Siege

Vina sits atop the roof, staring at the clouds above that hang ever crushingly low. It's a month in Londinium where rain comes every evening. Not too badly; it's a fine drizzle, nothing that inconveniences anyone rushing home from work, but it stirs the scent of the ground into the air. Rotting wood, the rankling smell of fins, and needless to say, sweat. The Borough of Norbert never smells much like a part of Londinium. All the bigger logistics warehouses have relocated to the north side, and the factories and markets have gone with, leaving behind a plate full of refuse no other borough wants, and the people with nowhere else to go.

A shout comes from the boxing gym downstairs, sounds like Indra's won again. It's a night of celebration for the Glasgow Gang. Vina led the lot charging into the underground casino on Mariner Road this afternoon, and scared the Ronnie brothers right out of Norport wholesale. After that, the buildings surrounding were all Glasgow's. Morgan got all worked up and hefted barrels of booze over, needed to celebrate properly, according to her. Said she got this stuff from that top fancy pub on the corner, paid loads for it. Got Baird worried she'd been taken in. With enough drink down them, the lot all paraded up arm in arm and chanted her name, 'Siege,' so loud the whole street could hear.

How much of a conqueror does subduing a few gangs really make you? When she first got that name, Vina honestly could've laughed or died of embarrassment, maybe both. None of Indra's lot knew her background, and she wasn't even hiding it on purpose, she just never found the right time to share all. Norbert and Auchterigg were like two different countries, no one cared whose parents were who here. The most was the one time, when the police got hold of some Glasgow and brought them into the station. It was routine questioning from the coppers, what race was she? She stared that officer beaming from ear to ear dead in the eye, and on some ridiculous impulse, answered 'Aslan.' That threw him for a loop, and then he had her by the scruff, trying to tug her head into the table. Vina sat calm, didn't bend her neck one bit. Oh, he turned red. His hands shook and shook, as tends to happen on a diet of grease and drink, until he finally turned from trying violence to harsh words instead. Threatened her saying she wouldn't step out of this station for the rest of the month talking daft shit like that, the piddling hoodlum she was. She was out the next day. Morgan and Indra fetched her there, Indra telling her how she sent a Baron's boys running for the hills with a Molotov, Morgan saying she had to mediate like crazy, and it cost a pretty penny. Past the street corner, Vina couldn't help but take a look back. Absolutely nothing there watching her, no people nor giant creatures. That flash of gold must've just been the sun blinding her eyes.

Vina couldn't tell you how long she's gone without seeing Gawain now. Her teacher might well be everywhere at once. At a fried fin stand, mingling in the boxing gym, maybe up in the clouds above. Could be anywhere. The moment that occurs to her, something makes her twitch for no reason at all, and unconsciously, she goes to reach for another bitter lollipop to stick in her mouth. But once she does, she finds the metal box emptied. Completely vacant and light as a feather. Somehow, someway, her heart feels just as airy, like she's losing her balance. She'd better find something heavier to shove in there next time, Vina thinks. Wouldn't go wrong with some rivets from the construction site.

Somewhere behind, Baird calls for her. Shoving her candy box back in her trouser pocket, Vina grins a little and turns around, sauntering back over to the clamor of voices that was, is, and will be Siege's.

Gawain ambles through the city. He's spent so much time in this manner, yet still can't say he's used to seeing what he sees. Londinium's clouds are hanging low as ever, when did that start happening? He strains to recall, but can't come up with a definite answer. As if the last time he looked to the sky, the gloomy haze was never even there.

Alexandrina Vina Victoria lies sleeping on the counter in the pub. Yesterday, she and her companions made an all-too-tough escape from the beat. It strikes Gawain that she especially resembles her grandmother in these moments, or was it her great-grandmother? The one named Mathilda, the girl with a head of gold curls, how exactly was she related to Vina here? Face after face flashes by, going from young to old, ultimately scattering with the sand on the wind. Some of those faces might not even actually exist, being simply products of vaguer parts of the mind. Gawain has to admit, his time spent by this family's side may be longer than he was anticipating at first. Far longer already.

He doesn't make a habit of appearing before people. The interpretations of him as a symbol of power disgust him, and hardly fall in line with his original agreement. Still, their ups and downs have kept Gawain watching with interest all the same. There'll be times he can't help but reflect on history. Moments where shadows of similarity loom over them.

Vina once asked him why her teacher would always be by her side, and at the time his answer was silence. Yes, he learned long ago not to meddle anymore, because farewell would always come eventually. He still dimly remembers how, once, he and Lugalszargus bounded about that battlefield they call the foehn hotlands these days. He carried that mettlesome man atop his back, and with the Nightzmoran Khagan by their side, they charged for the sandstorms of afar. Everyone died there, and that was the news he brought back to Lugalszargus's daughter. He remembers the feeling of his mane wet with tears. Those times proved... to pass in the twinkling of an eye. Humanity is far frailer than a master of the beasts, and the years have taught him that fact again and again.

Some bygones aren't worth dredging up so often, and Gawain only recalls those periods very, very occasionally in his dreams. A meeting so old that history had not yet been written, a reckless boy upon the barrens who never feared him one bit. Their travels together, cheers and tears, song and wine, and then, his age, his death. That was the first time, not as a sovereign, but as a friend, that Gawain witnessed death. Warmth fading from flesh, breath stilling from mouth and nose. Before that, Gawain had never imagined that to witness death would be such torment.

It was then that Gawain promised him, that he would aid his descendants in their continued survival, until they no longer needed him.

The golden creature stops in his step, and narrows his eyes. He, that friend, that boy... what was his name?

Gawain sighs. Fortunately, he still hasn't abandoned his vow.