o1. Contrariwise
In Ipsen's Castle the most lethal blade becomes nothing more than a schoolteacher's chiding sting to a disobedient palm; the knight drops his lance, the prince misplaces his lady, and Goliath tumbles to his death.
Amarant, murderously-sore, squints about in the Hilda Garde III's engine room, holding out his grayed fingers to the heat, but feeling nothing except for the sharp pain in his knee. They are easy to hide from the rest, even Zidane. Solitude closes wounds while raising bulbous scars, and Amarant is covered with them. The method is foolproof.
The door opens and the girl who calls herself Dagger enters, rod in hand. Instantly the stone recedes from his flesh, and Amarant can now clench his fist in ease. He rises to his feet stiffly; she gives another sigh, and another spell, and his leg is mended.
She advances with bandages and Amarant lets her finish the rendezvous. An implicit agreement, or trust, has risen between them. He doesn't look at her; if there is pity in her eyes Amarant has no wish to see it.
Injuries firmly patched, Dagger gets up to leave. Their gazes meet for the first time and Dagger sees the meaning in them.
"Don't mention it."
Amarant hasn't. He is proud, and insufferably so.
---
Her half-blinded sight comprehends only blackness, but then blackness is all there is to it – here, in the world at the end of all worlds. Will, limb, speech, all shattered – her useless frame drifts upon wave after wave of unrelenting, spasmodic aches.
She hears a voice; but her mind picks up those three words clumsily, fumbles with them, and drops them all over the groundless ground once more.
Instead, she dreams. She dreams of Ipsen's castle, where up is down, left is right, soil is sky and black is white. She plants her foot up on a step only to find herself, carpet, stairway and all, plummeting downwards… Then one semi-petrified bluish arm reaches out to grasp hers, pulling her back up onto her feet.
The strength of stone, sturdy, stubborn, unflinching stone, seeps as lifeblood into her veins.
And suddenly her mind clears and her nerves obey and her body moves and the girl who calls herself Dagger leaps up - up, awake, renewed, and her now-seeing eyes locate Amarant's prone form at her feet. Amarant, who lives in terms of deals, contracts and owed favours…
Now she remembers the mercenary's final words before giving up his energy:
"Don't screw up."
Even at a time like this, the briefest, but truest, of smiles forms itself across Dagger's lips.