing this was the dynamic they actually had, and that it actually had anything to do with him at all. Turns out it was, and it did, and he's just been an incredible idiot working far too hard to convince himself otherwise. (A very happy one suddenly, but an idiot nonetheless. He'll be living this one down for a while. As for the Knight, he'll make it up to them as they go.)

The hand holding is a lot more comfortable than it has been other times. He's absolutely loath to let go.

"We should probably get a move on. Time's marching." ...He says that.

[focusedvoid]

Time's marching, but they don't need to. They lift their arm in what would be half a shrug if it wasn't presently occupied.

They're exhausted. Not sleeping, not tired, but still feeling drained. They're also, uncommonly, on a bed.

The Knight is tiny enough they can lean backwards (displacing falsely-organized papers, what a pity) until they're lying down without actually having to let go of Lemm's hand.

[capitalcurator]

He watches curiously, then gives a short, amused little huff.

Asking questions would likely spur them into having to stop what they're doing and write, just to tell him an answer he can already figure out by looking. Anyway, they're not the only one feeling a little rough around the edges. Lemm's still in a bit of a haze; all his thoughts are disjointed and muddled and interrupting each other - hardly the state for a Hallownest scholar to be in.

After a rather short inner debate, Lemm gives up and flops backwards, jolting the bed a little. His free hand pat-searches beside him for one of the stacks of papers, plucks one off the top, and holds it over his face. Reading has always settled him. If they're in no rush...

"For che' to share such a tale with meled'love is a bargain made against continued peace with him, yet not to tell it would be denial of mirth. Let che' begin with the sight of the Watcher, the full prism of his craft across his visage, and che' who knocked him..."

[focusedvoid]

Good. They'd been hoping Lemm'd join them. This has been a significant trip. They still haven't forgotten how miserable their initial visit had found him, either. Rest can't hurt.

He regales them with a tale of Lurien being run down by the Great Knights after trying to paint them during training. Even with his rough interpretation of Ze'mer's accent and stumbles over the odder translations, the story is still amusing, and express this by patting the bed heavily with their free hand before grabbing another. (They do make sure there aren't too many delicate-flower shapes first, to avoid any scandalizing.)

[capitalcurator]

He is very slow, and much of his reading is stitched together with on-the-spot corrections. Ah that means - I think this is supposed to be a metaphor - I don't know this word. It is disjointed and stuttering, his pronunciation is completely off, it's no polished reading.

He is a little surprised and hesitant when they hand him one more, but it's encouraging. So he reads.

It is about Ogrim and Isma, some observation of much skirting-around culimating in a furtive meeting in Ze'mer's foyer that she happened to note down for one's eyes only. It was interrupted quick, but Ze'mer had opinions.

Lemm keeps going, reading whatever they hand him and reaching for papers when they don't. All stories of Hallownest, some of them told by Ze'mer and some of them lamented to no audience by the Grey Mourner far more recently. (Both contain equally happy memories. It is the coherence that changes.)

All the time, Lemm's hand remains curled around the Knight's, occasionally fidgeting in the pauses between by brushing a thumb lightly over the back of their paw as if to occupy their time before he finds his reading place again.

[focusedvoid]

Little bursts of grief rise and fall in their chest as the stories spin. What a pity it is, looking into how much was lost through Higher Beings' follies. What a privilege it is, grounded by a hold of a friend, having a chance to discover parts of those histories anyway.

They do have to get up eventually. At the very least, all the papers in easy reach--and there were more than a few--are read, and they don't want to try lifting them up with tendrils.

...They don't want to let go of his hand either, but they suppose that's necessary. Lemm had no objections to this hand-holding, and they're significantly pleased by it, paw grown comfortably warm by the grip.

This can be done again. They have time.

The Knight tugs free and sits up once more. Before Lemm can do the same, they reach out to pat his horn lightly, just once.

[capitalcurator]

By the time he runs out of material he has come to the conclusion that none of these piles of paper were actually as organised as he assumed. He forgets their skillsets do not overlap. But the Knight seemed happy to lie there, and whether they were listening or not he doesn't know but there is something so reassuring about their company.

He is still silently reading back over the last one when the Knight lets go. They'll be moving on now, then. Come to think of it he's not sure how much time this took up -

- the dull awareness of a pat on the horn takes him by surprise, and he promptly drops the letter on his face.

He peels up a corner of it to peer up at the Knight, looking a little bewildered as he quickly tries to work out what was that for?

...He sits up. Moving on. They're moving on. There are flowers where his thoughts should be as he reaches for his bag.

[focusedvoid]

Because they were happy, and they wanted to express it. And because they just wanted to. His horn is his second most prominent feature beside his beard, which they've already had a chance with.

Lemm seems startled but lets it pass without comment, so assume they haven't been too offensive.

Thank you, they write first, because they're grateful for him and his telling them tales.

Not the only thing that they've gotten from this, though. I think she Ze'mer called her lover Khukri as a name. Does that seem right? I'd like to add that to her grave later, or otherwise acknowledge it there. They're partly writing this to try remembering, partly to confirm they weren't misinterpreting the language. It's Lemm's job to know such things, after all.

The Knight's had to learn many by immersion in their wanderings, and while they've got good at it, there have been many, many accidental misunderstandings that lead to later confusion or offense. Less than for those who would speak, but still enough to be wary of such without it being as important as honoring the Traitor's Child.

[capitalcurator]

Putting his mind right after all of this is going to be a slow process; solving the more cryptic parts of Ze'mer's letters was far easier than making sense of his feelings. As a result he's just distant enough to look like he's snapping out of a daze when he hears the sound of pen on paper.

The thank-you earns them one of those little bows of his head that he's been imitating straight from the Knight, whether or not they look up to see it. It also gets him to rest his hand on their head for a moment while they finish writing the rest, and he barely thinks about that.

The rest is given a quick thought, and then he swipes up a few papers from the bed and leafs through them to double-check something.

"...Khukri... I'd written that off as another nickname." In his defense he's not thinking straight lately. "Ah, I see! It's the only one that's been written in all three languages, I overlooked that. Yes, you're right, I think. Should I copy it down for you, or will you be using common script?" It's not a question that they should add it to the grave, he already wholly agrees.