A/N: Just a quickie for everyone's enjoyment while I continue my main fic.
It has been long since I took up the sword. "Monster," "witch," "Claymore," they once called me. I fled that; I had nothing left to give them when my demise was placed in order. The children mattered far too much, such innocent little things. I am reminded of what was lost to me, so long ago.
"Healer," "Sister," "Mother," they now call me. Do I fit those roles, or fill the measure of their proportions? I highly doubt it, but then, I've always been one to doubt. Perhaps I don't give myself enough credit for what it's worth. Nonetheless, I have my little ones to surround me. For that, I am content.
The former God's Eye's face tensed as her thoughts turned to darker things.
Facing my own kind...that was harrowing. I could hardly keep myself from going mad. I knew that day would come, and it may very well come again. Such has my life been awarded. Would that I could start over, undo needless hurts, redo undone deeds. But alas, chances like those have passed, or become completely forfeit. All I have now are the children and whatever weary soul passes through. Frankly, a grin adorning her fair face, that is all I need.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the door at the entrance being opened. Standing slowly, Galatea started to prepare a bed for the newcomer, but froze. Though this one keeps it suppressed, traces of yoki still emanate from its being. Not good.
Such were her thoughts, however, until she picked up the scent of blood. It was all over the person. Rushing to aid, she let go of her apprehensions.
"Whoever you are, you must needs take rest and time to heal from these wounds," came her words as she placed a hand on the victim's chest. A man, and a seemingly young one at that, judging by his heart rate. His breathing was ragged, his limbs trembling.
"I was assaulted by strange beasts..." he began, his voice hoarse.
"Yoma?" She shrugged. "Whatever they were, they knew what they were about. How you managed to get into the city is a miracle, boy. Come in, I will help you."
Supporting him the whole way, Galatea assisted the young man onto the bed, where he feebly removed his top. His upper body was covered in wounds and gashes. The former Claymore had pity on him then. She remembered many a time when warriors in her own teams would be moaning in pain from the deep wounds inflicted upon them by Awakened and such. Nightmares would sometimes plague her, despite that she didn't sleep as humans did.
Placing her hands on his shoulders, she "looked" him square in the eyes. Reaching out with her yoki, Galatea found each and every one of the six wounds, and with her ability helped speed up the healing process - repairing damaged tissue, closing open flesh, etc. Within eight minutes, the process was complete.
The young man was in awe. "You...you have yoki?"
"Indeed, boy," said she with a slight grin, and bade him lie down and rest. "Though the wounds themselves are healed, the shock to your body is still very potent. Rest here for a space, then, if your strength is sufficient, go on your way.
"And by the way, I can't call you 'boy' all the time. Might I have your name?" Galatea queried.
"Deven," he replied. "Deven, and nothing more."
"Deven... I am Latea, and I keep this place," she stated as she made her way to a chair nearby, seating herself. Had her eyes not been put out, a proud glint would have shown in them.
Neither said much for several minutes. There was no need to, although Deven was eternally grateful to this Lady Latea who had saved him fro bleeding to death. He felt the need to somehow repay her, that he was for some reason in her debt.
"My lady," he finally spoke up, "I...you have my gratitude. I am in your debt," he said lifting up on one elbow. "If there is ought I could do to repay you."
A distant smile tugged at the corners of the former warrior's mouth. "You need not bother, Deven. We rarely get visitors, and though I would hardly call your crashing through the door, covered in your own blood a greeting, you seem a peaceful one. Tell me, I'm curious," leaning her face against one hand, that arm resting on the arm of her chair, "how is it that you possess yoki? And, knowing you were wounded so, you were armed, yes?"
He hesitated before speaking. "My mother...was a Claymore."
That awarded a raised eyebrow from Galatea. "Was she now? That's interesting."
"And yes," he continued, "I was armed. With a claymore."
"Hmm. Odd that one of those would birth a child. Never thought it possible..." she trailed, her thoughts lost elsewhere.
"My father was a quiet man. He didn't always say much, but he loved mother and I dearly. They two taught me many things. Father, though, had to leave, and we kept anticipating his return at any time. What we got turned out to be nothing more than monstrosities." His eyes studied the floor. "They killed mother and chased me to the borders of these lands. I killed all of them, fighting along the way, I being wrathful at mother's death. Then you know the rest."
Galatea's pity for this young man mounted. "Gods have mercy, that's awful... I lament your tragedy, that you had to go through it."
"I'm sorry too. She was one of the last of ones of the greatest of generations of Claymores to exist - and I say that unbiased. She did great things in her time - even survived a suicide mission."
Not the last, she thought. "What was she like, if you don't mind?"
"I don't. She was obnoxious. Loudmouthed, funny; the comic relief of our family. She'd always tell awesome stories when I was a kid, and as I grew older, even more awesome. Despite her rough-and-tumble personality, at heart, she was a kind woman who wanted nothing more than what she had with me and father."
Oh gods, it can't be, came the stark realization. "What was her name?"
"Helen."
Galatea sat back in her chair. So Helen was dead? Whoever had done the deed would've had to have grown strong indeed to face her and survive. Another thought occurred to her then: what of her friend Deneve?
Deven...Deneve! Could it be that that stoic warrior has met her end as well? Oh, mercy... She massaged her forehead slightly. This was a strange turn of events.
He confirmed her suspicions. "I'm named after her best friend - a sister to her, really - Deneve, just with the lettering changed. Mother always explained that Deneve would live on, so I carry a type of her name as well as her primary sword - now along with mother's.
"She said there was a huge battle on a distant land, that she had been a part of before meeting father, and her side lost after gaining the upper hand for a time. The only other to survive was one named Miria, who had been the leader of that force.
"At one point before the ambush on our home, two Claymores stopped by, two who apparently were against the Organization themselves. They were the current Numbers One and Forty-Two, Katera and Eline. Mother remarked Katera's resemblance to a one named Clare."
The spawn of Forty-Seven at the highest? How on earth...? "All dead... The mission a failure, was it? Well, the Organization will likely be coming for me then any time. You best be resting up and on your way before they do."
His eyes popped wide. "Then you are a Claymore! Er...a former one, but nonetheless!"
"Yes, I was." Her voice lowered slightly, she spoke, "I was their Number Three, called 'God's Eye Galatea,' for my acute ability to sense yoki emissions.
"It seems, though, that my generation is all but wiped out. The Organization must have had some trump card, some ace up their sleeves to just beat so many into the ground like that. I had sort of hoped that they would have been brought down by now." A sigh, then, "Ah well, I have my little ones and travelers like you until they come knocking."
A wry smile crossed her face. "At which point, I'll be ready for them."
"My lady, if it is any comfort to you, I have two swords. I will, if you wish, protect you from them. I have fought many an Awakened being, and come out successful. I can help you, as you have helped me."
"Many thanks, but you need not trouble yourself with my cares," came her response. "I am capable of fighting on my own."
"Should they send more than one, or worse, those things that wasted what family I had left, what then?" Tears threatened to seep from his eyes for grief.
"We shall see." Though yoki didn't display exact feelings in their entirety, Galatea could sense something of distress from Deven. She realized that though he could likely fight well enough, he was likely more human than either of them realized.
"You miss her greatly, don't you," she stated.
Looking up at her, that statement alone caused a wash of feelings to rush over him like a torrential rainstorm. His tears flowed freely. His voice was husky with emotion when he replied.
"Yes. Very much." He turned over and took to sobbing into the pillow, his body being wracked each time he did. The loss was great as memories, sweet memories, flooded his mind, causing the agony to worsen. He slammed his fist on the pillow, but that availed nothing, no relief.
"I tried to stop them... I tried to save her, but she was already dead when got to her..." His voice was nothing more than a harsh whisper as he gripped bedding hard.
Warmth then coursed through him. Calm and peace beckoned to him as he felt two comforting arms take him up in an equally comforting embrace. He let the tears roll onto Galatea's robe as his grief ran through him. Neither of them spoke; the unspoken words were loud enough. Her brow was furrowed into that of concern and utmost pity.
Let it out, poor child. Let it out, that you may rest easy, was what she wanted to say, but couldn't bring herself to. Yet.
"What more could I have done? She was better a person than I...always so confident and sure that things would work... She was never afraid... Father left, and I was all she had... I tried to be strong, like she was, especially after...after she was murdered... But I was afraid, afraid to face what awaited me with open arms... How is it that a Claymore's child can be so weak...?" His sobs started anew.
Galatea knew well the feelings of inadequacy. She was well aware of the pain of loss, alike. Fear had been a common feeling amongst her comrades, particularly the new recruits. She was acquainted with grief and pain. This young man cradled to her bosom was a perfect example of both horror that senseless murder brought upon all, and of the hope of new beginnings. That, now, was what she wanted to instill upon his tormented mind.
"Deven... Hear me out." She felt him nod. "I know your feelings of loss well. I lost friends - sisters - to both monsters and awakening. I need you to promise something this day."
They parted, and his sorrow-ridden visage looked at her through silver eyes that shed the freest of hot tears. "Yes?"
"Do not give up, or give in to despair. You won't do anyone any favors. Are you able to do this?"
He wiped his eyes, nodding, and said, "Yes I can."
"Good. If it suits you, stay as long as you see needful. I will not send you from this place until you are ready. Rest, child. You've been burdened with much heartache," her voice remained calm, but inwardly she wished there was more she could do to ease his pain. The other children were far simpler to soothe, but a mourning son? She had done what she could, but the waves of anguish still emanated from him like a beacon.
"Thank you, my lady... Now I am truly in your debt... I'll do whatever is needful... I'll...I'll..."
"Again, young Deven, don't trouble yourself. Allow care to be given to you for a time. If you feel you must absolutely repay me, I only ask, then, that you keep your yoki suppressed."
A nod, then, "I will." From that point forward, she felt little to no trace of yoki from him. As he was ight in front of her, she reached out both her hands to his face. Exploring the contours thereof, a picture was painted in her mind of what his appearance was. Brushing his cheek with her fingertips as she let fall her hands, a slight grin adorned her face.
"If you haven't noticed, I am blind. I can't see your face; everything is darkness. However, I paint pictures all the time. My mind is the brush, canvas, and palette. They are beautiful, often serene depictions of things that I can't see with these useless, dead eyes. I have to use my other senses as references, but the finished product is usually something of a masterpiece."
A pause, then, "You have your mother's face and lips; her hair. Your nose must be your father's. Overall, I truly can 'see' where you get your good looks."
The brought a blush and a slight smile to his face. "Mother was beautiful, that's for certain. I'd say most if not all Claymores are beautiful."
Her grin faded. "Until we use the yoma half of our minds. Not so beautiful then."
"But mother loved a man. That woman she mentioned...Clare, loved a man, half monster or no," he countered, wiping his eyes once more.
She remained silent. Her thoughts were elsewhere when he said, "You're pretty yourself, Lady Latea. No doubts there."
Her silence continued. "Am I? I've been told that many times, but only by the children. When I first arrived here, one gave me a flower. Ever since, my heart has yearned for the warmth of a child."
A chuckle escaped her lips. "Here I go speaking in riddles. How do you feel, Master Deven, son of Helen?"
"A little better, I think. Enough to rest, anyway."
"Good. Rest then. Let my home be yours." He laid down and shut his eyes. She took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Rest easy, child," she whispered, then left the room, shutting the door behind her softly.
That night, Deven's thoughts lingered on the now-ingrained memory of her lovely scent, the way she had touched him, her soothing voice, and her long flowing hair. Those scars where her eyes should have been...how did they get there? He wanted to find out so much.
For love had sprouted in his heart.