the dead are gone
Lexa’s grateful when Lagertha doesn’t pry any further. She has no doubt the Khaleesi sees right through her, but she has no desire to share that part of herself with Lagertha unless required to. She doesn’t know the Khaleesi well enough to want to share her grief, not yet anyhow.
“I certainly hope not.” She could have killed someone. Well, she had killed someone after Larken’s ‘death,’ but it had been an idiot Chamber mare who’d decided to attack her. No one could fault her for that one. But she could have killed one of the sisters or even one of their allies. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if that had happened.
Lagertha’s words do comfort her though. Somewhat. It is at least nice to know someone else understands, and doesn’t blame her for what had happened. She blames herself enough anyway.
Lagertha then asks about her ability and Lexa shifts awkwardly. She hasn’t really discussed what she can do in great detail with anyone before, not even Lyris or Larken, though they know more than anyone else. “Well I …” What exactly does she do? It’s so instinctive, and the parts of it that weren’t before have become so through practice. “I pull carbon from the earth and … shape it. To whatever I want - armour or weapon. Or even other things.” She pulls carbon from the ground beneath her and lets it settle over her coat, forming a thin and flexible, but diamond hard armour. It seems so long ago that she’d had to practice at this, but now it’s as easy as breathing. She pushes the carbon back into the earth, then pulls it back up in great black spikes that pierce through the damp Jungle soil. She lets the spikes disintegrate before turning her head to look at Lagertha. “It has its uses.”
and the living are hungry.
lexa.