Saint Hedvig goes on a flight, hoping to air her head out from Robert's influence.
| Her Golden Wings |
|---|
| By |
| Published on 20 Nov 2023 04:32 |
An amorphous, vaguely human figure stands before Hedvig in the throne room. His traits feel familiar to her. Curly hair, piercing gaze, stubble — she is looking at Robert. His form does not remain for long though, and in a split second, he shifts into a completely different person. He turns into a tall and imposing man, made entirely of fuladh. Then he becomes a young, lanky man with long, dark hair. Afterwards, he takes the form of two people at once, their traits merged into one in a way that makes her recoil. Then, he becomes Robert again. He hands his war hammer to one of the guards and turns his stern gaze towards her.
"I will not tolerate such insolence from you,
-
- _
Hedvig.
Just who the hell do you think you are?"
As he speaks, multiple voices are layered atop each other, turning his speech into a discordant, unnerving mess. Despite that, his words are clear, calm, and calculated, which leaves Hedvig shivering in fear.
She raises her hands defensively and slowly backs away to the wall. Her fear gets replaced with anger and disgust, then with bafflement, then with the need to give up, with determination to continue, with an urge to fight back, an urge to give in; and all of this at once. The erratic speed at which her own form shifts makes her dizzy. If she concentrates, she can solidify herself, but the situation makes it so hard for her to focus. The mask on her face greatly limits her vision, its glass tinting everything in a golden hue. Some of her forms are accommodated to it, some are not.
She looks around the throne room in desperation, trying to find anyone who would come to her help. This happens all the time and she should know nobody is there to take her side. The people standing around — the guards, the scholars, that group of five restrained in the corner — all have stable appearances. They may not shift like her and Robert, but she does not recognize anybody out of them. All of them are new, completely alien to her.
"SILENCE. KNOW YOUR PLACE."
There is no time for her to get startled by her own distorted speech. The man lunges at her, grabbing her throat and pressing her against the wall in the process. Her collective form shatters upon collision, and then-
Hedvig jolts awake, gasping for air, eyes wide open. The shock washing over her body is strong and powerful. The dream has ended, though. She is safe now. After fully regaining lucidity, she wraps her arms around herself and takes a few slow, deep breaths. This nightmare always leaves her shaken up, and to make matters worse, it began appearing more frequently. She makes a mental note to visit Preserver later today for advice.
Once she is able to move, she sits up and stretches, first her arms and then her wings. The time has come for her morning flight exercises. They feel more necessary to her than ever as of late, as it is the only way she can clear her mind from these haunting nightmares.
Her limbs are still trembling with the aftershocks as she climbs out of the bed. First, she disrobes, then folds her nightgown and makes her way to the closet. Her armor and spear lean against the corner, collecting dust since the last time she put them on. Her attention turns towards her ceremonial garb — a skintight dark red shirt, her fuladh neckpiece, a chestplate, and a long, flowing skirt. Since she must be present during the royal visiting hours, she finds it more convenient to just go flying in them instead of changing needlessly.
On her way into the main hall, she passes by Robert's bedchambers and sneaks a peek inside. He turns in his sleep, a tired groan leaving his lips.
Hedvig sighs. She can tell he is having his own heavy visions in his dreams, but she cannot even begin to guess what they are about. Some things are just not her place to know.
The balcony's automated door opens in front of her with a quiet whoosh. She silently climbs onto the railing and gets into position. Without any further thoughts, she jumps down and rises with the air current immediately afterwards. In a few moments, she disappears from the vicinity of the palace completely.
Being the only one in the air feels incredibly freeing. The calm stillness of the city fills her heart with warmth. The streets are mostly empty, which allows her to fly as she pleases. The only people outside around this time are either soldiers of the Golden Legion who favor morning as their practice time, people who want to be alone with their thoughts, or those who simply enjoy this early morning atmosphere.
After taking a narrow turn down one of the streets, she flies past three of her soldiers.
"Good morning, Commander," they shout in unison, grinning brightly.
Hedvig salutes them with a soft smile. One of them is slower and looks more tired than the others. She recognizes them as one of the most recent recruits. They may not be used to the morning routine yet, but Hedvig is certain that the support and encouragement from their peers will help them acclimate to this new schedule in no time.
The other two happen to be members of the old tech team, very dedicated ones at that. They were very eager to help both their own team and the historians, and were also among the first ones to join the Golden Legion. During the siege, when the city needed them most, they fought diligently and killed many of the Foundation's soldiers by dive-bombing at them. They almost lost their own lives too, had Robert not put a swift end to the battle by teleporting the city away.
With this encounter behind her, she maneuvers swiftly between the skyscrapers, zooming past windows and balconies. Such glorious buildings, each grander and more majestic than the previous. Among them is her old quarters. At first, she flies past them without giving it a second thought, but something in her tells her to slow down and turn around. So she does, piqued by her old curiosity regarding what that place has become.
The blinds of each room are drawn, save for the kitchen. Hedvig seats herself on the balcony's railing carefully, making sure not to activate the automatic door, and peers inside.
It does not take long for the person who currently occupies this place to show up. Another recent recruit, namely a young woman who lost her arm in an industrial accident. She walks in with her blanket draped around her shoulders, flips the light switch and turns the coffee machine on.
The interior is so familiar to Hedvig. Her kitchen in the palace is much larger than this one. Granted, it allows for more comfort, but there is something about this compactness and coziness that she misses.
She knows that all the fuladh appliances inside are remnants of the old Amoni-Ram. There was always a degree of reverence present in her behavior when she turned on the lights, took her bread out of the toaster, or put the carton of milk back into the fridge.
That reverence is still present, now that she thinks about it. Robert tends to find her respect of the appliances juvenile and "adorable", but he really isn't the one to talk. It's not like he doesn't spend his whole time obsessing over the city's technology, and-
Her thoughts get interrupted by a sudden pain in her head. She lets out a sharp hiss and rubs her forehead. Such a weird feeling, as if her brain decided to split apart. Her eyes open wide in shock and she gasps in pain, before the splitting headache finally stops.
"DO NOT OVERSTEP YOUR LINE."
She cannot find it in herself to continue her initial train of thought. He is right. His obsession with the machinery of Amoni-Ram may be deeper than hers, but it matters not. He admires all the technology as an engineer. Hedvig is a historian. Those are very different things.
In the kitchen, the woman is seen taking her third return trip to the fridge. Her blanket is no longer wrapped around her, instead it lays hanged on the back of the chair. Such a simple life… A blissful unawareness of all the things that went down in this city before her arrival.
Hedvig sighs longingly. There is no use crying over spilled milk now. What's in the past remains in the past, no matter how hard she ponders over it. The present is what matters, and her present happens to be her flight practice. She tosses herself off the railing and flies onward, relying on her wings and her instincts to take her wherever.
One of the parts of city she flies past is currently in the middle of being rebuilt. The restoration efforts are going steadily — lots of the buildings already stand like new. This progress will have to be reported to Preserver, so she takes a mental note of that as well. Robert probably has the documentation, so she will bring it up to him once the day’s visiting hours have concluded.
The morning shift has not started yet, so the few workers who are out are mostly just lazing around. Some are walking around with supplies. Others are idly chatting while perched on the empty window frames. One of the cranes has an operator sitting inside. They are about to take a bite from their sandwich, and when Hedvig flies past, they shoot her a peace sign. She salutes them in return.
This entire construction site is the feat of the tech team. They were the ones who read the blueprints and were able to reconstruct these buildings based on them. The materials, the tools, all the necessary machinery… Those simply would not be here without them right now.
This is not even limited to these everyday, mundane things. All the things that ensured Amoni-Ram's victory during the siege were made possible by the techs, too. The weapons, the mech suits, the power grid and, most importantly, Mekhane's Kiss.
Hedvig twirls around in the air and hugs herself, now gliding on her back. She simply cannot believe she was trying to earnestly argue for the importance of the historians to Robert on that fateful day. The memories of these foolish actions still creep back from time to time, as much as she would like to shrug them off once and for all.
It's not like her team was needed in the first place, given Preserver has been nothing but helpful in providing a comprehensive history of the city. And this is without even mentioning the throne. Sure, their insight was probably needed to properly analyze the events Robert saw on it, but it would have been unusable if the techs didn't bring back the power grid in the first place.
The standing of things wasn’t obvious to her back then, but they are clear as day to her now. Everything the historians have done could have been done by the tech team, but nothing the tech team did could have been replicated by the historians.
“What was I even thinking?”
She squeezes her eyes shut as she pauses in her flight, trying her hardest to seal those memories away back where they came from. There is no need for them anymore. Things are different now. Better. She would never dare talk back to Robert again. He was right. He always is. Her work has been secondary. She is secondary.
She tries to take deep breaths and focus her mind on his words in a desperate effort to ground herself. It takes her a good couple of minutes to finally relax again. When she opens her eyes, she finds herself back in front of the palace, hovering near the windows opposite to Robert's bedchambers. This is not the best place for her to be at. She briefly contemplates where to go instead of staying here. When his door opens, though, she instinctively dashes upwards, landing on the grand hall's windowsill.
Now that she is here, she decides to place her hands against the glass and peer inside. During the day it is always so busy in there. Not now, though. The hall is draped in this solemn stillness and calmness. Her gaze wanders onto the central mural, one of her favorite artworks in the city. It depicts Emperor Bumaro and Empress Hedara. Husband and wife, the King and the Saint. They are holding hands and the silhouette of Amoni-Ram is visible between them.
Bumaro's physique is large and stocky. His serious, dark expression only serves to further emphasize his overwhelming presence. Hedara, on the other hand, is frail and lithe. An intricate ceremonial mask obscures her face. Her gentle smile and those delicate limbs all serve as a way to contrast her husband. Even her attire. While Bumaro is wearing a heavy fuladh armor, Hedara is dressed in a dark red linen shirt and a long, flowing white skirt.
Hedvig thinks back to her nightmare and turns away from the painting. As beautiful as it is, she feels a wave of queasiness wash over her at its sight. She cannot bear to look at it any further. Before she has the chance to begin spiraling again, she swiftly lifts off from in front of the hall's window and lands on the top of the palace.
This is her most beloved spot in Amoni-Ram, by and large. She loves spending her time up here, thanks to the comforting, blissful solitude it provides. Since it is the highest location in the entire city, the view she gets to enjoy from here is breathtaking. Especially during sunrise and sunset, when the city's skyscrapers light up in a million shades of bronze and gold. It’s her favorite sight to behold, something she can never quite get enough of.
She stretches her wings and slips her visor on. With a gentle sigh, she smiles, and turns her attention towards the city. As she leans back on her arms, the rays of the rising sun fall onto her body and reflect themselves off her sleek, gleaming golden limbs.
Basking in the sun like this… She wishes Robert was here. Wishes he could see her like this. Peaceful, content, vulnerable…
Speak of the devil. In that moment, she hears his voice from the loudspeakers of the city. At first she gets startled, but then she nods to herself. Of course. She was so lost in her thoughts this morning, she completely forgot about it. Similarly to how she starts the day by going on a flight, Robert also starts his every day by leading his citizens in the morning prayer.
She gets down on her knees on the top of the temple, folds her wings behind herself and hangs her head, quietly whispering the prayer together with Robert, together with the citizens of Amoni-Ram.
"Mekhane, our blessed Goddess
Who gifted us with fuladh
Who gifted us with knowledge
May Your name be forever blessed
Shine Your light on us and lead us
Bless us on our way to reassemble You
On our way to reassemble ourselves
And help us free ourselves from the weakness of the flesh"
These scriptures are remnants of the old Amoni-Ram, as are the loudspeakers. Hedvig feels a deep connection with the city's living history. Granted, this may have been the subject of her troubled thoughts not even an hour ago, but it feels to her like archaeology and technology intertwine with each other in this blessed moment. The two are not at clash with each other, nor should they be. They harmonize, one connected to the other in beautiful, intrinsic ways.
Preserver is right about this. History indeed is cyclical. Everything is as it always was. There will always be a Bumaro to lead the prayer, and there will always be his empress, who will listen to him while basking in the morning sunlight on top of the temple.
She would love to sit more up here, but she must return to the palace. The visiting hours are drawing near. As her last trick for this morning, she flies high up into the sky, then twirls around and aims towards the ground, dive-bombing at an imaginary target. Graceful, deadly, fast — she feels like Mekhane would be proud of her.
A massive cloud of dust raises as she lands. The people who happen to be around to witness this are impressed.
"We love you so much, Commander," one of the citizens starts praising her. "Where would we be without you?"
"Watching you makes me want to join the air division! You are so incredibly skilled!"
She would like to enjoy their praises a little, but she cannot. As she looks up in the middle of this joyful moment, she sees Robert still standing on the balcony. Leaning against the wall, he is casually flipping through his prayer book.
Back during the Amoni-Ram initiative, this was how she usually found him in his room — propping up his back against the wall, resting one of his hands next to himself and holding his documents in the other. He would always shoot her a smile when she entered, irrelevant of his mood. The two were happy to work together. They would always spend their days revising reports, writing up documentation, wandering around the city, examining the murals and the machinery…
All of this is in the past now. This scientist is long gone. The Robert Aram she remembers is gone. In his stead now stands a king. A conqueror. A Bumaro.
Her vision dims and she feels the ground slip out from underneath her feet. What is she doing here? What has become of her? None of this was supposed to be happening. This was meant to be a small project, nothing more. She was never cut out to be a leader of anything more than a team of researchers. Robert was meant to be her coworker. Her friend. They all bit off more than they could chew. It all started with the first usage of the Throne, didn't it?
To hell that accursed thing! It was obvious the Throne was a test. Both of them failed it. Robert, for succumbing to its influence, and Hedvig, for succumbing to his.
A sudden urge to escape overcomes her senses. She has no idea where to go. It does not matter. Anywhere but here.
She cannot fly away. As soon as she contemplates lifting off, her legs give in underneath herself and she collapses. Two helpful citizens rush in to catch her before she hits the ground. Their hands supporting her is the only thing she can register, but nothing more. Through the ringing in her ears, she can barely make out what the people around her are saying. Her vision blurs in golden-gray haze. All she can do is stare in front of herself with blank eyes, while gasping heavily for air.
"SHED YOUR DOUBTS AND LOOK AT ME."
When she hears his Voice, it stops. Her sight comes back to her, her breathing returns to normal, the ringing in her ears ceases. With a shaky hand, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ears and looks up as commanded. Robert is now resting his hands on the railing and is looking down at her with a hard-to-read expression. She cannot bear to stand under his piercing gaze, but she does not have the power in herself to look away.
"COME, HEDVIG. You look weak."
She is unsure if her wings have the strength to carry herself up, but she must heed his call. After she lifts off, there is just enough energy in her to reach the balcony. She immediately collapses upon landing. Robert is there to catch her.
"F-forgive me, my liege," she stutters. Thankfully, he does not command her to look at him.
"You have been too disoriented these days. Is everything alright?"
She knows he only asks this out of formality. He is well aware of what goes on inside her head. Maybe that is a good thing. Her will is so weak after all. She desperately needs the guidance of somebody like him. Holding on can be so tiring. Giving in would be easy, but a part of her is telling her to keep going. For what? She does not understand. She is safe with Robert, is she not? He can guide her. He can think for her.
"What's in the past remains in the past, Hedvig. There is no use dwelling on it."
"Thank you for your concern, Emperor. I will be alright."
"Good girl. Of course you will."
After a few moments, he lets go of her and gestures to follow him inside. There is some preparations left for her to do before the visiting hours. Her hair still needs to be done, plus she must switch out the shell of her prosthetics and prepare the ceremonial mask. She leans out over the railing one last time, to let the crowd of concerned onlookers know she is alright, before silently following her emperor into his quarters.