QuiteTheSlacker
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Chapter 26: The Weight of a Promise
🕑 Added 2024-03-31 22:29:08 +0000 UTC“A convincing lie must spring forth from a droplet of truth. When I speak, I do so whilst influenced under the shade of my past. Under the pain, the agony, and the hatred I harbored in those times were I had naught but my own weakness to blame. Yet I do not let it control me. I do not let it consume my will, for to do so would mean abandoning my penitence—to run away from the atonement of my sin. Rather than madness, I must remain sane; that is what shall truly inflict the most suffering.
The Knight
———
Ascalon
“I do not remember that name,” Lorelai whispers. “Yet, I can feel it stirring within: a longing. A desire to reach out and claim it as my own, but I dare not. I cannot truly be her: be that symbol who the people so fervently love. How can I when all they speak of is her strength? Of her kindness, her passion, and her courage to stand proud no matter what may face her way? That is no longer me, and that may never be me ever again.”
She smiles, but it is a strained smile. Forced. And with a heavy sorrow masking her still-radiant platinum eyes. “Even if I do recover my memory, the past will never return. I am changed, Ascalon. Will you still hold me, will everyone still hold me, in the same light regardless? If so, then I’m afraid only disappointment awaits.”
Ascalon trembles, for he knows her words are true. Can this Lorelai really be the same as the one I fell so dearly in love with? But such doubts quickly vanish, and he berates himself for even entertaining such a thought. After all, a person is not defined by their past—such is the lesson she once taught him herself.
“… Before you left,” he begins. “You said these words to me: ‘No matter how deeply we suffer, how much we lose, or how terrible the days are when despair comes creeping in from the shadows of our hearts, we rise back up. Dirty, ugly, and changed, but we rise regardless, for that is what truly makes us beautiful: the courage to take another step forward.’”
“That was from—”
“It doesn’t matter, Lorelai. Who you were is not as important as who you now choose to be.”
He gently touches her hand, a wordless request yet clear all the same, and moves it directly above her own bosom. “We all change. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worst. But you… I believe there is always a path towards redemption. Though I may struggle in finding that path myself, all we can do is live out each day striving towards the best aspects of ourselves. To be satisfied in our growth knowing we put our utmost effort forth.”
Lorelai doesn’t speak. She says not a word, but Ascalon can feel her guarded heart slowly opening up. It yearns to cry out. It yearns to be heard.
“I will always be by your side,” he says, pushing through her last, fragile attempt at refusal. “No matter what life you choose for yourself - whether it be as a knight once more or even as a regular citizen - I shall be there: both as a shoulder to lean upon and as an eternal… friend.”
Although Ascalon has resolved himself to confess, now is not the time. Not in her moment of vulnerability. To take advantage of Lorelai in this state would be a despicable act akin to that of the foulest of curs. It pains him, this indefinite hold, but it would pain him more to foster in a manipulated love.
“It is ok to start anew.”
As those final words part his lips, the last of her resistance fades away, and Ascalon is greeted by the barest depths festering in her soul. Black, dark as midnight: an endless ocean of ink, suffocating every morsel of light its greedy tendrils can latch upon. She is alone there. Drowning. Ever eternally drowning. He tries to reach out to her, to pull her out of that creeping abyss, but his hands only yield the murky water.
Drip-drop.
Drip-drop.
No matter how desperately he attempts to hold on, the water never remains within his grasp. It flows, and it glides. Always out of reach. Its remembrance left in the darkened stains left behind. Does she still reject him so, or is he yet unworthy to alleviate that crushing darkness?
Drip-drop.
Drip-drop.
Ascalon is a stranger here. He does not belong, yet something draws him to this place—this place of decay and misery. Was this what Lorelai was carrying all this time? Hidden beneath that resolute exterior, was she suffering like this all alone? She once berated me for repressing my agony in solitude, but in the end, it appears we both are but a pair of self-sacrificing fools—tormenting ourselves for a duty with no end. He has been ever so blind. So ignorant. Yet that she now stands here means there is still a chance for atonement: to give thanks for all the years she has stayed by his side.
Lorelai has shouldered his burden long enough. Now, it his turn.
An abrupt push sends Ascalon tumbling away, forcefully severing his connection with her soul and lurching him back into reality. It disorients him, the sudden change, but not so much as the look his beloved plagues him with now: fear.
“What…” she mutters, stepping a few paces back as a delirious stutter infects her every word. “What did you just do? What did you just see?”
“I saw a wish,” he says, descending onto his knee. “A wish mired in sorrow. A wish begging to be freed.”
“A wish, you say?” Her body is tense, guard put forth once more, as if preparing for a sudden ambush. She is scared—scared of what Ascalon has gleaned within. “What will you do, then? After invading my heart, after forcing yourself upon a place that should have never been discovered, do you still wish to be by my side?”
Ascalon’s answer is to reach out with an open hand. Lorelai glares at it, as if expecting it to be a trap, but he is patient. He wants her to be accept him at her own pace, and so he waits. Until her cautious guise fades away. Until all that is left is a tired, mournful whisper.
“Was it not filthy?” she says, lightly grasping at his finger. Her mind is still wavering on that precipice, still afraid to emerge from that blackened expanse. “I do not know how you viewed me before, Ascalon, but my true self must have been quite different than you were expecting.”
“Then did you think the same when you peered into my own heart?”
“No. Rather, I thought it was…” Lorelai doesn’t finish. A shame, but at least she isn’t repulsed by Ascalon’s own darkness.
“It would have been impossible to obtain that glimpse without permission. Though you may try to deny it, a part of yourself must have wished for it to be seen—that sorrow. To be understood by another. You trusted me to be that person, frightening it must have been to be so vulnerable, and I trusted you as well. That trust is what allowed us to be connected - to see the depths that which we hesitate to reveal - and I would never betray it by thinking such hurtful thoughts.”
Eventually, Lorelai relents and fully joins her hand with his. A hesitation lingers in her gaze, but more so, a desire for companionship—to never be left alone again.
“Ascalon, is it selfish to want for more?” she says.
“No. Whatever you wish.”
“Then promise me. Promise that you shall take my side for as long as you live.”
“Of course. Though, I won’t hesitate to make my voice known if I ever find cause to disagree with; don’t think I can be swayed that easily.”
“Heheh, I shall depend on you then if that time ever comes.”
Lorelai closes the distance and embraces him. It is different this time, for it is done so by her own will. Her own longing. “The weight of a promise is great, Ascalon. You must never break it, for if so, I know not if I shall have the strength to trust another.”
“Rest assured. Nothing will separate us ever again.”
This day has felt like a dream. He has experienced much - reflected on much - and though it may feel like a fantasy, there is no denying the warmth spreading throughout his being. There is no denying the tender hold around his waist. Just the two of them, together: joined as one.
Except, they are not exactly alone. The Cherubim family stand off to the side, mouths outstretched into wide, gaping expressions of complete shock and remaining still as statues. It doesn’t concern Ascalon much - the noble line has always been of dramatic flair - and surely enough, one of them breaks free from their suspension—collapsing onto the floor whilst unleashing a gasp that instantly tears apart the delicate mood.
“L-Lorelai!?” Dariel shouts, his voice awakening the other two from their stupor. “This entire time it was you who—oh, Stars. I… It all makes sense now. How could I have not realized it sooner?”
Their faces are quite amusing, especially Gadreel’s whose skin has flared into a deep, scarlet hue. “My dear, is it truly you? Hoh, this… this revelation is much too shocking for an old man such as I. But truly, how joyous this moment is. How utterly joyous, indeed. Welcome home, Lorelai.
Deborah is the last to make comment, though her surprise is shown in a much more simple matter: She falls flat on her back and mutters a single “Hells” before fainting, her plight ignored by the other two rushing to Lorelai’s side. She chuckles before the spectacle and, though Ascalon feels a slight uncomfortableness in her before their heartfelt compassion, welcomes the blubbering group into a large hug.
“I’m sorry for not confiding in you sooner, Dariel,” she says, wiping at his tearful eyes. “I suppose I was afraid—afraid of failing to inherit her grace. Perhaps the miasma veiled my figure because I refused to acknowledge who I was, who I am, but no longer. From now on, I shall proudly face you all as the Lorelai of the present. ”
“I-I’m just happy I can see you,” he mumbles. “Now that you’re back as our Throne, the city will surely be filled with hope again.”
“Hehe, I think it’s a bit too soon for that, Dariel. I can’t even manifest my wings anymore; what use is there in a Throne that can no longer fly?”
“You have lost thy wings?” Gadreel says. “My, I have never heard of such an event before. Perhaps if I were to sift through the archives… but what of the twin blades? Do they still respond to your call?”
“Twin blades? Ah, you mean these.” Lorelai’s hand drifts above a pair of regular old sheathes. They appear to be of the traditional armaments given to the Polus knights, but when she pulls the handle out, the celestial blades of legend are unveiled before the world to see. Only, their appearances have changed. The gold and silver light no longer frolicks amongst the edges; a dulled grey sheen is all that remains. It is as if the blades are lying dormant, slumbering until they may be reawakened once more.
“I’ve always had an odd feeling these blades and I are intertwined,” she mutters, gliding her finger along the rim. “Even when I shambled through the forest, my grip never left their base. I couldn’t bear to toss them aside, and yet there is a distance between us. Close, yet perpetually out of reach.”
“Curious. How curious.” Gadreel attempts to touch the end of what resembles the Solga, but a fiery burst sends him tumbling back with a loud yelp and a singed finger. “Gah! Eh-hem, yes, it is as I thought. You are currently stuck between two worlds, my dear: neither rejected nor deemed worthy. The celestial armaments have acknowledged you still as their wielder, but they hide themselves away in an effort to protect thyself from the strain of their use. Until you regain the necessary strength, they shalt remain suppressed.”
“A pity, but I suppose there remains hope. There is much for me to do if I am to rightfully regain my seat.”
“Does that mean you will…?” Ascalon murmurs.
She replies with a bright, beautiful grin. No more hesitation. No more fear. Her eyes are alight with conviction. “Yes, Ascalon. I choose to remain as a knight. As your knight. And though I may be undeserving of the Throne’s now, the morrow still holds endless potential. I will claim my title again: that is my promise to you.”
“Is that so? Hehe, I have a feeling that promise will be fulfilled soon. For the Lorelai I see is more resolved than ever before.”
The sun begins to set, and the light within the chamber slowly darkens. Even so, Ascalon’s world is as bright as can be. He has never felt happier, and for once, the future does not appear so frightening; rather, it speaks of a softly-whispered promise. It speaks of a bond, true.
