Avdotya's glacial chuckle and stony black eyes sends an icy trickle down his spine and the blood pulsing in his veins turns to ice. Before she even speaks, he knows it is over. He knows it in the way she looks at him as if she has never seen him before, as if he is a stranger she’s never met. She’s pushing him away--nay, throwing him away--like he is nothing. Am I really nothing to you, after all these years? She confirms what he already knows and cuts him down with her words relentlessly. She knows it will hurt and it does. He has not mastered a mask of cruel indifference like Avodtya; he winces, as if her words are venom that have infiltrated his bloodstream.
“That’s not true,” he says roughly, stepping towards her. “You know it’s not.” I’ll always be there for you. What is he without his kahn? Avdotya and the Davke are his entire life. “Don’t do this.” His voice is soft. Without you I am nothing. But it’s as if he can already feel the earth splitting beneath his cloven hooves. The delicate fissure that has always ran so precariously between them moans and shudders until it tears apart, leaving a gaping chasm of hurt between them. He knows he can’t slap a bandaid on it this time, not like last time.
And then her spear is at his throat, tracing the contours of his skin with a touch as soft as a woman’s tender caress and just as promising. He has seen Avdotya’s spear impaled in hundreds of enemies but never in a million years could he have imagined that he would be on the receiving end of it this day. And she does make a promise--Avdotya promises death, she promises blood. If he has learned anything about her in all these years, it is that she always makes good on her promises. So this is it, then.
He remains motionless, his gaze holding hers unflinchingly. He beholds the vastness of a great black, fathomless abyss in Avdotya’s eyes and sees something close to infinity. Jahin isn’t afraid of death. What Davke is? Honestly, he’s surprised to have survived this long. He’d always figured he’d live a short, passionate life at best; fucking and fighting his way through life as most Davke braves do until they simply end up with their heads on a spike in some posh lord's garden as exotic decor.
But he isn’t young anymore; he doesn’t thirst for blood and pleasure in the same way he did in the wild, passionate days of his youth. He no longer lives one day to the next--marveling that he’s made it another hour, day, week, month, year--only to do the same killing, fucking, and raiding all over again like it's his last day. He thinks of the future and realizes how truly little he’s accomplished in life--how hardly any of it matters if she wholeheartedly believes he’s a traitor. She hisses at him like a viper, her words slicing to the bone.
“I’ve done my best. I’m sorry it’s not enough for you. It never has been.” When he speaks the spear dips tenderly into his skin like a quill in ink, drawing forth a tiny pearl of blood. He swallows. He does not doubt her intentions; he does not look death in the eyes and say something stupid or foolish like “do it” because she either will or she won’t. He awaits her judgement silently. As khan, she is completely within her right to forfeit his life as she sees fit. He’s lived his last day for almost eight years, what’s one more?
“That’s not true,” he says roughly, stepping towards her. “You know it’s not.” I’ll always be there for you. What is he without his kahn? Avdotya and the Davke are his entire life. “Don’t do this.” His voice is soft. Without you I am nothing. But it’s as if he can already feel the earth splitting beneath his cloven hooves. The delicate fissure that has always ran so precariously between them moans and shudders until it tears apart, leaving a gaping chasm of hurt between them. He knows he can’t slap a bandaid on it this time, not like last time.
And then her spear is at his throat, tracing the contours of his skin with a touch as soft as a woman’s tender caress and just as promising. He has seen Avdotya’s spear impaled in hundreds of enemies but never in a million years could he have imagined that he would be on the receiving end of it this day. And she does make a promise--Avdotya promises death, she promises blood. If he has learned anything about her in all these years, it is that she always makes good on her promises. So this is it, then.
He remains motionless, his gaze holding hers unflinchingly. He beholds the vastness of a great black, fathomless abyss in Avdotya’s eyes and sees something close to infinity. Jahin isn’t afraid of death. What Davke is? Honestly, he’s surprised to have survived this long. He’d always figured he’d live a short, passionate life at best; fucking and fighting his way through life as most Davke braves do until they simply end up with their heads on a spike in some posh lord's garden as exotic decor.
But he isn’t young anymore; he doesn’t thirst for blood and pleasure in the same way he did in the wild, passionate days of his youth. He no longer lives one day to the next--marveling that he’s made it another hour, day, week, month, year--only to do the same killing, fucking, and raiding all over again like it's his last day. He thinks of the future and realizes how truly little he’s accomplished in life--how hardly any of it matters if she wholeheartedly believes he’s a traitor. She hisses at him like a viper, her words slicing to the bone.
“I’ve done my best. I’m sorry it’s not enough for you. It never has been.” When he speaks the spear dips tenderly into his skin like a quill in ink, drawing forth a tiny pearl of blood. He swallows. He does not doubt her intentions; he does not look death in the eyes and say something stupid or foolish like “do it” because she either will or she won’t. He awaits her judgement silently. As khan, she is completely within her right to forfeit his life as she sees fit. He’s lived his last day for almost eight years, what’s one more?
@Avdotya ;_;
