Two of the same

She ran. Heckles and snarls rippled past her, with eyes blazing gold. Fire crackled from their paws, sunlight danced upon their pelts. Brandished with everything that she was not, holy and strong. Royal and true. Of the purest blood and bravest heart. Not worthy. They hissed through snapping jaws that dripped molten gold. Bastard! With a gasp of air, ocean blue eyes sprung open. Her icy chest heaved for the crisp, autumnal air; leaves danced and blew in from her den as the early morning sun gently faded away parts of the shadows that surrounded her. Heat clung to every muscle as she panted, waken and shaken from what was... a nightmare. A deep sigh drug in from dark nostrils; a weak attempt to soothe the aches of her tight muscles and rapid beating heart. Weary and tired; she looked around the den; Silence. Bar the hustle and bustle of those chosen to take the early morning patrol. It would be a few hours before the commands of the general were barked down and training would begin. Another day would rise. Another attempt to fail. A small grunt left her jaws, rising up onto nimble paws. It took a moment to shake out her fiery pelt, one she saw as a gift. One that for others; spoke of strong blood and pure heritage. Until she was born. Marked by ice. Tainted by foreign blood. A name she could not escape. One that plagued her. Her mind began to reel, anxious thoughts rolled through a body that was tense. And yet her façade did not falter, a perfectly placed percaline mask. One of dignified duty and responsibility. No one knew about the terrors that plagued her at night... no one would know of her weakness. Dark ears flickered as soldiers marched past, hazy from the night before or begruntled for rising so early. And yet she was wide awake. It was not long before she came to the grassy knoll-overlooking the dug out, ancient training pit. The home of her ancestors. The making of her family. “Get it together, Ismailia." Another frustrated sigh as she whispered to her fiery heart, trying to soothe the chaos of flame that flickered in her stomach. “You seemed to replace your brain with your heart ."

PHOTO➤ Dawnthieves MANIP & TABLE ➤TWISTY

@Kvothe

Kvothe stood vigil at the entrance to the barracks, his posture rigid, his features alert. Despite the earliness of the hour, he'd already been out on patrol and completed his warm-up exercises, still too keyed up from his journey from the capital. He was standing at attention, watching idly as the newer recruits filed wearily out of the denhouse, when a sudden blur of white and red flashed across his vision. He paused, tracking the soldier's movements with deep-sea eyes, but it was the whisper of wind she left in her wake that caused his focus to sharpen.

The cold, cruel scent of fear clung to her fur, a perfume that was not so idly dismissed by a pretty turn of phrase or the practiced smile of a courtly mask. It was a scent that scraped along the edges of Kvothe's awareness, setting his senses on edge. Fear was a prey response - fear signaled weakness. Kvothe was not in the habit of taking advantage of such things, but they changed the dynamics of any given encounter. He was a Colonel, and by virtue of his rank, he was trained to stamp out such weak demonstrations before they could infect the rest of the unit. As a military creature, he should show no pity. But as a man....

He turned to follow her, his paws silent on the grassy knoll. When she paused atop the gentle hill, he ascended after her, his bicolored eyes blinking against the morning light.

He knew her, of course. Oh, not personally; his experience with the Tiamat clan was limited largely to Nassar and her children, strictly by association with Kohl. But being that the dragons were a family that cleaved so close to the military, Kvothe would have been remiss to mistake the mark of fire that touched upon the younger woman's cinnamon features. She had the same coloration, the same bearing, the same fiery countenance. More, she had a reputation. A bastard born of any high nobility was cause enough for rumor and speculation, and Kvothe was more sensitive to changes in those familiar waters. He was old enough to remember Khepri - and to have heard the gossip surrounding Ismailia's birth.

He could hazard a guess as to what had chased her out of the barracks. And so when the wind brought a whisper of her voice into his waiting ears, he spoke softly. "Cadet Tiamat," he intoned, ascending to her side, "What ails you this morn?"

She willed ice. Craved its control, the cold air would be her vice; gripping, grounding and restoring. She would breathe deep until her nostrils stung. Only then would the rapid, thunderous beat of her heart slow. Yet, as the cogs of her mind whirred in overdrive, her dark ears twitched at the sound of powerful paws parting grass within their wake.


"Cadet Tiamat," A voice she knew, one that commanded. One that deigned respect. One that was honoured. "Hail, Colonel Immortalis." She would respond the best she could, pushing down the flickering flames that threatened to spoil into a full on frenzy. Her posture straightened, just as she should-reporting to not only her commanding officer, but the entire brigade.

He arrived beside her as graceful as a winged dove, yet still oh so full of pride. Ocean eyes wandered along Kvothe's frame; how clandestine he seemed, even in the quiet moments.

Little was known about the Colonel, truth be told-Ismailia knew very little of those that dwelled within the Army... only those that were bound to her by blood. "What ails you this morn?" Ah. He had sensed her weakness. Perhaps it clung to her like a ragged, wet cloth? Perhaps that perfect porcelain mask showed cracks that were easy to spot? Either way, the words swung into her chest like a chisel to ice, caving in what small, weak defences she had. A small sigh flared from her dark nostrils, akin to a small dragon's last whisper of hot air. Her burned, wishing to set fire-scouring the churned earth that formed into thick mud around the dug out training pit. "Nightmares," Finally managing to admit something, the young Tiamat clenched her jaws, wishing that the ground would just simply swallow her whole. It was a horrible sentence, one that dripped from her jaws like acid. "I...am plagued by them." It felt bitter and horrible upon her tongue. It was enough to churn her stomach as her mind flashed back. Back to the heckles, to the fear. To the vulnerability she felt.

His greeting was returned, a failing flame guttering in the early morning light. The cadet's voice was a courteous prelude to a weary song, the rough rasp of sandpaper over porcelain, and Kvothe's ears twitched forward at their inception. Witchcraft eyes followed the instinctive straightening of the younger woman's spine, the markers of relative rank sitting more comfortably on her shoulders than self-imposed vulnerability. The Tiamat clan was weaned on iron, were swaddled in silks and velvets, and before they learned to run, they were taught to stand at parade rest. Induction to the army proper only served to cement the pillars hammered home in their youthful foundation. His inquiry had been born of sincerity, but Kvothe was familiar enough with the young woman's family that he held onto little hope of truthful elucidation. To pry into the heart of the flame was only asking to get burned.

Still, no soldier should be forced to deal with their demons alone. So often their recruits were tossed together into the barracks, given the bare minimum of instruction, and expected to fend for themselves. The army had no time to indulge weakness, and soldiers who could not keep up were all too easily left behind. Kvothe did not make a practice of criticizing his betters, but he did not approve of such ham-handed methods. There was no delicacy, no subtlety - no sensitivity. Too often their most promising recruits were burned out too early, or else sustained injuries that might have been easily avoided. Argent had been one such example; a promising, decorated soldier, ruined and cast aside. Kvothe would not willingly stand by and allow such a thing to happen to anyone else - but nor could he leverage unwanted change. He could offer aid, but he would not force anything on the unwilling.

Much to his surprise, however, the young Tiamat did not spurn him out of hand. "Nightmares," she admitted. Shame plagued her finely polished features, and her striking blue eyes were downcast. "I...am plagued by them." Kvothe blinked, his labyrinthine mind parsing the information. He had suspected as much when he'd seen her race out from the shadow of the barracks. Granted, his night terrors were likely of a somewhat different nature. He'd lived through the war. He'd stood on the front lines. Death and blood and battle were ingrained in his soul, worn on his bones like a badge of pride. But no matter the subject matter, the idea that such a young girl suffered the same as he..."I have them too," he admitted, breaking the silence. His voice was level, his tone moderate - as if he shared a casual piece of information, and not a personal secret that might very well undermine all of his efforts. It was a hand outstretched in comradery, a gesture of sympathy. We are the same.

His attention flickered to the girl's face, a faint frown marring the male's courtly mask. "There is no shame in it," he affirmed sternly. "Some thoughts require work beyond the waking."

Unlike her kin, Ismailia held back the lashings of fire. Willed calm in every ounce of her life-be it waking or asleep. Poised to perfection, perfectly polished. Never acting out of anger or emotion-at least that... was her goal. To become the perfect Solider, a perfect Tiamat. Rid herself of the title that had been branded upon her since birth.

And yet she could not help but feel this anguish, this revel of shame that sat upon her shoulders like a heavy weight. It was not nice to admit that she had a problem a weakness that could taint her effectiveness as a Soldier, lest it be even more embarrassing to admit it to one of the most high-ranking officers within the Army. At least it was not Nassar. She could imagine the disappointment, the disdain upon her face-perhaps even report her to the Matriarch and be judged accordingly...

"I have them too," The response pulled her from her internal woes, his mystic eyes; so enthralling in different hues took on a softened nature. A look of sympathy, it was as if he extended out a hand to soothe and ail, of reassurance. In that moment, he was not Colonel, but a helpful man. One that shared her pain."Really?" Her voice was quiet, ocean eyes widened as icy brows rose her feigned expression into a look of genuine surprise.

She felt a pull, something different and unknown. A comfort-the words were not spoken, but alas she understood. They shared a common affliction... and yet there was more underneath that, no longer did Ismailia feel ashamed, now she was comforted.

"There is no shame in it," It seemed like the Colonel was trying to reassure the both of them, with words spoken aloud. "Some thoughts require work beyond the waking." A small nod was given, a steady sigh; aimed to soothe rolled from her nostrils. "How... do you control them?" Her eyes searched his expression.

After a moment, she dared the courage to ask, "What plagues you, Colonel?" immediately regretting the decision. "If you don't mind me asking."

Shock suffused the young woman's features, an injection of surprise that combated a plague of self-doubt. 'Really?' she breathed - as if she could not fathom that her ailment was not unique. As if she had never thought that another Soldier could be mortal enough - weak enough - to suffer in the same way that she suffered. A wave of sorrow swamped the Colonel, an ocean of sympathy that weighed upon his shoulders and softened his gaze further. He nodded in confirmation, a sigh falling from his perfect, porcelain lips.

He could imagine the girl's story all too well. A young girl from an esteemed noble family, eager to prove herself better than the blood that beat within her broken heart. Pushed to become perfect, forbidden from failure. Looking at her was like looking into a mirror.'How... do you control them?' the young Tiamat asked, cobalt gaze trailing between Kvothe's tainted gaze. "Weariness of the body will transcend the tricks of the mind," he allowed. "I train. I work. Until the pull of sleep itself grows stronger than the dreams." A pause. "Sometimes I meditate." This last was proffered with a wry smile. It was a highland remedy, after all - more of a scholastic past time than an army recommendation. He shrugged, dark fur rippling over his shoulders. "It helps, but it does not always banish them entirely."

A momentary pause, and then - 'What plagues you, Colonel?' Kvothe's eyes sharpened, his mouth thinned, and the girl rapidly backpedaled, 'If you don't mind me asking.' A moment of frigid ice washed over the Colonel's stern features, a return to the mask that - and then he sighed. Kvothe folded his rear legs beneath him and drew them into his body, curling his tail around his paws. Even sitting, the knoll offered a good view of the surrounding area; he cast his attention elsewhere while he organized his thoughts. "The prospect of failure," he murmured. His voice was low, soft, a half-forgotten thought cast into the biting wind. Truth was his nearest companion, and he offered it to Ismailia.

Growing up, he had been alone. But she didn't need to be.

Another pause, and he glanced back towards the russet-washed female. "I was also in the war. Those memories of blood and battle will never leave me...and nor would I want them to."

Not once had she expected a man of such calibre, grace and standing to share a similar experience. Indeed, the dark, paranoid parts of herself had become so twisted, so loud-in isolating her thoughts; making her feel as if she were the only one to experience such terrors. Such weakness. Yet it felt as if a weight lifted from her shoulders, the moment she learned that Kvothe himself bore a similar issue. Though no words were passed between the two-mystic sought ocean blue eyes and there in lay a true understanding. She felt a moment of... kinship. Of bonding, the first few sparks would perhaps set ablaze; it turned her steeled expression into a softer, kinder smile.

"Weariness of the body will transcend the tricks of the mind," Truth, indeed. She found herself exhausted even after prolonged slumber. Ivory brows furrowed over darkening eyes. "I train. I work. Until the pull of sleep itself grows stronger than the dreams." Indeed, she often found herself pulling through extensive patrols-anything to tire out her wired mind. Sometimes I meditate." This caught her attention; dark ears that had flattened against her fiery crown now perked. Her gaze sought his posture; how relaxed and fluid it had become. "It helps, but it does not always banish them entirely." A small nod; dip of her icy chin married a thoughtful expression. "Meditation..." It was unknown to her culture, or family. Training, discipline, "Is it like honouring the gods?" Some of the Tiamat worshiped, found faith in the literal representation of Bastet... Perhaps that was where they sought solstice.

And yet she saw a familiarity; the wall of ice, a rigidness that set upon his timber-frame; the slight clench of his jaw and frost of his eyes. "The prospect of failure," The murmur caused her gaze to soften. "I understand that, truly I do..." A small sigh flared from her dark nostrils, her gaze wandering back to the training pit. "I am scared that I, too will fail. Fail to... fit in. To be worthy of my name." Oh this burned her chest, admitting such a worry. But Kvothe had shared a token, one rare and vulnerable-she would be foolish not to do the same.

I was also in the war. Those memories of blood and battle will never leave me...and nor would I want them to." She could only imagine the sights, the screams, the bloodied massacres across the lands... though she had been taught of the honour, the valiant and noble sacrifice-she had yet to witness the truth. But war was in her blood. To serve and protect-it was who she was. "It is the burden we bare, to keep the Citizen's and our King... safe." Icy brows furrowed as she met The Colonel's gaze once more, offering a quaint smile.

He offered the girl comfort - or at the very least, understanding. He was not unsympathetic to her struggles, for he could relate to them all too well. They both bore the same stigma in the eyes of their peers, the same stain against their heritage. That they battled the same demons was not so difficult to imagine. So he spoke, offering her what little advice he could, elaborating on the coping techniques he had used throughout the years. She listened with rapt attention, a familiar sort of intensity burning in her vibrant sapphire eyes. Though the coloring was all wrong, she reminded him of Nassar in more ways than one. He was not certain whether she would view the comparison as an insult or a compliment, however; he kept it to himself.

'Meditation...Is it like honouring the gods?' she asked. Kvothe's expression blanked for a moment, the concept of gods all but alien to his experience. But then he was reminded of the preeminent Tiamat faith - their regard for Bastet, a goddess of victory and warfare. He was aware of the vaguest of details, for the house of Immortalis subscribed to no religion but that of king and country. He'd always been wary of such practices, knowing how fervently they were practiced in the Highlands. Anything that brought him too close to his mother's memory had always been a source of contention between him and his father; it was better to avoid the question of faith entirely. But even meditation was not something Orestes ever endorsed, and Kvothe had often been damned regardless of his choice in coping mechanism. So he paused, granting her question the gravitas it deserved. "Somewhat. It is more like...honoring the self."

She pressed him, questioning him on his fears - and despite himself, he answered her. In response, her expression softened, and sympathy lit her azure orbs. "I understand that, truly I do... I am scared that I, too will fail. Fail to... fit in. To be worthy of my name." He nodded, accepting the connection between them, the indelible tie of similarity. But...."Do not be scared. Fear will hold you back; it is your focus, your effort, that will propel you forward. Give the world no reason to doubt your worth, and less of a reason to question your skills. Then, when they spit on the circumstances of your birth, you will know that their concerns are nothing more than petty protests." A pause - and then he huffed, offering the girl a smile. "It is easier said than done, of course. But be careful that you do not do your demons' work for them."

He spoke on his experience in the war, and the subject seemed to sober the younger female. As it should. The newer recruits all spoke of glory and battle, eager to throw themselves on the sword. In this, perhaps, Ismailia was no different. 'It is the burden we bare, to keep the Citizen's and our King... safe,' she offered, granting him a small smile in turn. Kvothe inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Yes," he allowed. A thought struck him, and he eyed the girl speculatively. "Where do you stand in your training?" he asked abruptly. "Have you been assigned to a post as of yet?"

As the time passed, so did the grip of torment upon her. Her muscles felt loosened by the distraction of conversation. The panic that once constricted her chest like a vice faded away. "Somewhat. It is more like...honoring the self." A small flicker of surprise rose her icy brows. Ismailia was much like her firey kin-taking the literal passionate and explosive natures, yet she was not completely naïve, she knew that a Warrior had to look after both body and mind in order to perform perfectly. But that of course, was easier said than done. "I see. Though I must confess, I find it harder to look after myself, than physically train sometimes." Dark ears flickered back to her crimson crown. It was not such a nice thing to admit; that she was bad at something. Of course, she wanted to be perfect-so she could not falter. Not be slandered in the eyes of her kin.

There was a tangible connection between them; one of understanding, knowing of each other's pain. Though technically Ismailia was not a true bastard, Khepri did marry-but Rosalie was not approved. Not in the eyes of the Matriarch. And as she was dumped upon the doorstep, she had always felt out of place. "Do not be scared. Fear will hold you back; it is your focus, your effort, that will propel you forward. Give the world no reason to doubt your worth, and less of a reason to question your skills. Then, when they spit on the circumstances of your birth, you will know that their concerns are nothing more than petty protests." Ismailia looked at Kvothe with sapphire eyes wide, it was inspiring, enough to fade away the tremors that gripped her. Admiration placed upon her smile. Now she saw why he was Colonel. . "It is easier said than done, of course. But be careful that you do not do your demons' work for them." She was rather star-struck at this point; trying to fathom a response. He had sparked her heart with newfound ambition, perhaps bravery. But more importantly, he had opened her eyes. Even if it were simple words; it was enough. Yet she could not place words upon her tongue. Not ones that would match his own... so she simply nodded. Though perhaps her expression said it all for her.


"Yes," In regards to their duty. Where some would have taken the oath lightly, focusing more on the glory and guts of warfare, Ismailia took it literally-she would happily lie down her life in honour of the King's Justice. It was their way. And what she hoped the Tiamat way would be. "Where do you stand in your training?" His abrupt question sparked the Soldier within her, her spine automatically straightened and that proud, perfectly practised sit returned."I have recently been promoted to Lieutenant."She began, meeting his gaze with due diligence-reporting to her Superior. "Have you been assigned to a post as of yet?" A small skip dared thunder in her heart. "I have not."