"My thoughts exactly." Her nose wrinkles at the smoke, dropping away from him to go and lay the clothes out on a rock nearby to let them dry in the sun.
"Perhaps - once." She shakes her head, old memories, an old role, things she cannot afford ( literally and figuratively ) to be anymore. "I did not take the black water up immediately. Sir Bors de Ganis gave it to me, when he died on the walls of Jhansi. He... said to me, he asked me if this fight would never be done. He said he was too tired for it. That I had a fate, that it was obvious." She shakes her head, swallowing. His face bathed in blood, and maybe a sip would save him though it seemed unlikely in how the cannonball had ripped through his chest and the lycan that was dead at his feet, but he pressed the vial into her hands and told her to make that choice herself.
She hadn't buried him, there had been no time. She had to flee, had to get everyone out that she hadn't already. She would lose her father that night, too. "It wasn't until Gwalior that I drank it myself. Not for immoralities sake. I was bleeding, I knew I was dying. All I could think was - I could not let the English have my body. I could not let the Half-Breed's devour the whole world. So I didn't." It's all very serious, and she tries to lighten it. "Devi - my... second in command. She said it was because I didn't know how to die. That it would be like giving up and I didn't know how to bend. Not that ruling is anything but bending, just... differently."
And Daryl listens. This isn't the first time she's told this story, but it's the first time she's told it so completely. Usually, he only gets it in bits and pieces, a scrapbook where he knows she's got a novel. It's a long story, he knows that. It must be tiring to tell, twice as tiring to live. He appreciates her sharing anything. Christ knows he's not the giving type.
He waits until he's finished to ask his only question. "You regret it?"
She never gives specifics, not if she can. When Carl asks, or Tyrese or Glenn or any of them ask - she gives grandeur, she says it like she always knew she was going to win, some day. She tells it like the Lord was at work in it, and she always could be sure of each step. That in all that suffering, there was a point. It's banner's raised and trumpets blaring. Oh she had stood on the ramparts and yelled her men encouragement. It was cannonade and cavalry. It was feast tables of dishes made with turmeric and oranges and when she ruled, she could feed them, she could feed them all and they would all have a place at her table. Caste nor religion would be turned away.
She never shares the screams, the pain, the blood. They have enough of that. What do they need an old woman's stories of that? Let them think that the world was better, once.
But here, this, now? Her eyes are down, and it's all she remembers. "I regret... it did not leave me kind." A sigh. "Sir Galahad, Sir Bors, any of them that live this long, it becomes true. Men were not made for this life, but we lived it anyway."
The clothes she still wears. The gold he is guarding close to him. The fact they have lost their life, but she has lost it many times. She was born to a world that no one remembered.
Then she looks at him, then away again. Enough. "But... I would not wish it undone. No, no I would never wish that."
During this, Daryl straightens himself up, collecting what scant supplies he has in order to go. If she's done, he's done. They work in tandem.
"Just don't ever give that shit to me," he says, making his revulsion of the idea known for the first time, "and we're square." He's not going to say that he doesn't believe her. Everyone has regrets. Some people are walking monuments to them. Daryl often feels as though, after all the violence and the loss, they are all that exists of him anymore.
She doesn't respond - of course she wouldn't, she had made it clear. But it's something else. With eyes turned down, gathering up the clothes. Bundling them tight. She'll hang them by the fire tonight. For now, she wraps the sash back around her waist, tying of the red material sharply, slinging her holster over her shoulders again.
He will be gone, one day. Just like all the others. It didn't matter if it was to a walker, one of the bandits for lack of a better word, roaming around, or in his bed thirty years from now.
She is going to lose him. She needs to adjust to that, now, she needs to not count on him, she needs to distance herself from all of them. He will be gone, she will put him in the earth like all the others before him and keep him locked in tight and away.
She is going to lose him.
"Ready when you are."
Her wet clothes hung over her arm, looking away from him now, begin now and she can get used to him being gone.
After all, she has a counsel to stand on now. She'll have plenty enough to keep her busy so she does not have to think on it. Keep this - whatever this is - as long as she can.
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no subject
"Perhaps - once." She shakes her head, old memories, an old role, things she cannot afford ( literally and figuratively ) to be anymore. "I did not take the black water up immediately. Sir Bors de Ganis gave it to me, when he died on the walls of Jhansi. He... said to me, he asked me if this fight would never be done. He said he was too tired for it. That I had a fate, that it was obvious." She shakes her head, swallowing. His face bathed in blood, and maybe a sip would save him though it seemed unlikely in how the cannonball had ripped through his chest and the lycan that was dead at his feet, but he pressed the vial into her hands and told her to make that choice herself.
She hadn't buried him, there had been no time. She had to flee, had to get everyone out that she hadn't already. She would lose her father that night, too. "It wasn't until Gwalior that I drank it myself. Not for immoralities sake. I was bleeding, I knew I was dying. All I could think was - I could not let the English have my body. I could not let the Half-Breed's devour the whole world. So I didn't." It's all very serious, and she tries to lighten it. "Devi - my... second in command. She said it was because I didn't know how to die. That it would be like giving up and I didn't know how to bend. Not that ruling is anything but bending, just... differently."
no subject
He waits until he's finished to ask his only question. "You regret it?"
no subject
She never shares the screams, the pain, the blood. They have enough of that. What do they need an old woman's stories of that? Let them think that the world was better, once.
But here, this, now? Her eyes are down, and it's all she remembers. "I regret... it did not leave me kind." A sigh. "Sir Galahad, Sir Bors, any of them that live this long, it becomes true. Men were not made for this life, but we lived it anyway."
The clothes she still wears. The gold he is guarding close to him. The fact they have lost their life, but she has lost it many times. She was born to a world that no one remembered.
Then she looks at him, then away again. Enough. "But... I would not wish it undone. No, no I would never wish that."
no subject
"Just don't ever give that shit to me," he says, making his revulsion of the idea known for the first time, "and we're square." He's not going to say that he doesn't believe her. Everyone has regrets. Some people are walking monuments to them. Daryl often feels as though, after all the violence and the loss, they are all that exists of him anymore.
no subject
He will be gone, one day. Just like all the others. It didn't matter if it was to a walker, one of the bandits for lack of a better word, roaming around, or in his bed thirty years from now.
She is going to lose him. She needs to adjust to that, now, she needs to not count on him, she needs to distance herself from all of them. He will be gone, she will put him in the earth like all the others before him and keep him locked in tight and away.
She is going to lose him.
"Ready when you are."
Her wet clothes hung over her arm, looking away from him now, begin now and she can get used to him being gone.
After all, she has a counsel to stand on now. She'll have plenty enough to keep her busy so she does not have to think on it. Keep this - whatever this is - as long as she can.