Chapter Text
It's not common territory for either of them, to dance around each other like they're breakable. They're mostly carefully chosen words, tentative touches, a distance that makes the deep settled cold in Laudna's bones nearly unbearable, up until the point one or both of them withdraw and abort. There's been none of the usual reassurance, the gentle presence of Imogen keeping Laudna stitched to reality. At risk of sounding needy and codependent to herself, she admits she misses the way things were before the gnarlrock incident.
Imogen has mentioned casually in conversation that the whole ordeal with the rock was behind them; that she felt relieved by the way things had gone even if her first reaction had told a different story. Laudna had accepted the words, accepted the implications and accepted the ring, the most thoughtful olive branch ever extended to her. For some brief moments, Laudna had been happy.
It was never that easy, really. There was no jumping back into their routine of inner jokes, furtive touches and mental dialogue that kept the rest of the world at bay. Laudna had hoped, she had been certain for a heartbeat and gave it a try, but Imogen, despite her words, didn't seem to be having it. Her eyes barely touched Laudna unless it was necessary, there were no lingering fingers on her forearm, no hushed quips brushing the cortex of her brain.
Even with years of complete and maddening solitude in her inventory, Laudna had never felt so lonely. It was somewhat embarrassing, she realized. It was nonsense. She was surrounded by a group of wonderful people she was learning to appreciate and love more and more as the days went on. And it wasn't like Imogen wasn't right there, her presence solid and real, it was just that it was different from what she had gotten used to. It all felt distant, it felt like her attempts to reach her made the connection between them stretch and thin and that terrified her beyond words. At some circumstances more than others.
Laudna's whole body shudders, a sigh from Delilah in the back of her mind puts every weakened muscle hugging her weary bones in a renewed state of tension. Distantly, she hears her name from Imogen's lips and her eyes force themselves to move back to the neutral, matter-of-fact expression on her face.
"She's an evil bitch who hung you from a tree."
A minor a spasm crosses her heart, the same heart that just minutes earlier, as her fingernails bit into FCG's soft metal faceplate, had warmed up with what felt like blood rushing through its desiccated arteries and veins. Laudna visibly recoils, two traumatic memories at once more than she can handle with a stoic face at the moment. It's all carefully chosen words, up until the point it isn't. Who is she to judge? Laudna almost used their friend's head as clay just minutes ago.
"You know that, she's using you."
Laudna does know that. Imogen speaks some more words and Laudna is positive everything she's saying makes perfect sense, even if they're sticking out of her flesh like the grip and pommel of daggers. It always does, Imogen is incredibly smart. But she's stuck on that simple statement. 'She's using you', she said, and yes, that's the thing, isn't it? That's always been the case. It's like her whole existence can be justified by her usefulness to be somebody's handy tool. Her eyebrows furrowed at the idea, she gives an unsteady nod. There are more pressing matters than Delilah as it stands, but she can't quite shake her words and FCG's sudden outburst for next few days.
It's like Delilah's honeyed tone has slipped through the plentiful cracks in her brain, stuck to the jagged edges and dripping down down down. 'When all love is gone,' courses her thoughts like a song, piercing her concentration and making her flinch when hours after dawn, with the party already on route, Imogen hasn't uttered a word at her yet. There's only been one or two quick glances thrown in her direction, charged with turmoil and some emotion she can't recognize. Laudna tried what she knows is a feeble attempt at a smile, but Imogen had just turned away from her and that had been pretty much it.
The phrase tolls like a bell when later that night, and every night until they reach the city, Imogen curls up to sleep and asks Laudna to hold her hand in case the nightmares arrive, in a low hushed tone, like she regrets even doing it, like she can't help herself. Like the fear of facing the storm alone surpasses whatever instinctual rejection her being is starting to develop in Laudna's presence, like her mind is too plagued to spare a thought to any possible remaining hurt or confusion clinging to Laudna's skin. Laudna does so dutifully, hoping against hope she will be able to fend the nightmares off, or at the very least provide some comfort and company when Imogen faces the red winds.
The words cut like a razor when she catches a glimpse of her actions on FCG's head, there are clearly visible marks on the sides of their head and Laudna feels the acute pang of guilt like a physical object spearing her through the heart. Coward, her own voice chastises when she can't find the courage to apologize to the automaton, worthless, it growls at her when the shadows stretch over their campsite and everyone in the group dozes off. Laudna is there, alone with her breath sticking to her stuttering lungs, panic rising in waves. Delilah's ghost hums delighted as Laudna's thoughts grow darker and hopelessness starts to consume, eating at her sanity like water cutting through porous rock.
The problem is, Laudna feels herself slipping and reaching out feels like an insurmountable task. She doesn't feel like she deserves help when she's the one that caused pain to her friends and she can't seek comfort on the only person she's used to getting it from because her bond to Imogen feels as eroded as her own soundness of mind. Imogen is quiet; skittish while around, standoffish while not.
Comfort does come, however, in the form of a timid and careful Orym, who suddenly speaks to her like she might be about to break into pieces. He's not too far off the mark.
"You hanging in there, Laud?" He asks, and Laudna considers lying. He's an observant one, this halfling. He knows grief and he knows the masks it puts on. Laudna can see the sincere worry etched on his features, can feel the moth-eaten threads holding her facade together grow weaker. She starts to nod but her vision blurs, inky tears gathering and catching in her eyelashes, and against better judgment whispers 'no' with a broken voice that doesn't even sound like hers anymore.
"Hey, hey, hey," he puts a hand on Laudna's forearm and squeezes, Laudna's tear is now painting a line down one of her cheeks. "Just a second," he says and sprints off. Laudna stands there, Delilah's chuckle ringing in her ears, but Orym is quick to tell something to Ashton and runs back to her. Laudna catches Imogen's eyes for a second before she averts them to the ground, cracking the crust of Laudna's heart further. "I know I'm not--" Orym gestures vaguely to the group, where Imogen has slowed down in her walk, the rest of their friends a bit ahead of her. "I'm not your most trustworthy person, but I'm a good listener if you feel that could be good for you."
"I think I'm losing my mind," Laudna hears herself confess, a humourless laugh following. Laudna's fingers itch and curl before settling on the Pâté's tiny head, the tip of her fingernails tracking the crest of his skull. "I think I'm losing myself."
Orym doesn't move, doesn't speak. He regards her carefully before he nods, glancing at the side of the road and taking a few steps towards a thick-trunked tree. Laudna watches him absently before she moves in the same direction, sitting on its gnarly roots and letting the sunlight filtering through the canopy paint geometric forms on their skin.
"We have all felt a bit of that these days," Orym turns his face towards the foliage, his small frame almost swallowed by the rough bark of the tree against his back. "But I can see why you and Letters are the most affected by it."
Laudna leans back to mirror his position, hand rubbing distractedly at her cheek to get rid of the ichor drying up into black flakes under the warmth of the sun. "I shouldn't be complaining," she mutters, having accepted this truth days ago.
"No, Laud. You should. Someone is trying to manipulate you into causing pain to the people you care for. Why wouldn't you complain? Why wouldn't you hurt?"
Orym is pointedly not looking at her, Laudna fights the tears, tugs at Pâté's strings until he's curled up on her lap.
"What if that's all me?" Orym gives her a side glance, something incredibly soft on his features that tightens the hold an invisible fist keeps on Laudna's heart. "What if it was all me hurting FCG, what if there is a loose screw in my head? I'm a ticking bomb, I could go off any second and you would all be collateral damage."
The question has been gnawing at her bones for days. Orym is still looking at her, and finally lets the air trapped in his lungs release with a heavy sigh.
"I think that's a possibility," he reasons. "I think most of us could one day go poof," he mimicks an explosion between his hands, growing from a single fistful of air to something the size of his own head. "That's why we need each other. And I understand why this worries you, but consider this, we take care of each other. We won't allow that to happen and if it does, we are each other's safety net. I know I used some..." he makes a small noise at the back of his throat, somewhat displeased, "I wasn't fair when I called the group a ticking bomb, it wasn't very tactful of me. But that wasn't my point when I did, I was more focused on new precautions and contingency plans." Laudna nods at the same time Orym shakes his head. "I don't mean to sound like a douche saying this but, is that the only thing in your mind?"
Laudna doesn't look at him. Her eyes are on Imogen's figure, the group has stopped to stretch tired muscles and wait for them a little ways ahead, far enough to afford them privacy.
"Ah. I see," he leans back against the dark trunk of the tree, eyes closing and sunbeams dancing on his face again.
"I feel like she doesn't want me around anymore," her voice trembles just slightly, Orym hums acquiescing her words but doesn't interrupt. "Like she's putting more and more distance between us. Not that I'd blame her, with the way I acted. Delilah told me once love was gone, all I'd have would be myself; that she was the only one looking out for me, that my friends would betray me."
Laudna says it all conversely, like it hasn't been choking the breath out of her lungs every waking moment since. Orym doesn't open his eyes, but his expression subtly changes, small lines forming between his brows.
"If something is so wrong with me that I'll let the bitch who hung me from a tree turn me against the people I love, she has every reason to back off."
When Laudna's attention returns to Orym, he's looking straight into her eyes.
"Laudna, first of all, having a person whispering atrocities about the people we love, playing with our deepest fears and using our trauma against us, seconds before walking into something that looks exactly like the thing we have been warned about... I think you did very well all things considered."
He skims his fingers over a small pile of soil, letting a tiny daisy climb between his thumb and forefinger.
"Now, Imogen..."
He plucks the small flower and offers it to Laudna, who sniffles and takes it.
"I don't think you two are on the same page. I've talked to her and I won't betray her confidence, but you two need to sit and have a long discussion because this is only going to get worse if you don't. I can tell you this much; this has nothing to do with what happened there, with Letters."
It's a bucket of freezing cold water poured on her, Laudna doesn't know what to do with this information. It's not about that? Then what? What has she done? Has she broken some form of unspoken pact? Has she hurt Imogen? Has she broken Imogen's trust? Orym, once again, squeezes her arm gently and Laudna's eyes snap to his, the hand that's not holding the flower is closed in a very tight fist.
"Trust me, talk to her. And about the rest?" He points at his own temple, "we got you, no worries." He lowers his hand to rest on the back of Laudna's knuckles, who relaxes her curled fingers before her nails draw blood from the palm.
"Do you need a moment here?"
"Yes. I'll catch up with you in a second," Laudna answers, distracted, as Orym dusts his pants off and walks in the direction of the group. "Thank you, Orym."