Cyg always imagined when she finally found freya morningstar she’d come careening in on her mechanical dragon, the technologically marvelous version of the beast Freya’d killed, and rain down all matter of terrible hellfire on the woman.

Instead, she flew in on her Pidgeot, relishing the feeling of Devie’s gentle, controlled countenance beneath her after long hours of flying on Sima 2.0. She directs the pigeon down to behind where Freya stands, sliding off of him and landing. Rocks shift out from under her feet.

She shoves her hands in her shorts pockets and considers the woman and her dragons in silence.

freya morningstar

☉

cygne is met with an assortment of warning hisses and low grumbles. the dragalge's kelp-like frills expand, splashing about in the water, and freya reaches reflexively for the bow at her side. she stands, wet sundress clinging to her skin, saltwater dripping off of her as she steps up and out of the pool. 

the confusion is palpable on her face. that day is a blurry haze. the ultra deep sea had been dark, had warped her sense of time. her sense of self. but the bow in her hands reminds her, in a flash, of gore and bloodshed. 

a dragon's body made limp in a heartless display of strength. 

then, is its trainer here for retribution?

with one brush of her hand, the dragons cease their snarls. but they watch, waiting for a flicker from their mistress. freya's fingers curl tighter on the bow and then relax. she shifts her weight to the side, frowning. 

"if you're here to pick a fight, i suggest leaving."

ana fell

☉

Cyg imagines the scene in the first Avatar (what a world they live in where she can now reference her favorite movie as the first, finally) when Jake and the Na’vi climb up Ikinamaya to the Ikran colony and all the different Ikran are hissing and growling at the invaders.

She doesn’t pay them any mind. There are few things in this world Cyg understands, but this balance of protective power is one of them. She’s not here for a fight or to do any harm.

freya morningstar reaches for her weapon and Cyg doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch. Freya could put an arrow through her heart for all she cared.

“I’m not,” she says, with some semblance of a small smile, a lazy turning up of one corner of her mouth. “I’m not suicidal. Anymore.” It doesn’t last, nor does it reach her eyes. She’s silent for another long series of moments.

“I saw you. In Galar.”

freya morningstar

☉

there are not many things that could be said to make freya drop her guard, but this woman somehow happens upon one such sentiment. the bow slackens in her hand as surprise flits over her face, followed by a flash of understanding. she leans to her right and sets the weapon down, brows creased. 

another memory is unlocked for her. synapses fire and memories bubble forth. the weight of a crown above her brow, a sideways glance at a woman she'd wronged a lifetime ago (only months, now). the pressure in her temples is immediate and she grimaces. 

"yes. and you - " had children. a husband. the words die in the back of her throat.

"i have no quarrel with you," she says tiredly. she rolls her shoulders and steps down back into the pool of water. her gaze flickers from the woman - cygne, she recalls - and down to her dragalge. she sits. one of the dragons rests her large head in freya's lap. 

"you put up a good fight in the deep sea. shame to see you on the wrong side." she pauses. "shame about your dragon."

her means of an apology. 

ana fell

☉

Freya’s bowarm lowers-- slowly, like she doesn’t really want it to, and it’s moving of its own accord. Then, determined, she sets it fully against the ground, and her hand comes off of it.

“And me,” Cyg says, and the two words are laden with emotion, heavy and unspoken but not needing to be said.

Freya’s voice leans haggard, like she hasn’t slept in weeks. She steps back into the water and the floating pile of kelp that is actually a dragon cuddles into her lap like a goddamn kitten.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking that a lot, lately.”

She steps forward, then, slow so as not to startle anyone, hands out of her pockets and in full view so Freya can see she’s unarmed. She walks up to the lip of the pool and sits, elbow on her knee, chin in her palm.

“Do you know what real strength is?” she asks, voice slightly muffled from where her jaw rests in her hand. It's not an interrogating question-- more a musing one. Like Freya might really know, and Cyg just happens to want to find out.

freya morningstar

☉

the dragalge snorts into the water and freya turns her attention back to the beast. her fingers sift through its mane, revealing a patch of scale covered with barnacles on one side of its neck. there's a shucking knife beside her and she hefts it slowly, glancing up as cygne approaches. 

she should be wearing gloves, but the dragalge are less finicky when she doesn't. so she takes extra care with scraping them off, listening to cygne settle beside her. 

"that you're on the wrong side?" she says without looking up. scrape. a barnacle pulls off and plunks into the water. the dragalge's fins splash up and out of the water and freya hisses, thumb pressing at the base of its neck. it calms. 

real strength?

she goes back to her scraping. just the sound of the knife pulling, the current rolling in and out of the tide pool. the sea swelling against their outcropping. 

"i thought i did." another barnacle comes off. this time, the dragalge tenses, but does not panic. freya sets the knife down for a moment and flexes her fingers, looks at cygne.

"i thought it was having something to fight for. i thought it was them." she tilts her head towards the dragons around her. "but...it's not.

"do you know what most dragons do, when they hatch from their eggs?" 

ana fell

☉

The concept of sides is so funny, in the war against apocalyptic doom. She snorts, scrubs her hands over her face.

“That I’m in the wrong life,” she says, miserably.

Freya’s words unstick a barnacle in her own chest. She looks out at the dragons with a blank face of abject terror. What is real strenght if not an army of dragons? What is real strength if not having someone to fight for?

“Get eaten?” she ventures, head tipping slightly to the side, voice an odd, empty echo.

freya morningstar

☉

freya chuckles. it's a mirthless one, short-lived and rough. the dragalge she's working on gives a toss of its head and freya digs the shucking knife's point into the rock, twisting it while she thinks. 

she raises a brow and looks at cygne, somewhat surprised. 

"yes, actually. by the time their egg horns fall off and they have their teeth and claws, they'll fight to the death. the weakest are consumed by the strongest. and i thought, for a very long time, that i was - that i had to be - the dragon that lives."

with a flick to its cheek, she urges the dragalge off. another takes its place. this one's scales are a venomous purple, mane a tufted neon. her mother's pride and joy. 

she starts her scraping again. 

"we're not dragons. the first thing we do when we're born? we cry." her gaze flickers over to cygne. "we ask for help.

"that's strength, i think. knowing when to ask. knowing that you should. admittedly, i'm...quite bad at it." she shrugs. but i don't need help. and when i need it, i'll ask.

(but scared, foolish girl that she is - she won't. she doesn't.)

"it'd be easier if we were dragons."

ana fell
my dumb ode to taz

☉

[div style="font-size:12px;letter-spacing:.5px;"]“I figured as much. It’s like that with a lot of things.” She doesn’t seem to notice that she’s slightly impressed Freya… or maybe she just doesnt have the energy for preening. “Especially predators. Have you ever seen baby prey species? Standing and running in seconds. Because they have to. Predators… not so much.”

She cocks her head and thinks. This is not the answer she expected.

“I… don’t know if I can do that.” It’s stupid. It’s lame. Ask for help one too many times and you become dependent on other people for everything. People start to view you as weak.

Whatever she’d wanted Freya to say, this was not it.

“You can say that again.”