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Even after all they had been through, the Tarnished still fought. The array of weapons they had taken with them into the night were never allowed to dull or rust. Less than one year had passed since the start of their journey and, already, Ranni had caught the Tarnished frequently checking their blades for damage due to disuse. Initially, Ranni had chided them for it. What use were weapons in such a lonely world as theirs, anyway? But she quickly learned her words fell on deaf ears and she settled for passive, fond observation instead.
Of course, their fight did not end at old habits that were hard to shake. The Tarnished slept worryingly little these days. And when they did sleep, it was fitful, plagued by dreams that caused them to twitch and scream.
Today, they were fighting again. The journey had been taxing thus far and demanded frequent rests, particularly from Ranni, whose body could not repair itself. So, while Ranni sat upright, checking her limbs to confirm they were all attached and undamaged, the Tarnished sparred without a partner.
They had chosen the Moonlight Greatsword for this particular bout, and Ranni could not suppress a spark of pride as she watched. A longstanding Carian tradition dictated that a Queen must gift her spouse a weapon. Ranni remembered, then, a conversation between her and her mother. Rennala had whispered, a sly smile gracing her lips, like her words were a precious secret, only to be shared between a Queen and her Princess. More often than not, those gifted weapons ended up in a trophy case, on the wall, or used only ceremonially. Ranni watched her Tarnished swing the vibrant greatsword in a wide arc. Her sense of pride grew. Many weapons… but not this one.
For the first time in a long while, Ranni’s satisfaction did not carry the aftertaste of anxiety. She had no duties left to perform, no fate left to fulfill. She was simply content. Content to tighten the binds of her limbs. To sneak glances at the graceful moonlit dance of blades the Tarnished performed. To let the music of their footsteps splashing in the shallow water of the night lull her.
This lull did not last long. A delicate thread held between her fingers snapped as a sharp horrified gasp tore through the dampened atmosphere. Ranni grimaced at the minute loosening of her lower right shoulder joint. She cursed the interruption, cursed herself for trusting the obscene peace of it all. However, the barbed words on her tongue died the moment her gaze landed on the Tarnished.
They stood frozen in place, mid-lunge, sword outstretched as if plunged through an enemy. Their arms shook, eyes wide, they stared at nothing. Slowly, their grip on the weapon slackened, until it clattered to the ground. And they, alongside it, crumpled.
The shaking in their arms steadily grew until their whole body trembled. They pulled their knees to their chest and wrapped their arms around them. A silver tear squeezed through tightly shut eyes and raced down their cheek. Their forehead knocked against their knees and they hugged themself ever tighter.
Ranni stood and took a hesitant step forward. This was new. This was… wrong. In her time with this Tarnished, she had never seen them look so small. They had always appeared confident in front of her. Even when traveling with them as a tiny doll, she had seen them fight, lose, and fight again. She had seen terror, tears, despair, but never this senseless, overwhelming panic.
Her experience in this situation was severely lacking. Always the comforted, never the comforter. She had never needed to be soft before. But if she didn’t act, if she didn’t try, this tarnished, catalyst of her plan, her consort, her partner, would become another Blaidd… another Iji. She couldn’t stand to see another ally suffer at her hand.
Stepping closer was easy. Sitting down was easy. What wasn’t easy was knowing what to do next. Internally, she cursed herself for her pitiful attempts at getting to know this Tarnished. Forming bonds with others had never been her strong suit. Truly knowing another person was a challenge, for it often required one to be known in turn. Much easier, then, to keep your distance, to push your allies ahead of you like pieces on a game board. Feed them scraps of you. Enough to keep them sated, enough to give them the illusion of you, but never enough to give yourself away. Look where that approach landed her, though. Her family, dead or close to; her closest friends, sacrificed, and the last thing they had known was who gave the order. Ranni shook her head, banishing those dark thoughts. They would help no one.
This close to the Tarnished, Ranni could hear their ragged uneven breathing. It was not unlike the short, gasping breaths that came after they awakened from a nightmare. When they awoke from such dreams, they would always seek her out. She was never far, but they insisted on being closer. They would reach for her arm, her hand, her cloak, and she would let them. She never offered them any words of comfort, nor asked what they dreamt of, she simply let them comfort themself in her presence.
That silent, physical reassurance seemed to placate them in those times of stress. Ranni wondered, with one hand hovering over their arm, if the same would be true here. The moment her fingers brushed them, they jolted, as if burned. The Tarnished had wrapped themself up, body tight as a spring, and when they jerked away, it sprung.
They topped over. One hand shot out to catch them while their legs spasmed as if trying to run. It might have been comical if not for the wet, terrified, sob that tore itself from their bitten lips.
Instinctively, both of Ranni’s hands reached out toward them, but she pulled back before she made contact. The Tarnished looked up at her through the wet hair plastered against their face. The abject fear in their gaze startled her. That fear quickly faded into recognition, but traces of it remained in the tightness of their features.
The Tarnished shuffled closer, returning to a seated position, and leaned toward her. This time, she didn’t hesitate. Two arms wrapped around their back, and tugged them against her. Even in this full-sized doll body, she was small compared to her Tarnished. She had removed her hat and cloak to better reach her joints, but she now lamented the absence of their softness and bulk.
The Tarnished continued to shake in her arms, though noticeably less intensely than before. She placed a hand on their arm and squeezed it gently.
“What ails thee, dear consort?” she whispered.
Any reply that came was curt and unintelligible. The Tarnished glanced toward the sword they had left lying next to them. Their fingers twitched toward it, gaze darting frantically around the vast empty night.
“Thou art safe here.” To emphasize her words, Ranni tightened her embrace. A slight shake of the head was all the response she got.
So there they remained. Ranni’s whispered consolations, stilted as they were, did seem to soothe the Tarnished. They soon stopped shaking altogether. Gradually, their breathing evened out, they opened their eyes, dried their face, and smiled at her. The mortal body of flesh Ranni had once inhabited was long gone, but she was sure she remembered what it felt like for a heart to skip a beat.
The Tarnished stretched and rose unsteadily to their feet. They staggered over to Ranni’s previous place of rest and retrieved her cloak and hat. When they returned to her, they spoke no words but sighed so deeply that Ranni felt it in her hollow limbs.
The Tarnished sank back into her. They threw her cloak over both of them and tugged their sword closer, within reach. Finally, they rested their head on her shoulder and closed their eyes. Ranni brought her arms around them again. With one free hand, she reached over and laid it atop theirs. A smile tugged at the Tarnished’s lips. They upturned their hand and intertwined their fingers with hers.
Ranni had never loved another as one is supposed to love a consort. In truth, she was afraid to. Even now, as she rubbed circles into the back of her consort’s hand with her thumb, she felt the fear.
Rennala had loved. She had loved with her whole heart. She had created a family with which to share that love, and they had thrived on it. When Radagon left, everything fell apart. Rennala fell apart. She had given him everything, loved him like he was everything, and because of that, she lost everything. Ranni had watched her mother unravel. As if Radagon had taken a thread of her heart with him, and the further he got from her, the less of her remained.
Love ruined her. Love had taken her family, her position, her freedom, her very self. And it had robbed her children of their mother. The day Rennala was locked away in Raya Lucaria’s library was the day Ranni locked her own heart away. Nothing could be worth that much despair.
Yet, despite this, somewhere between their appearance in her tower and the moment they slipped the ring on her finger, a fondness for this Tarnished had flourished. Like the bud of a bloodrose, it had sprouted between the doors of her heart’s vault. And the roots of it threatened to crack its foundation.
That bud had become a bloom. As its petals expanded, so too did the cracks.
Ranni let her head fall against her consort’s. She turned to whisper one final message into their hair.
“Thou hast not ceased to fight since the fighting ceased. Now, thou faceth a different sort of enemy, one that dwells not in our physical realm. But, if it tis thine enemy, then it tis worth fighting. And I would see thee fight once more.”