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The soft wind coming from the sea did nothing to console Harrow – she didn't really think anything would now. The fact that those images replayed in her mind, the words, the immediate loss like a sticky bandage ripped from skin, stinging and raw, and then nothing, told her that she would never be consoled. At least, not now. Maybe someday relief will come for her and take her by the hand, matronly and understanding, guiding her through a bright door that would guarantee peace and quiet, the emptiness blooming to a garden of flowers before her eyes. Maybe then she would understand and this anger would subside and lessen in waves lapping against white sand. Maybe one day.
Gideon Nav came back to her in fragments in her dreams damn near nightly. While this did nothing good for Harrow’s mind or spirits in her waking days, she looked forward to sleep a lot more than she had in the past - once, often skipping sleeping until the sun glared at her, disappointed and exhausted, she found no other reason to sleep than out of need. Now, she slept to preserve the piece of her that she wished she could hold onto. Harrowhark the First, the Reverend Daughter, made up of magic and 200 souls in one tiny and sour package, insignificant and angry, felt, in this moment, that she was even less of a marvel without her Cavalier. What she hated about herself in the coming days reflected back every time she had to look in the hospital bathroom mirror until she avoided it completely. Still, something tugged at her lips and created a smile – she liked to think it was a reassurance beyond her power being given to her.
As much as she longed to follow her new fate, her mortal body kept her bed bound, recovering physically and mentally. The terrors that ripped at her mind were immense and she almost thought herself weak – she had seen and known of worse things in her seventeen years of living, so how did this wreck her so thoroughly? Some figured it was the way Gideon simultaneously ripped herself from and embedded herself into the narrative, others thinking her of sickly in her own right and now, even more so with her newfound baggage. She knew what others must have thought, but she learned to tune them out and replace the pity with sleep, praying she'd be there…
…And more times than not, that tousled mess of red hair, glaring and rebellious, undying and ethereal, would be there, peeking over long tufts of grass. Gideon still wore black in her revivals, but they weren't dirty or tattered rags, like the ones she died in, like the ones Harrow had seen her in before basically signing her up for her demise. She looked damn good for a dead girl in her soft and fresh cotton shirt and denim pants, boots kicked off into the grass nearby. Ankle crossed over knee, bare feet in the breeze, her speckled arms lay lazily behind her head and her pretty honey eyes were always closed in rest, straw stack between two petal lips. She always appeared to be sleeping, the same half smile on her face that looked just like the one from just before, when she felt whole.
“Bout time you got here,” came that voice that always seemed to tear Harrow from even the deepest of thoughts. Funny how only now she noticed how Gideon had her wrapped around her calloused finger. “I was worried you'd been avoiding me.”
“As if you're worth avoiding,” Harrow retorted, sitting at her side. She looked out at the never-ending sea, wondering if the edge of the world stopped where the sea did. The breeze only gently shifted her hair and the salt stung her nose. She didn't notice. “No, don't worry. I've been bothered all day with tests and poking and prodding…” she trailed off and admitted in a soft voice. “I got here as fast as I could.”
Gideon dared to crack open a single eye and she caught Harrow's hands working themselves into a tizzy. “Take your time. I've got nothing but.”
Harrow didn't stop picking at her nails, the skin cracking at her cuticles stinging as she abused it further. “I’m aware. It makes you a fool.”
“I don’t regret it, you know,” Gideon laughed, and it sounded lighthearted and free. Harrow was almost jealous – she wished she could have heard it when she had the chance. “I got what I wanted. In a way.” The cavalier of the Ninth looked to the Reverend Daughter with a lazy smile. “I just wish I had died somewhere a little more sexy.”
Harrow scoffed, outright. “You wouldn't call being impaled sexy? I feel like you’d have a joke somewhere in there.” She laughed only a little and it still felt tight and unnatural in her chest. She didn't look to Gideon until she realized both eyes were open and studying her intently. The necromancer – no, Lyctor – stared straight back and nodded solemnly as the older girl took her hands to stop her picking. She did this often, and Harrow swore her hand always felt warm and whole and so alive. It made her heart hurt. If this tiny touch alone made her weak willed and upset, the next statement would paralyze her.
“This is the last time I can come to you like this, Harrow…at least, for now.”
The dark eyes of Harrow bore into honey gems, scanning them. Another joke, more than likely. Gideon continued. “You are healing…and you are coping with what happened to us…to me. You'll be out by the end of the week, body healed alone...I'm not helping you by staying.”
Something about this felt so real, and Harrow scoffed again and tore her hands back. “So, what. I can't take you with me?” she asked, words a bit biting. “This just ends here and now?”
“You know that is not what this means,” Gideon said slowly and took her hands again. She was quiet for what seemed like forever but the cavalier spoke up again and gave a smile. “You are just beginning. You may not know it, Harrow…but you are thriving. And I…” she shrugged. “I’ll just be this way forever. I mean, definitely not a bad thing, I get to stay this hot forever.” she wiggled her eyebrows at Harrow.
The younger barely realized she was crying. She was growing soft – but then again, hadn't she always been soft for Gideon? “I need you.” She whimpered, eyes glossy and streaming. Her hands gripped as if she would never be able to let go, and if she did, that she would be gone and Harrow would live out her days slowly forgetting Gideon's face, her smell, her laugh, that infectious smile, the way she always crossed her eyes when Harrow applied her grease. A hollow Harrow would remain. Sobs wracked her tiny frame as she questioned, “Who am I without you? How can I live?”
“Well,” Gideon took in a breath. “You can start by not sleeping your days away. I know you're healing, but read a book or something.” She teased, showing her teeth in that smile. Harrow felt a warmth in her gut, but the tears tore at it. “Second…You know I am here. You have my sword. And I've never left you for an instant. So don’t give me that crap that you can’t take me with you.”
“Funny to say that as a dead girl.” Harrow choked out.
“Regardless-!” Gideon pointed a finger at her and kept that smile. Harrow held on to it, a keepsake. “You know what I mean.” One of those large, tattered hands moved up to cup her soft jaw and Harrow gave in. She nuzzled to it without a second thought, pressing the softness of her cheek to that palm and Gods , if it weren't almost real. “I've always been here. Remember that. I couldn't leave you if I tried. Believe me, I tried and you refused me every time.”
Harrow nodded and pursed her thin lips, sniffling. “…There's so much…” she began but paused to release a sob. “So much I need to say. To apologize for.” She took her hand to wipe her eyes but Gideon shooed them away to wipe them off her pretty ivory cheeks. She hurt even more, wishing it were real. “I should have just let you go...Kept you away from there..I’m so sorry- “
“No, no…don't.” Gideon pressured softly, so much love in her voice behind her words, the warmth in the low, familiar gravel of when the Cavalier had to keep her voice down, like a secret between them – and they held no secrets from each other, now. They locked eyes again. “I know. I knew…it's why I forgave you. It’s why I gave my life for yours.” Both hands now were on her face, and dream Gideon did something she hadn't done before: she sat up. They were eye level now (well, as eye level as one could be when you had a head difference between) and Harrow wanted to melt and bury her face in the sunshine spread of the black cotton and smell that fresh, clean scent, clutched in her arms and with a promise to never let go. If she could will her heart to stop beating now, she would. Gideon would never let her. “You mean everything to me. If you didn't, I wouldn't have done it. You were trying to do the same for me. I just beat you to the punch.”
Don't let what I am about to do be in vain.
Harrow shook her head and coughed. “I died with you that day.”
“And yet,” Gideon sighed. “here you are. Asleep. Alive. And it's all I want now. What you need to give me in return.”
Harrow laughed dryly through tears. “What a dick move...”
“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” Gideon grinned.
Harrow let silence consume them. If Gideon claimed to know everything, every last thing she ached to tell her, to promise her, to feel with her, she let it be. However, there was still one thing that needed to be said. Within a breath, Harrow leaned close and diminished the gap between their lips, and in an instant, two pairs of lips pressed delicately, as if savoring a last bite. Hopeful and soft, they stayed that way and Harrow had to pull back as she felt the dream start to fade. If this was the last time, she needed to make one thing unmistakably known.
“I hope you know…I've loved you. In my own way.” She confessed. “And I hope you ignore my stubbornness in not wanting – not knowing how to tell you before.”
“It does cheapen it,” Gideon teased – a laugh bubbled from her throat as Harrow hit her arm, but Gideon pulled her close once more to kiss her again. They stayed there for a little while longer and Gideon barely pulled away to continue, “but I know. And I love you too.”
Harrow gave a light smile as they pulled away and she held her hands until she couldn't, the dream fading and Gideon floating beside her as the grass fell away. Consciousness called to Harrow like lightening to thunder, but she held on.
She would hold on.