towerofanimus | Nocturne, Second Movement ♪ Mourning

Characters: One distraught Princess of Hyrule and you.
Setting: Floor 25, morning of the 28th
Format: Action, but can switch to prose if you'd like
Summary: Zelda received a letter.
Warnings: Mentions of NPC death, so much angst, slowness on tags because of school

[Zelda,

She's read it a thousand times by now - her name in so neat, so precise script.

If you have received this, then I am dead. I can't be sure if you have all been made aware of it yet. You expressed a desire to help me, and I did appreciate that offer. I have gathered information about this place and sought to act to put a stop to everything myself, but apparently I have failed.

It was him. It was all him. The elevator being open, the worker units with damaged collars assisting them once in the administrative levels, the meeting that had kept the rest of them distracted long enough for her and the others to find the truth... It was all him. And now he has paid the ultimate price for his rebellion, the ultimate sacrifice for trying to truly save them.

I have placed this information somewhere safe in the administrative levels. Do not be hasty, but at some point please act to find this information. It will be within places only I can access, and has security as a necessity, to keep the others out, so please be careful and do not act alone.

And he knew. If nothing else, this letter proves that. He knew what the consequences of his actions would likely be, and he still fought for them, still died for them. People who never trusted him, never realized what an ally they had in him. Even now, in death, he's trying to help them.

Burn this letter, but please spread the information around. Do not use the network to pass this information on, speak of it only in person and never within range of any of the worker or retrieval units. The bathrooms and sauna levels are the safest, but as long as you are quiet and not too near the walls you should be safe.

That is why Zelda sits here, in the center of the meadow, far away from any walls that might watch her. That is why she huddles protectively around the letter, keeping it hidden from prying eyes. That is why she cries, openly, visibly, for she needs to grieve before she can get to work.

Thank you for your offer of help. I regret I was not able to help all of you.

She holds the tear-stained paper out before her, etching his words in stone in her mind and soul.

Regards,

Between her thumb and forefinger, a flame begins to catch, licking at too-neat, too-precise script. Then, in an instant, it bursts into a spark of divine flame, and nothing remains of Dax's will but a few wisps of nigh-invisible smoke. And Zelda.]

Thank you... Dax...

[It was him. It was all him.

And she must mourn before she can enact his will.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Seeing Zelda so dejected by his own actions makes his heart twinge in a way that it does for very few people. It has become reflex for him to push people away when they advance upon him too quickly, so the sour taste in his mouth is one he's grown used to. However, Zelda's honest confidence in him has tipped the scale in favour of guilt over fear.

He squeezes her hands again, gently; this time, it's in silent apology.

He doesn't know what to say to her admission of faith. His first reflex is to insist that it is severely misplaced. Somehow, Arthur doubts Zelda would take that very kindly.

The conflict and the guilt are momentarily shoved down and away, locked in a chest somewhere out of sight to make room for the simpler matter of his piqued curiosity.

England strokes his thumbs over Zelda's wrists. The comforting gesture is rather indicative of his caution (and resultant worry about overstepping boundaries) in asking on the matter.] ...you've broken in before?

[... She nods, quietly, though her gaze remains lowered, as though she cannot bring herself to look him in the eye.]

It... It was a long time ago.

[When she was rash and stupid and believed that the administrators were entities that could be fought and triumphed over just like any other. When she was optimistic and idealistic and thought that if she just tried hard enough, everything would work out.

What a silly girl she used to be.]

When Jason created that maze, I could not just... watch. So I gathered a few of us that were left behind and broke in. We had made it to the outer wall of the labyrinth when Jason found us.

... He was not pleased with our meddling, to say the least.

[Given that they've both been in this wretched tower for longer than either of them would like to admit, she doesn't feel the need to elaborate on what happened next. The memory is like an old wound, now - the initial sting is gone, but the shame of her failure still aches when she remembers. And combined with her memories of what happened last June, well...]

... I am sorry. My promises of salvation do not mean much, in the end.

Edited (htmllll o9) 2013-03-22 20:02 (UTC)

[The maze.

An ordeal he'd almost managed to block out entirely, if only because so little of him was actually himself for the duration of it. He can almost hear the cacophony of voices in the back of his head again, facets of personalities that belonged to neither him nor his people.

Despite the echo of powers past, Arthur listens dutifully, with an expression that has fallen open without her eyes on him. He still has anger left over and he's quite willing to put it towards the administrators in Zelda's name, especially when he thinks of what the punishment must have been for such grave disobedience.

That idea makes him more furious than he was entirely prepared for, blind-siding him in a way that makes his blood boil.

England squeezes his eyes shut— swallows the ever-tightening knot in his throat. It takes a certain amount of courage, but he feels just rash enough to raise their joined hands and bring them in close until they rest over the quick beat of his heart.

Despite the rush of emotion churning his veins, his voice is uncharacteristically quiet.] That's- that's not true.

[For as often as he has comforted Zelda — for all the gentle words he has been able to spare, and the measure of honesty she has drawn from him that exceeds what he has afforded most other people...it's still strange to be direct about anything that really matters to him. But she genuinely wants to help him; her purpose is not glory, diplomacy, or heroics. She cares, and that's so damn strange that it's only fair to offer some strangeness in return.]

They mean something to me.

[The sudden movement surprises her; she doesn't know what she expected Arthur's reaction to her confession to be, but it certainly wasn't this. Her eyes lift - not enough to see his face, but to stare at where her hands now rest.

His heart.

It makes no sense. Take up the number of times she's failed and the number of times she's succeeded, and the failures will outweigh the successes every time. Arthur should, at the very least, be distrustful of any oaths she swears or plans she makes.]

... They shouldn't.

[Despite the melancholy note in her voice, her response is remarkably simple, as though she were stating a well-known fact of the universe. Because rationally, they shouldn't mean anything. Logically, he shouldn't place any more faith in her.

... But this isn't about logic at all, is it. That's why her hands are over his heart right now. This is about emotion and feeling and Goddesses above, she's terrible at those. She cares, so much, but the idea that someone could care back in equal measure, enough to forgo rationality, enough to disregard complete failure again and again, is one that she has not encountered very often.]

[He doesn't want to say any more; it's too much all at once. He knows he's already said too much, opened the door to his heart just a little too wide and forgotten the "Do Not Disturb" sign.

Though he burns with the compulsion to tell her that he cares less for her promises than he does for the sentiment behind them, he can't bring himself to choke the words out. Telling Zelda how much it means to him that she cares would be an indirect admission of a crucial weakness: it's very easy to hurt him. All one has to do is act like they care about him first.

He can't afford to be that open. He's made that mistake many times over now already.

But, he will not let her think that all of her efforts have been for naught.]

You have done more for the people in this wretched Tower than most could even hope to accomplish. [The edges of his tone are still soft, worn fine by emotion and words he won't let himself say. But the stone-hard certainty in his eyes cannot be mistaken.] You haven't failed. You've learnt. For your attempts, you've gained knowledge.

That's not— s'not failure. It's the key to success.

[He's trying so hard to keep that door from opening, but even taking a logical approach to this argument isn't covering up the way he keeps Zelda's hands close like they are a treasure he means to hold on to.]

[You've learnt. You've gained knowledge.

Arthur's words are kind. If they were directed towards anyone else, they would likely be very encouraging. But Zelda is the first Chosen of Nayru, the goddess who gave law to the world, and she has borne Wisdom on the back of her hand since she was a child.

All because of a mistake.

She stares at their hands, through Arthur's own, to the place where she knows Wisdom lies, and gradually, her expression begins to shift. Her brows furrow, her eyes narrow, though not angrily, and her lip begins to quiver. The pain of a girl who has seen too much in too few years makes its way into her gaze, and she doesn't have the centuries of experience needed to keep it hidden.]

... I wish it did not hurt so much to learn.

Nocturne, Second Movement ♪ Mourning

he is trying very hard to hold onto the handle

you can do it, Arthur!!!

i am now calling zelda's hands a metaphor for the handle

Zelda the sanity handle yeah that sounds about right

it is a lot to ask of a teenager i'm gomen

trying to take this thread seriously