Disclaimer: Toys are Namco's not mine, just playing in the sandbox.
The heat is stifling, beating against her head and shoulders as though it were a living thing. She wears a cloak to ward off the worst of the sun and the air within the hood is thick and stuffy, but Ivy pays it no mind. Her mind is, in fact, elsewhere. It has been thus these past several days as she wanders aimlessly, heading in what is perhaps the approximate direction of home.
There is no road to follow, the land about is sickly and will likely bear no fruit once Autumn comes. The blazing sun has turned green to yellow and the earth is more dust than dirt.
Ivy remembers that she ran in the end. She had planned to run in the first place but when she finally did it was for wholly different reasons. If that blasted golem had not been so wily she would have been long gone before the end game and still blissful in her ignorance; but the truth she has discovered weighs heavy on her heart and mind, along with the numerous lives that have found their end on the cruel edges of her blade. The blade that even now is drawing it's infernal life from the demonic taint in her blood.
Ivy pushes the thought away, as she is becoming practised to do, ignoring the weight on her back and the quiet hum that is ever present in her mind. Instead she pushes the horse she rides onward, encouraging a brisker walk from it's powerful legs.
The creature she had found wandering aimless at the edge of the killing field, where an entire army had been slain to feed her former master. It had accepted her touch readily enough, probably as pathetically grateful as she to find some ally in this living hell, but Isabella has always been very good with horses and as Ivy it is a skill that has served her well.
The air is preternaturally quiet, as though anything living has long since fled. It has been like this in the week she has been travelling and she can't help but marvel, now that she truly stops to notice, how far the poisonous influence of Soul Edge has spread through the land.
Nightmare's inexorable rampage, in his quest to slake the thirst of his sword, has been evident in the empty farms and desolate villages she has passed since she started her journey. The bones of the slain, lying where they had fallen, gleamed white in the unforgiving sunlight, picked bare by scavenging crows.
She has braved the ghastly, grinning skulls and their accusatory stares just once to raid abandoned stores for supplies. After that she took herself from the beaten path in an unacknowledged attempt to avoid all these monuments to her terrible misdeeds.
It is her horse that finds him first, jerking to a halt and pawing the ground, snorting his refusal to go any further. This surprises Ivy, since she is riding a war-horse and it takes a lot to make one shy, so it is with caution she dismounts and draws her sword.
The ground drops away before her, sloping into the valley of a small stream and she finally sees what has caused her mount to flinch away. Even though the body is unconscious she feels unaccountably threatened, and Ivy Blade responds accordingly, unlinking into the whip that has been the suffering of many.
The armour and the sword, it is all him, and her mind is a shrieking fury demanding vengeance. She slithers down the bank with unseemly haste, almost landing herself arse-first in the quick-flowing water. Still the body doesn't move, and it occurs to her that he may in fact be dead; though what explanation there could be for how he got here ahead of her is quite beyond her.
Reigning in her howling fury she commands Ivy Blade back to the sword and then uses it to prod roughly at the collection of armour and limbs.
The groan the body emits is far more human than anything Ivy has ever heard from Nightmare. Still she leaps back at the sound. So the bastard is still alive!
Though perhaps only just, as the limbs then move to laboriously push the body onto it's back. The great helm falls away revealing a head of long, pale hair, matted with dirt and sweat, that mostly covers a face inlaid with grime. Desperate green eyes blink fitfully at the sky, seeking whatever presence has stirred him.
His mouth opens and it takes several attempts before sound of a sort manages to find it's way passed the cracked lips. "Hel...me...p-plea...help..."
Ivy stays beyond his line of sight, staring down at this pathetic vision as it begs for what might never come. Her anger is a cold stone, lying heavy in her chest, and lends a sneer to her lips as she considers this pitiful creature. She should kill him now, put him out of his misery, and the misery of all those who have suffered at his hand... The hand that even now she could see was whole and human, and not the twisted monstrosity she remembers so well.
He squirms weakly on the floor, one arm floundering in the stream as he tries to move himself. The hair falls away from his face, revealing a visage that is unexpectedly young and Ivy feels a flash of surprise that the scourge of Europe is little more than a boy. Finally he sees her and desperately rolls towards her, reaching out with an arm bloodied and covered in grime and fresh mud.
There is no recognition in his gaze as his fingers, nails broken and filthy, grasp without any strength the toe of her left boot. She kicks his hand away with barely an effort, observing his wretched progress as she would an insect. Eventually it seems he exhausts his strength and he slumps face forward into the stream, and Ivy listens to him weep his frustration and despair into the running water.
Ivy feels nothing for him that isn't anger and disgust, for he deserves nothing better. In fact it is all that she feels for herself: a fool so easily deceived and manipulated, she deserves nothing better, either. However, she is still curious despite herself.
How is it he is here, and how is it he is not the monster she served this last year? After her thrashing at the hands of the red shadow – and her pride still stings – she had limped back into the castle, desperate to find him and plead for the truth. She was too late, however, for by the time she came across him it was to find him with the death blow already dealt. Ivy had watched as space warped around and pulled armour and sword into the void that had formed during the battle, leaving nothing behind but the walls of the keep and the two that had defeated him. So Nightmare was gone and all that was left to her was the enormity of what she had done and what she truly was.
Now here she stands, before a broken knight in azure with his broken, crumbling sword, and perhaps now she will get the answers she sought from him. Perhaps it is fate? Ivy's mouth twists at the thought.
She starts back towards her mount, who she finds has ambled a ways back from where she left it, plucking mournfully at the yellow grass, which is likely not to it's taste at all. Here, she supposes, will do for a place to settle for a while; the stream valley isn't very deep but there is enough depth to cast some shadow, and there is fresh water and a small breeze which will give respite from the sun.
This afternoon, she decides with grim certainty, she will get some answers.
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Siegfried's memories are confusing, there is little in them that makes sense. Though he remembers well enough the events of the last three years – and they are a torture all their own - there comes a part where he can't place anything in order. He remembers dying and a darkness that is all consuming, yet he also finally feels the release of shackles that he can't recall ever wearing; he remembers a horrible, terrible fear but also sheer relief of... of freedom finally gained. He remembers howling in fury and desperation, but also screaming in joy and release. He also remembers pain, awful, awful pain and suddenly the darkness is no more and he feels spat out as though from a mouth that has chewed and chewed until it finally gave up.
This place does not seem much better to his addled senses though. The light is harsh and brings a different kind of pain to his head. His limbs feel like dead weights and something not a part of him. And there is heat, burning into skull, into his body, and he feels as though he is boiling away.
Somewhere in the cacophony of his thoughts he registers a dull impact somewhere around his right shoulder. He blindly turns toward the source of this new stimuli but nothing meets his vision but the vast blue arc of the sky.
Finally his situation registers. He is not dead and in hell, Siegfried finally realises, but lying on his back staring up at the sky on the world into which he was born. He hears then the movement behind his head, the shifting of weight on pebbles and he knows with a certainty that someone is there; someone who prodded at his shoulder to check if he was dead and has surprised Siegfried himself with the realisation that he isn't.
He opens his mouth, tries to get words past his lips but his voice fails him and all that emerges is little more than a croak. He tries though, keeps trying, asking for help from this unknown saviour as he desperately tries to get his body into motion, but nothing seems to want to obey him. He feels the coolness of liquid seep in through the mail of his gauntlet and knows that there is water close to him. He moves toward it and finally he sees the one behind him, who in all this time has made no move to help. The sun is behind the figure and blinds him to most of the details, but to his squinting eyes it is most definitely a 'she.' He can see the boots though, finely grained, purple leather and metal guards, and it rings in his mind as something familiar. He rolls towards her, fumbling toward this one thing that has given him some kind of reassurance in an alien seeming world. His fingers settle against the toe but they are dislodged with a casual shake and he is left sprawling face first in pebbles and mud.
Siegfried tries to get moving again, cursing the slowness of his limbs and their lack of strength, the throbbing in his head and the boiling heat robbing him of any lucid thoughts but the urgent need to get moving. However, his body finally betrays him as exhaustion claims it's due, planting his face in the water, and he cannot help but cry like a child in frustration and hurt. The tears flood down his cheeks as if they have never been let loose before, while gasping sobs steal his breath and Siegfried wishes very hard for his mother with her cool hands and gentle voice.
What he gets is something quite different.
"Oh, for god's sake stop snivelling!" the voice is harsh and familiar, but he has no time to dwell as a pair of hands - a very strong pair of hands - grab him by the shoulders and haul him upright.
The world spins before him, searing sunlight flashing across his vision, but it finally stops and Siegfried blinks in disbelief to find his eyes bare inches from a very ample pair of breasts and their equally impressive cleavage. He stares, he can't help it, and continues staring even as the hands at his shoulders give him a warning shake. It's only when she slaps him across the face that he finally turns his attention elsewhere, like to how much it hurt.
"I find your eyes wandering again, you'll be mourning their loss," is the warning that reaches his ringing ears.
Siegfried tries once more to talk, to apologise for his indiscretion, he truly hadn't meant to stare; but all that comes out is a mumbled croak of "sorry."
"Can you get to your feet?" the woman asks.
"I'll...try," the words come a little easier this time, for which he is grateful, but he can't yet bring himself to meet the eyes of the person who seems to be helping him.
Siegfried stares down, studiously avoiding any other inappropriate body parts, as the woman's arms come under him and haul him upwards. He scrambles to get his legs under him, but they are still as uncooperative as before and it takes a great deal of effort to finally make it to standing. She is taking a great deal of his weight and he wonders at this, he cannot think of a woman who is that strong save for... and suddenly it all falls into place.
Finally he raises his head and looks to the side, and as expected he meets the cold, blue eyes of Isabella Valentine.
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Ivy dumps him further up the bank, under a slight overhang of rock and dirt, which provides enough shadow to take the edge off the oppressive summer heat. She then hunkers down across from him, reaching back without ever taking her eyes away, to bring the flask of water from her pack.
She takes a swig of the tepid water and pauses for a moment, eyeing the boy slumped against the bank, who is watching her with disturbingly blank eyes. Finally she extends the flask towards him, wordlessly offering the water.
He reaches forward, with hands that tremble when they wrap around the hard leather container, and brings it slowly to his mouth. He drinks all of it in slow, steady gulps, water trickling down his chin when he can't quite keep the flask steady. Eventually he drops his hands into his lap and his head falls back slightly as he gasps in air that has been denied while he drank.
"Feeling better?" Ivy asks, and the enquiry is less for his benefit than hers.
He nods, "yes, much, thank you." His voice sounds much better for the water too.
Ivy stares back at him with narrowed eyes and begins her interrogation. "What is your name, boy?"
His brow furrows. "You know who I am," he answers.
"I knew you as Nightmare, but as you are now? I rather doubt you are he, now answer my question."
"My name is Siegfried, Siegfried Schtauffen," he says, "and you, you are Isabella Valentine, I remember you."
Ivy frowns. "My name is Ivy, and you will not call me anything different, not here or anywhere else." The implications of her own words only come after they are uttered: that she is going to allow him to be 'anywhere else' once she is finished talking to him. She ignores the thought and asks him another question instead "How is it you remember me, if you are not him?"
Siegfried thanks what little grace is granted him that she sees Siegfried and not Nightmare slumped weakly before her, but the answer to her question is not easily given. Finding words that will adequately explain his experience as the host of Soul Edge is painfully difficult.
It is only after a long silence that he finally speaks, "I remember all of the last three years," he tells her dully, "I watched it all happen, and I could do nothing."
His blank stare falls to his lap, where his fingers idly stroke the hard leather of the flask he still holds, his face a study of deep despair and self-loathing. His words stir something deep in Ivy's chest, feelings that she submerged to such a depth so that she wouldn't have to experience them. She does not want to experience them now, either, but hardening her heart as she has still never prevented Ivy from knowing the pain of her many victims.
She wants to hate him for it. For feeling what she feels, no matter how deep the emotions are buried; for knowing what she knows, for having lived through it too, and regretting it with all of his being, just as she does.
"I need the truth from you now," she tells him quietly and Siegfried's eyes come up to meet hers. "Tell me why my presence at your side was necessary. Why did you give life to my sword when all along I intended your destruction with it?"
Siegfried squirms under the intensity of her gaze. She is no longer making a distinction between he and Nightmare, and something in the way she speaks tells him this was the reason for her assistance all along. It tells him that once she is done, she will either leave or kill him helpless where he sits. He could refuse to give the answer she wants, and she may kill him anyway, and Siegfried almost doesn't care... But he owes the truth to her after all the deception; he owes a great deal to everyone, so he may as well start here.
"Soul Edge," he begins, "needs a host, a sword cannot kill without a hand to wield it no matter how powerful it's evil. When I first gained Soul Edge I wasn't strong enough to contain it and lost most of it's power, it has spent the time ever since then regaining what it had lost and it used me to do it. And in turn, Nightmare used you." Siegfried paused for a moment, looking down and licking his lips as he prepared to tell her the rest. "You though, you were special, you were better than me because Soul Edge made you. It is why Nightmare gave life to your sword, one more means of influence, to bring the power inside of you out. You were needed I think, because I believe had everything gone to plan with the summoning of souls then Soul Edge would have claimed you as it's host and I would be free; or more likely dead."
Siegfried isn't sure what reaction to expect from her, but Ivy suddenly leaping to her feet with a terrible cry, startles him. She backs away, sword pointed out at him as if to deny the words he has spoken, as if they are a threat against which she must defend or run away.
"No!" She half gasps, and her voice is ragged. "I will never! Never! Not for that abomination."
"I don't think you were ever intended to have a choice," Siegfried tells her softly.
He watches her entire body go rigid, and with the sword still held out she walks back towards him till the point is bare inches from his throat. "I kill you now and will it change things? Will that thing," and she nods to where Soul Edge still lies where it has fallen, battered and silent, "dwindle and fade to nothing should I remove it's host and leave it to rot?"
Siegfried just shrugs his answer. "Perhaps, perhaps not. It is an old evil that has survived centuries, I cannot tell you how to destroy it for certain. You may kill me but it may not solve your problem."
She stares down at him, clearly troubled. "You do not fear your death?" She asks softly.
"No," he answers her honestly, "but I do fear what lies beyond. I have done terrible things, Isabella, the hands were my own though I couldn't control them. I invited that evil inside my soul and many have paid dearly for it. I wish to live, if only to see that Soul Edge is brought to ruin."
She had intended to kill him from the moment he came into her sight, now Ivy is feeling not so sure of this. He knows more than anyone about the cursed sword and this could work in her favour. The fact that she is also feeling something akin to empathy is something she ignores.
Ivy lowers her sword and steps back. "Perhaps then," she says, "there maybe some collusion between us."
Siegfried's eyes narrow almost suspiciously as he gazes back up at her. "You are suggesting an alliance?"
"You want the sword gone, same as I, we combine our knowledge and this maybe possible. I will make my own destiny Siegfried Schtauffen, and it will not be to bow to the curse of my blood."
Ivy extends her hand down to him. "Do you believe you will be able to stand now?"
Siegfried reaches out and grasps it with barely any hesitation and once more is hauled to his feet. This time his legs obey and hold beneath him. "I believe I can," he says.
Ivy gives him a wry smile. "Then I hope you can walk too, as we have a long ways to travel before we reach a port that will take us back to England, and I only have one horse."
Siegfried is not looking forward to that, given the heat of the day and how weak he still actually feels.
Ivy looks back from where she is refilling the flask from the stream and gives him a critical once over. "Perhaps I will let you ride, though." She can't help but smirk at the visible relief on his face.
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They set out about twenty minutes later. Siegfried has abandoned his armour at Ivy's rather sensible suggestion and the battered blade that is Soul Edge has been wrapped in the remains of his cloak to hide it from the rest of the world. Though to anyone's eyes it would look nothing more impressive than an old zweihander that has seen better days and too many battles.
His gaze falls to the silver-haired woman who strides beside him at the horse's head, and for a moment Siegfried entertains the wild hope that they might succeed in their new mission, that a world without Soul Edge is not so far away, that he may find a way to atone for the atrocities of Nightmare. That one day he may even go home...
Ivy's resolve is set, she has pinned a great deal on the man behind her, but the sword she has spent so many years seeking is finally within her grasp and now all she needs is to find a way to destroy it. And what of herself? The question hangs constantly now in the back of her mind. She has told Siegfried she will make her own destiny, but her fate, whatever choice she makes, is now irrevocably linked to Soul Edge, and she now must contend with the thought that she might never be free.
No. She is Isabella Valentine and she is her father's daughter, she will find a way.