be near me when i fade away;

[cailisairgid]

Who: Nuala and Anna
What: A binding.
Where: Hellsing Guild Hall
When: Backdated to shortly after this post.
Warnings: Possible creepiness.

Upon Anna's arrival, she's escorted directly to Princess Nuala's office by one of her department aids; perhaps that Nuala sees fit to conduct this in that office is an indication of her confidence.

The room is dimmed and a little over-warm, though the fire isn't burning now and the embers are hidden behind a steel fireplace guard. The scent of the candles that were lit earlier lingers, soothing and not immediately identifiable; Nuala herself sits in her usual armchair, an embroidery hoop in her lap that she has yet to begin stitching into, the silver thread waiting, glinting in the low light.

"Come," she says, extending a hand to invite Anna into the seat opposite. "Sit."

Comments

[indiscreet]

As she enters, Anna's eyes flick briefly to the hoop -- and the gleaming thread -- in Nuala's lap, but she does not remark upon it. In her experience, the Fae (or, more specifically, Fae with Titles) frequently have a sort of defining token; this, she concludes, must be Nuala's. Though that alone is enough to make her treat the sewing with deference, she also assumes, with the easy confidence of youth, that she has fully (and correctly) identified the reason for the embroidery's presence.

She had been nervous -- terrified, even -- as she was guided through Hellsing's hallways, arms folded across her chest, hands clutching at her skin.

Still, when she arrives at the room and, as commanded, takes her seat opposite Nuala, she tries her best to appear calm, or at least resigned. Anna does not trust easily; it has taken at least two different kinds of need to push her here.

[cailisairgid]

Once Anna is sat, Nuala begins to thread the needle. Her voice is pitched low and soft, deliberately, soothing, and the scent of fae magic stirs in the room as she prepares. "A long time ago," she says, lifting the needle and thread to sight through the needle's eye in the light, "I found I had need of control."

It hadn't been quite the same situation, but similar enough that it's where she starts, now, sweet and steady.

"Over myself. Over my impulses. To find within myself solid ground on which to stand and make better judgements." She meets Anna's eyes, then, and she is almost smiling, affectionate. "I'd like so much to help you to do that as well, Anna. I need you to watch my hands as I stitch. Do you understand?"

[indiscreet]

It is a lot to ask, this rescinding of control. After all, power is the only thing worth having. Power, and victory after the chase. And, in the end, those are the same thing. This would be easier if she didn't come so close to believing that half of her thoughts. Weakness is a threat she can agree on.

Nevertheless, Anna is relieved to find that she agrees with Nuala, too. Control is vital. It is true of her Beast and it is true of...herself. She takes a deep breath, lets the air sit dryly in her lungs for a moment before releasing it in a quiet sigh.

She returns Nuala's gaze with a silent nod of assent. Then she watches.

[cailisairgid]

The moment narrows to the point of her needle, pulling thread in and out of the soft, pale fabric under her hands. "We bend," she says, her gaze on her work, "so that we do not break." The heat in the room carries Nuala's own presence; it is a gentler, subtler method, letting her power rise slowly in it and envelop Anna, hold her within. "We must learn to choose our moments wisely."

A pattern begins to take shape.

[indiscreet]

She has not watched a flame for years now, but Anna remembers what it had felt like -- she is young enough, still, to avoid forgetting. That is what this is like: the pull of the warmth, the strange blurring of the line between fear and longing.

There is, as well, the urge to look away, but It is beautiful.
The stitches have a rhythm to them, like meditation.

[cailisairgid]

Each stitch is careful, precise, a smoothly placed part of the whole that slowly forms under Anna's gaze - getting smoother, as each part begins to blend into that whole, a mercurial illusion to the eyes.

"To choose wisely," she continues, the cadence of her voice lulling, unhurried but not hesitant, as steady as her hands, "we must have clarity. To have clarity, we must have peace within ourselves; we must be in harmony."

The symbols follow a line, down through the middle of the fabric.

[indiscreet]

Silver is a beautiful color. The light shines off the embroidery like threaded moonlight: she likes that. She remembers the way the moon looked over Chicago on that night, when she once grasped the lead in the Contest -- the sparkle of it. This reminds her of that moon -- flatters her pride -- so she watches, forgets to resent the press of another's magic on her mind (feather-light, so golden subtle, but it presses), because it pleases her so to do the watching.

(For all the Huntress's power, it is her nature to be young, overconfident.)

Nuala's symbols sit in her mind like mist.

[cailisairgid]

The slow solidifying binding is like a visual lullaby, the way Nuala's power surrounds and enfolds and coaxes; watch, participate, be now the key that turns in the lock. The path she creates inside Anna's mind winds down into a dreamstate and frames her intrusion almost as a hand held out, a gift given and taken willingly. It is so beautiful, so intimate, and how could she not want?

The silver seems to pour into itself under Nuala's nimble fingers.

[indiscreet]

The mist is thicker now. It feels so right around her; wasn't she watching something? She was, and she wants to watch, though she can't quite remember why.

(Anna's half-lidded eyes droop, and she digs her fingers into the arms of her chair in an effort to keep herself conscious. And, true enough, the sleep-heavy part of her brain seems more distant from moment to moment.)

Someone wants to give her something. She doesn't trust gifts, as a rule, but she is Anna, too, and so she trusts the gift-giver. And besides, everything about this offering says it is precious, says it was made for her. She is meant to have it. Isn't that wonderful?

When she takes the gift, she feels it settle through her, all silver and gold, threads weaving into her mist.

[cailisairgid]

There is an odd ritualized formality about the smooth motions as Nuala draws the last stitch taut, knots it and bites the thread free; the Huntress will sleep and dream, and Anna will have her peace a while, to better decide how to achieve it through other means.

The spell draws taut as the thread, and she unscrews the hoop to discard it, taking a neat pair of gold sewing scissors to cut the symbol from the pale fabric. She selects a ribbon, quiet and patient as she waits for Anna to stir herself into this new equilibrium, to see what's needed now.

[indiscreet]

The hush settles, solidifies around her, and she feels herself disappear with a last sigh of storm clouds.

Anna is awake; she is gone. The panic hits, then, like an epiphany. She doesn't say anything, but it's apparent on her face, in the widening of her eyes and sharp intake of breath through her teeth. Already her fingernails are digging into the palms of her hands.

"I am...alone." It's not quite true; she is subtly aware of of the Huntress within her, a kind of pressure against her bones, threading through her muscles and hovering at the back of her mind (and strange, too, to give that presence a name, instead of its just being as much a part of her as her Beast, or as whatever she had that passed for a soul) -- but she also hadn't realized how much she had come to depend on the Huntress's cruel sort of wisdom to lend eloquence to her words.

[cailisairgid]

"A part of you sleeps," Nuala corrects her, gently, stitching the fabric to the ribbon neatly, smoothing seams together with equal parts craft and enchantment. There is an odd, answering ache that underlies her own words in response (she is alone, but she is not; he is there, he is only out of reach), but she smiles, very slightly, as she finishes her work. "And will sleep for perhaps a week. You will take this with you when you go, and keep it by you."

(I have been wanting to -- no pun intended -- tie this thread up, since it is lovely)

[indiscreet]

The shock of it all (as gentle a shock as it could be, but still so different a feeling from what she had, without realizing, become accustomed to) is numbing; Anna holds her out her hand to receive this gift a second time.

Just the feeling of the embroidery as she traces it with her thumb is reassuring, somehow. She never thought she would believe in magic. In God, yes, and His rightful damnation, but magic had been pagan foolishness. How is it that she had forgotten to consider all these questions for so long?

"...Thank you, Your Highness." The gratitude in her voice is genuine, and it gives her pause before asking her next question. "And...when the week is up?"