Her pride chafes at her, pity and shame and all such things. At not realizing sooner why Maolin was fighting so hard, at failing Reverence, at
losing. It doesn't feel like a victory. She should be content, but what can she say - she was always a perfectionist. She swallows hard and can't suppress a glare as Lionheart seems unimpressed by their findings.
Oh, shove it. She almost says. He's less than satisfied with a scrape or two after nearly getting so many dragons - including her! - killed with this reckless, ridiculous race he was too cheap to provide provisions for. He accepted a child onto his hike, for goddess' sake.
She only really holds herself back because the label of "loser" will be a true failure to Reverence, though neither he nor her would be satisfied with the title of
second place winner. She should be proud, she should be glad to be alive and out of that deathtrap mountain mostly intact, but...
... there's no sense of victory she feels. She's horribly jealous of Maolin in that moment, and it's an ugly, scraping thing that makes a home in her chest. The Tundra was past the point of even caring about the competition, really; and Carmeline feels even
more horrible for thinking that even after she saw the photographer strapped to Maolin's back.
It's an ugly feeling, and she knows that, so she will not voice it. She'll need another way to make the failure up to her new, tenuous friend.
She makes herself useful by joining anyone still standing in answering the distress beacons, digging her way through the snow. It's grueling work, even as she summons bits of flame around her claws to melt any particularly stubborn ice. Miraculously, everyone is alive, though not entirely unscathed. A blessing of the Icewarden as they creep towards his season, perhaps. The god was never known for his mercy, but then again - this trip has been full of things she did not expect.
She gathers a group of eliminated contestants that were neither too badly injured, too cold, or too unwilling, and leads them to where she last remembers seeing the Imperial. It's a pitiful sight. He would hate her thinking that, so she tries not to linger on it, really, she does, but if he doesn't tear himself away from the task soon, frostbite will set in.
They find the crown eventually, and Carmeline makes sure to thank them profusely. She takes the precious object in her claws, and she takes flight, and she soars gently back down to the mostly-rebuilt base camp. Upon nudging her way to Reverence's tent, she places down the crown slowly, without fanfare.
"I'm sorry I couldn't win." She swallows hard, and she finds that she means it. A tent for an imperial must be suitably massive, and Carmeline feels utterly dwarfed. Small, and insignificant, and out of place, and not good enough, and
guilty. She's not good enough, she knows. Deep down she's still that foolish child, shaving off shards of her soul to feed an uncaring void. She has done something terrible, and that will stalk her until it dies or she does.
There's nothing else to really say, is there? She offers a wry smile as she turns to leave. "Thanks for traveling with me. And for the boost, and saving my life a few times. Seems like I owe you a debt. I'll see if repaid if you'd have me."
If you'd have, says the words beneath the words,
a cultist, monster, failure, cruel, one who you rested dashed hopes on. I did my best. It wasn't good enough. But it never is. She knew that already.
The sun has set. The race is over, and the magic seems to have faded with it.
But it was... nice, at times, the journey. When a massive shoulder lifted her out from the snow like a soldier from a battlefield, when they shared far flung tales of monsters and kings, the quiet air of solidarity as she found him where he was digging. The way the world slowed down, the joyous atmosphere at the peak, tinted rose and gold with the sheer wonder of being
alive. The flower is beautiful, yes, but nothing compared to the view.
There is a photo still in her travel bag - a bit crumpled from the chaos, but cherished nevertheless - of herself, her breath glazing over the snow, cradling something gentle in her claws like she wouldn't break it.
(And in the end, she didn't, somehow.)
Perhaps the magic is not entirely gone yet. Tinted, faded to sepia, but not quite gone. She'll be able to hold onto it for a while longer.
That feeling that she might just be okay. It's... not quite gone, not yet.
"Have a good life." She says it casually, but she means it. She leaves, never expecting to see the Imperial again.
But Carmeline is often wrong, isn't she? She's been many things - explorer, cataloger, cultist and monster hunter. The one thing she has never been was capable of knowing what twists and turns the world might carry her way.
Normally, that frightens her. It still does.
But if only for today, there's a strange beauty in it, too.
I hope you can forgive the ending from Carm - she's quite broody in her own right, the dramatic nerd. I wanted to play on the themes of healing that the story took place, and she's not quite ready to move on and forgive herself for her own issues just yet, but I went for a bittersweet note. Maybe she won't always be alright - but she is for now, and I like to think she will be someday.
Thank you for writing this very special story, I enjoyed it a lot, and I've loved all the extra writing too! I had a lot of fun. I hope you guys did too, it was a wonderful time. c:
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