The dimly lit pub was a refuge for all kinds of souls—drifters, mercenaries, and those who sought solace in the bottom of a bottle. The Doctor entered, their coat slightly damp from the rain that had begun to fall outside, and took a moment to let their eyes adjust to the smoky interior. It was a place that reeked of broken dreams and faded promises, where even the laughter seemed hollow. But amidst the haze and the muffled conversations, there was one figure that stood out—a familiar face, despite the hood pulled low over her eyes.
Crownslayer sat alone at the bar, her shoulders hunched and a drink cradled between her gloved hands. The once-feared assassin of Reunion, the woman who used to strike terror into the hearts of her enemies, now looked like just another shadow among many. She stared into the amber liquid as if it held all the answers she was searching for, her expression a mask of bitterness and resignation.
The Doctor approached slowly, their presence unnoticed or simply ignored by the other patrons. They took a seat next to her without a word, signaling the bartender for a drink. Crownslayer didn't look up, but the slightest twitch in her jaw told them she was aware of their presence. After all, one didn't survive in her line of work without developing a keen sense of their surroundings.
"Long way from the battlefield, aren't you?" the Doctor said, their tone calm and neutral, as if they were making a casual observation about the weather.
Crownslayer's eyes flicked toward them, a sharp, almost defensive glare in those dark orbs. She didn't respond immediately, instead taking a slow sip of her drink, as if gathering her thoughts. Finally, she let out a dry laugh that held no humor, just a trace of something that might have once been pain.
"What do you want, Doctor?" she asked, her voice rougher than the Doctor remembered, as if it had been worn down by the weight of too many words unspoken. "Come to gloat? To tell me that this is what I deserve?"
The Doctor shook their head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of their lips. "I'm not here to gloat, Crownslayer," they replied softly. "I was just... surprised to see you here. I thought you'd be long gone after Reunion fell."
Crownslayer snorted, a bitter sound that echoed the hollow emptiness in her eyes. "Gone where? What's left for me now, Doctor? After Reunion crumbled, after Talulah... after all of it?" She downed the rest of her drink in one swift motion and slammed the glass down on the bar, her grip white-knuckled. "What does an assassin do when there's no one left to kill?"
The Doctor studied her in silence, their expression unreadable. They could see the exhaustion in her, the disillusionment that had settled like a shadow over her once fierce determination. This was a woman who had devoted her life to a cause, only to watch it fall apart before her eyes. All that fire, all that rage, now reduced to ashes.
"You could start over," the Doctor said, their voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to be an assassin forever. There's more to life than fighting battles and seeking revenge."
Crownslayer laughed again, this time a hollow chuckle that sounded more like a choke than amusement. "Start over? Doing what, exactly?" she asked, turning to face the Doctor fully, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You think someone like me can just walk away from it all? From the blood on my hands? I'm not like you, Doctor. I don't get to pretend I'm something I'm not."
The Doctor held her gaze, unflinching. "We all have blood on our hands," they said quietly. "But that doesn't mean we have to let it define us. You chose to fight for something once, even if it was the wrong cause in the end. That means you can choose to fight for something else now."
Crownslayer's eyes softened, just a fraction, as she looked back down at her empty glass. She seemed to weigh the Doctor's words, turning them over in her mind like stones in a river, trying to find some truth in their impossible simplicity. Her fingers tightened around the glass, her jaw clenching as if she were wrestling with her own thoughts.
"I fought because I didn't know how to do anything else," she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Reunion gave me a purpose, a reason to exist. Now that it's gone, I'm... lost. What else am I supposed to be, if not a weapon?"
The Doctor reached out, gently placing a hand on her arm, not to restrain or force her but to ground her. "You were never just a weapon, Crownslayer," they said softly. "You're a survivor. And survivors find a way to live, even when the fight is over. You've already taken the first step by being here, by not giving up entirely. That's more than most people can say."
Crownslayer looked at the Doctor's hand on her arm, then back at them, her expression a mixture of confusion, defiance, and something that looked like the faintest spark of hope. It was fragile, that hope, like a flame flickering in the wind, but it was there.
"You really think there's a way out for someone like me?" she asked, her voice cracking, betraying the vulnerability she'd tried so hard to hide.
The Doctor nodded, their eyes steady and kind. "I believe there's always a way out," they said. "It's not easy, and it's not quick. But it's possible. And if you're willing to try, you won't have to do it alone."
For a long moment, Crownslayer didn't say anything. She stared at the Doctor, as if searching for any hint of deceit, any sign that this was all a cruel joke. But all she found was sincerity, a quiet determination that seemed to break through her defenses.
She let out a slow, shaky breath and turned back to the bar, signaling for another drink. But this time, when the glass was placed in front of her, she didn't lift it to her lips. Instead, she just stared at it, the ice clinking softly as it melted into the amber liquid.
"Alright, Doctor," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I'll give it a shot. But don't expect miracles from me. I'm no hero, and I never will be."
The Doctor gave her a small, knowing smile. "Heroes are overrated anyway," they replied. "Just be yourself. That's more than enough."
As they sat together in the dim light of the pub, the rain still falling outside, the world seemed a little less cold, a little less empty. Crownslayer wasn't healed, not by a long shot, but for the first time in a long while, she wasn't alone. And maybe, just maybe, that was the start of something new.