Acceptance
This is apart of 'The Great Ones', a Camp Willow plot. Read the [[[The_Great_Ones_Aren%27t_Here|introduction]]], [[[The_Great_Ones%2C_Part_One%3A_Under_Siege|Part One]]], and [[[Page_not_found|Part Two]]].
Setting
The Northern Sea
The waves clamber the loudening shores, flogged by the coming of a future storm. Mountains rolling across the deep the waves splash frothingly white. The sea, holding in its embrace a number of small islands, flashes like a needle in the faint sunlight, while the waves biting at the shores foam white with froth as they show their teeth like white buds.
Characters:
Kolbjorn, the chief
Ayita, a captive
==
<---->Acceptance<---->
==
|Part Two|
The ship is a poor substitute for dry land. It's designed to crest and fall with waves, ever atop them, almost flying. At least to the initiated. It's somewhat choppy, as they're skirting a massive rainstorm to the southwest, taking advantage of the winds it offers them. Kolbjorn stands proudly at the bow of the ship, smiling grimly as they churn northwest. Ayita has mostly free run of the ship, and in a calculated act, is not to talk with what otters remain in the hold - a pitiful number now, and she is watched at all times. He seems to revel in showing her the vastness of the ocean, as if to prove that out here, there is nothing to be bowed to but himself and his rule. "They say," he says over his shoulder to the otter maid, who is at his side almost as much as the doe that serves as his priestess, "that on every ship, the captain is a king. And this is his kingdom." He points out the vast wasteland of the deep sea.
Of all of the rules she has disobeyed, her separation from the remainder of her kin is among one of the few she's truly obeyed. She is loathe to put the others in danger, though for her this means submitting herself to nothing but the Vikings for company - and her feelings there are very clear. This "freedom" has shrunk her world 100 fold: she is a river beast. Meant for marshes and rivers and inlets, small boats bounced across rapids - she has no deep, primal love for the sea. And she hates her companions even more. At his soliloquy, she rolls her eyes, and glares into the blue abyss surrounding them, and her gaze lingers on that distant storm. There's a savage, terrifying beauty to it that makes her shiver. She has no desire to experience it close up. She is silent as the marten speaks, though her disdain is palpable.
Kolbjorn turns back to Ayita and leans casually on the front rope connected to the mast. One slip and he'd go over with no hope of help. But his footing is sure and his body seemingly immovable. "... You know that hate will not free you," he says, with a tilt of his head. "We all lose things. Such is life. The ocean is a good lesson. The goddess Ran is fickle and ugly. She takes and gives on a whim, as life. One might say it is weak, to forever pine for what you have lost."
The otter is quiet for a moment, but her eyes do move to Kolbjorn's, and she holds that gaze. The fire behind her eyes has cooled, and while it still sparks in flashes of rage, the futility of her situation has effectively dulled her edges. "So I am weak." She affirms, dead-pan. Maybe if she leapt into the ocean she may get somewhere... It is a fantasy that she finds herself mulling over constantly. She would rather drown than see where they are going.
Kolbjorn watches Ayita very carefully. "Perhaps," he says. "But everyone was weak before they were strong." He nods out to the ocean. "Tell me, do you think that the place you are going to is so much different from the place you have come? What do you think you will see when we finally cross the ocean? It will take some time. You may hear stories from the crew. There will be much time for imagination. So tell me. What kind of land do you think a creature like me hails from?"
Ayita's brow furrows, creases deepening across her face. "It doesn't matter." She replies, quietly, standing stiffly with her gaze turned out towards the sea. "I do not care where we are going. I do not care where you are from." Her voice is not harsh nor full of hatred - there is something dead to it. She is lost and listless in a sea of her own; what a cliche. She holds her paws behind her back, forcing a degree of pride to her stance.
A smirk crawls like a snake over Kolbjorn's lips. "Do you think I will get bored with you if you keep that up?" he asks. "Well, perhaps you are right. Perhaps you will waste away and die in your sleep, if that is what you /want./ and when that happens I will shake my head at such potential lost, and toss your body to the creatures of the deep. And then I will no longer /care/ that you even existed." He sidles up to her side, close to her ear, and looks her up and down. "But you have been eating, breathing, drinking. Refusing to give me what I /want,/ though I take it anyway." He tilts his head and snorts against her cheek. "You are /alive,/ Ayita. And since you have not taken a dagger to your own throat, that clearly means something. So while that persists, so will I. the only /true/ choice we have in this world is to hold on to what we are /given./ Or let it all go. Like it or not, to hold on... is to hold on to /me./ You will accept this sooner or later."
Ayita's breath catches in her throat, fear and anger accumulating into a soft growl. She jerks away, bumping against the ropes with a hiss. The panic is deepening in her eyes - this is really it. She is going to die on some ice heap with no one but this psychopath and his brutes to keep her company; forbidden from interacting with her own kind, bound to this crazed marten as nothing more than a saucy arm piece. A trophy. A trinket. She grabs the rope in a shaking paw, and - all at once - the world is inverted. She doesn't make the conscious decision to jump, and it is probably just a wave which throws her... But she goes with it. The ottermaid flings herself from the side of the boat and crashes into the sea face first, striking the shockingly cold waves like an arrow in a spray of bubbles.
The moment she goes overboard, Kolbjorn springs into action. He knows he said she had a choice, but... he didn't say anything about not interfering after she made it. He burned down a whole village to get her. He dragged her across the lands and took her into his ship. He barks a command for his ship to turn, to keep her in sight. This water is frigid, wild, more than anything a simple river otter like her has known before. It will devour her in minutes if he cannot get her back in time. The cold alone will sap her energy and keep her from going far. The wild, fearsome look in his eyes. Oh, the chase is on now. It is time to show his... 'devotion' to her. Kolbjorn knows what he wants. And he always gets it. He shrugs off his heavier clothing. The cold is nothing new to him. And then, with a long length of rope tied around his waist... he dives in after her.
The icy waves snatch the breath from her as soon as Ayita hits them - the wild will of the ocean is one that she knows she will not overcome, but she battles it nonetheless. If anything, the jill has a will cast in iron, and that determination is to be the death of her. Kicking out, she can think only of diving deeper, of putting as much distance between her and the psychopath on the ship. Caught in the belly of a wave, she is dragged upwards; catching a glimpse of the ship as she gasps in the salty air. She sees him coming after her, and the dread that stabs through her is icier than the sea that fights to swallow her. She takes off, struggling as her muscles rebel, trembling violently as hypothermia nips at the edge of her faculties. She must keep going. She will submit to the waves and the cold before she finds herself back aboard the demon ship. Another great wave crashes against her, winding the ottermaid as it drills her under the angry, grey sea.
The sea is the domain of Ran, goddess of the sea. Ugly and ill-tempered, who sends waves to crush the ships Storm Father pushes with his wind. One must either supplicate her mightily with gifts and offerings, or otherwise beat her to submission. Kolbjorn feels the icy chill of her claws digging into his fur; long has she wanted a piece of him. And if she can't have him, it seems she will take an ottermiad instead. But no. Ayita is his, and his alone. He grew up on the ice, stood beneath a waterfall in winter. He will overcome this. His powerful arms push the water aside, punching through the waves. He is no otter, but he has the muscles to match one. If only these were trees. He follows her down, into the dark. Even here, in the very pits of her soul, he is here. Looming just behind her. He reaches out, snatching for her tail, the pounding waves ironically helping as much as hindering him as they prevent an easy getaway.
Ayita is more at home in the sea than she was on the boat, and while she may be a gentle river beast, she is not completely helpless in the throes of the sea. She plows downward, trying to escape the tumultuous waves of the nearby storm, trying to keep away from the madman chasing her. She feels his paw wrap around her rudder, and a stream of bubbles escape her in a small shout of terror, she twists and kicks out and wrenches that strong tail free. The salt stings her eyes, but she knows that she can hold her breath longer than Kolbjorn can, and so her only thought is to plunge further into the icy, blue abyss. If she dies, it is at least on her own terms; the last shred of independence, dignity, and self that she can gleam from the hell her life has become. Even as the frigid waters seep deeper into her bones, even as the currents seek to sap her strength - slowing her, draining her... Even as the marten gains on her, making his way for her at a speed which matches the darkness encroaching at the edges of her consciousness. The depth, she can contend with. The sea, she can contend with... But this cold? She is built for more delicate temperatures than this.
It is the only chance Kolbjorn has: empty her lungs with that screech of terror, which only drives him on. The fear, the adrenaline, the terror, the hatred. All of it is the heady tonic of life to him, and gives him the energy to keep going where this cold freezes others to the bone. He is heat and life unrestrained, the rush of blood, innocent or not, the striving of muscle to grip and hold. The cold is a challenge, Ayita's disappearing form, a challenge. All of it a challenge that he will triumph over. He catches up to her - of course he does - and that grip is sure this time, wrapping around her waist, and then her throat. He practically crushes her to him this time, determined not to let go, squeezing that life, that last bit of free air out of her, enveloping her body with his own once again. Even as his lungs start to burn, he clings to her, willing her to stop struggling first, even as they teeter on the edge of life and death. This is not an execution, merely another lesson, and perhaps her final one. Nothing will keep him from keeping her. Not even herself.
She is going escape! She is probably going to die in the process, but that is its own kind of freedom. Ayita struggles deeper towards the frigid depths, slow and cold and numb... It's going to be okay, she tells herself, it is all going to be okay... And then he has her. And it isn't. This isn't how it can end! If she is going to die, it will be on her own terms! Her own... But it won't be. He has her. Her struggling intensifies, and she cries out again, draining the last of the air from her lungs - he is going to crush her, squeeze the life out of her in a final show of his dominance... And it is then that she understands. Now it hits her, drags a watery gasp out of her, and fills her lungs with sea water in the process. Drowning is not the way of her people, it is unnatural - but her whole life has become unnatural since this monster and his band of merry raiders turned it on its head. It's fitting, in a way... She could not adapt to this new horror, she could not bide her time - she put the others at risk with her stubbornness and with her temper and her refusal to accept the end of her life as she knew it. Silly her. But that's all she's ever really been, hasn't it? A silly little girl who didn't get her way. She ran away from Redwall when it wasn't fun anymore, she ran away from Camp Willow at the first chance, and returned a failure. And now she is here - unable to change, unable to save her friends... Unable to save herself. Eventually, she stops kicking, but it is only because she has given up. It takes several more moments for the cold and the lack of oxygen to truly end her, and it is peaceful, in a way. She just lets the blue consume her, even as the marten clutches her to his body, she feels herself drift further away from her own. A silly little girl dying a silly little death that no one will mourn... A death that there is no one /left/ to mourn. In her last moments, Ayita learns acceptance; she accepts her death with some relief, accepts that it was not her choice to die, accepts that she will never see home again, and accepts that this is all she was meant for from the start. The dibbun at the Abbey who loved to sing and dance, the teenager in Camp Willow for whom life was easy, the adult who traveled North to reconnect with relatives and returned a healer's apprentice, the healer who was crushed with the rest of her home and her livlihood, and finally the slave who couldn't take her new lot in life. It all came together in the end, didn't it? Ayita Shae, who lived her life as a pretty face and nothing more dies a pretty face... And nothing more.
At last, their conquest is complete…
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