[ you are roughly eight years old, and you're standing in the middle of a military camp. there's snow on the ground, frosty cold, and a wind dances through the encampment, occasionally lifting your long hair. you stand perfectly still, your tiny little hands clenched into tiny little fists, your lower lip trembling, your eyes wet with unshed tears, chin jerked into the air.
a soldier in black iron armor walks past you - he looks down at you, and chuckles.
"Angered the Marquis again, huh?" and another soldier walks with him, laughing too.
"He angers the Marquis every day! What a rambunctious monkey. Still so proud, though, just like his father."
"Makes me glad I don't have one yet."
"Ha! With that face, you never will!"
their chatter fades as they walk past. you were punished for causing mischief, but even for that, you refuse to let anyone see you upset, even if you're freezing cold, even if your stomach gurgles. you would rather die than let anyone see you cry, rather die than let anyone know that you, wild, rambunctious, barely the height of a table gu shiliu was affected by getting in trouble.
as you're considering how you're going to exact your vengeance (maybe you'll sneak into your father's bed and prevent him from getting anywhere near your mother, he always gets crazy over that) there's a sudden thud - at your side, a guard wearing a giant suit of Heavy Armor (eight feet tall, heavy silver iron, a thing you've known your whole life) falls to the ground as if he's been felled, right at your feet. you jump, startled.
and then the noise happens again. thud.
thud. thud. thud.
all around you, the patrolling guards of the black iron camp begin to hit the ground, and before you have even a moment to figure out what's going on -- cacophony breaks out, as a hundred men dressed in the sleek silver of Light Armors come charging over the border of the camp - and the black crows of the black iron camp are already felled, frozen on the ground.
for a moment, you're confused. the black crows of the black iron camp wear black armor, and then you realize.
those soldiers aren't allies.
they're enemies.
you jolt and look at the face of the man in the heavy armor who fell at your feet-- you know him. he's one of your father's soldiers, and here, he's wide eyed, stunned, his mouth opening and closing, but he can't move. he won't move, as if he's been poisoned. as if --
there's a noise like a howl. arrows fly through the air - one hits the man in the heavy armor through the throat, sailing past your face. you gasp - blood spurts across your vision, and you stagger backwards, stunned. terror grips your heart, so fierce that you feel the immediate urge to try and grab a weapon to defend yourself, and you stumble backwards, reaching over past the corpse of the man with the heavy armor, and grabbing for the sword --
another body falls, another, another. these men who you have walked among since you could even walk, your fathers soldiers - they're frozen to the spot, on the ground, and the men in light armor come with gleeful shouts and weapons blazing - blowing a man to smithereens with ziliujin - bashing another's head in with a sword handle.
you feel those tears, now and you grab the man with the heavy armor's sword and pull, pull, pull but you're too weak, too small, you can't rip it away, you're going to die here, scrabbling with your feet in the snow and trying not to sob as you try and get the blade free. you can't, you can't, where's your father, where's your mother -
the man who was chuckling and teasing you just a moment before the chaos forces himself up from where he's fallen, only a few feet away. he's bleeding, dragging himself forward like a dying bird - he forces himself forward, drags himself across the snow, and drapes over you.
the weight of his body and the armor forces you to your knees; he manages to get his arm lifted and wraps one around your shoulder, as the invaders shriek and yell their way gleefully through the black iron camp. the guard takes his last shuddering breath as he holds onto you, his grip going slack as the life leaves his body, and you watch trembling over his shoulder, as one by one, the great black crows of the iron camp are slaughtered in front of your wide eyes. the barbarians kick the corpses, howl like wolves as they win their victory, and then -
-there's a sharp burst of pain radiating out of your back.
it's an arrow. you're eight years old but you know what that is. it strikes you, and you have just enough time to gasp, your heart clenching in your chest - and then it seeps in.
it feels like your limbs are disappearing. like there's something leaking through your body, something that's not supposed to be there. you lose sensation in your fingertips, your hands, your legs, your back
and then the sounds in the world go mute, and your sight -- of that man who died protecting your body, fades.
but you're not unconscious. eight years old, and your consciousness swirls and lurches, but you are stubborn, and in a moment of clarifying horror, you realize. i can't see.
i can't see--
and in the last moments of your consciousness, you hear something clearly, over the sound of the din of the battle. a voice, female. it's your mother. relief, faint, far away, confused, grabs you and you choke out a sob -
and then the cacophony of the world turns into an explosion as one, two, three, ten, twenty, thirty light armors held by thirty suicide barbarian soldiers explode, and turn the camp into ashes, and take your consciousness along with it.
--
when you wake up, a week later, you're alive. the armor and the body of the man who protected you kept you from being blown to pieces. your mother took shelter in a similar way, protected, and the marquis was in another part of camp when the attack happened.
but it doesn't matter.
because a week later, you're alive, but your entire world - sight and sound - is pitch black.
the last moment of memory is a taste - it's a bitter, medicinal one, bright and cold, burning fresh on your tongue - and the world starting to come back to you. the marquis stands over you, his face hardened, angry, furious, but visible. temporary, you hear. what do you mean it's temporary?
molly's been around gu yun enough to notice, the taste of that bitter medicine that lingers long after the memory vanishes is the same as the smell that seems to cling to gu yun's body; that smell that seems especially strong, today. ]
[There's a lot to process here - emotions and pain and--
darkness.
molly reaches over quickly, to try and take his hands - squeezing tightly. At least with the memory he'd (had?) seen, it hadn't felt like an invasion. A violation. this one, gu yun's, is. it's his alone.]
Do . . . you want me not to have seen that? I don't have to have seen it.
[ he can take his hands if he'd like, but gu yun is unbelievably tense - he barely moves, his gaze unfocused, drifting in the old memory for a second longer. he hasn't thought about it in decades (no time, no time), and now, it all came back in bright clarity, like something projected on one of those screens.
finally -- it's molly's voice that drags him out of it. he shakes his head, sudden, coming back to the moment, and looks up, disoriented, and even then it still takes a moment for his brows to furrow and the normal, composed expression to return to his face, every line of tension in his body tight as he does. ]
It was a long time ago. [ he says, eventually, reaching for an excuse, but it's the last part that sticks around in his head. temporary, what do you mean it's temporary. knowing about his experience that day is one thing.
but knowing about his secret is another. that has to be protected. it has to be covered, kept safe - it's a weakness, especially here, when the stakes are so, so high. gu yun takes a deep breath through his nose. ] Nothing to be done about the past, is there?
He tries to keep his voice steady, to shake off the last of the memory (emotions that aren't his to feel, things that aren't his to remember, fear, fear and desperation,) - leaning in a little closer.]
Doesn't matter. Just your past. That-- that doesn't matter, you're here now. Come on, tell me that you're here right now.
he is, isn't he? despite everything otherwise. despite an accident (that he doesn't know - that wasn't an accident) that destroyed his life. he survived what he wasn't supposed to. gu yun always survives what he's not supposed to. cockroach, shen yi calls him, somewhere between affectionate and insulting.
his gaze shifts, finding molly's, pulling him back from the memory itself, finally, and the flint of determination in his eyes is unmistakable. steel and iron, always makes up the marshal gu. indestructible - but fragile, underneath that shell, too. ] I'm here.
[ and he is, isn't he? that mark under his eye is bright red. gu yun knows the direness of the situation. without miss chen's medicine, he has two weeks of sight and hearing, left. it explains things - the liuli glass making its appearance last week, the occasional slow response - but it doesn't, either. gu yun has gotten so good at lying and covering it over the years, that you have to be watching closely to notice him ever slip up.
...trust is hard. the idea that molly knows, now, isn't - it's not great, but, if anyone had to find out. if anyone in this place had to know what was wrong with him, if it was molly...
another quiet breath, in and out. ] Sorry you had to see it. It was a messy affair.
[Running his thumb over the back of gu yun's hand. if his vision and hearing at weak, he can feel well enough. he'll relax a bit (he'd been holding his breath too, now he realizes, a shock of terror down his spine).
He's reminded of other moments. Of a woman, hair dark, fading to white at the ends, shoulders heaving. leaning in to kiss him on the forehead - brief. something he does for his friends. come now. you're alright. you're here right now. are you here, right now?
But, quickly:]
Don't apologize.
[And then, rushing in that way where you know you've snapped in a way that could be misconstrued.]
You don't have to apologize to me of all people. I'm sorry. I won't-- you're more competent than me in every way, I believe, but if you need anything. I mean it. I don't offer bullshit platitudes. We'll work on it together.
[ for a moment, gu yun remembers that eye again. ]
...we will. [ we'll work on it together. he's brushing off the problem on his own end, really - there's nothing to work on, not in his opinion, nothing he can't and hasn't been handling for the past decade. it's a memory that's long buried, a memory he doesn't care to acknowledge. accidents happen, this was his lot in life, and gu yun has done the most he can with it. we'll work on it; he'll figure out what the hell was up with molly's memory, too.
eventually, he huffs, at the soft gesture from his thumb, once that moment passes. ] I can see, you know. [ ...but, doesn't push it away, either. ] Let's get out of the hall.
Room. Something private. [ the answer comes quickly. it's followed with a more familiar, dry, sarcastic - ] Imagine I make too much eye contact with Vlad or something.
[ he's joking, at least, grabbing that normalcy and digging his claws into it, letting molly lead the way. ]
I thought I'd be glad to have my skills returned to me.
[ sigh. ] ... Most of the things in my life, I don't care about talking about. In fact, I'll tell you stories all day long. There are few exceptions. [ and the exceptions are big!!! like that one.
but, he seems to be a little cheered by molly's sense of humor, easily going along with him and letting the conversation flow back into something more natural. he was blind until like (looks at watch) a few hours ago so it's not like he cares all that much about a mess!! he does, however, customarily nudge out of his boots at the door once they're inside, while he's aggressively boxing up the mortifying ordeal of being known. ]
I-- Look, I've never cared about the past. I've never cared about mine, and you could tell me stories all day long whether they were true or not. As long as you're here, right now, trying to do some good - or the best good you can - that's really all that counts, yeah?
[ He's idly kicking his boots off as well, matching the habit now, just sitting at one of the chairs when, something shifts and
the memory is clear and bright, in the way that most terrifying experiences are, when you think them over.
You’ve just descended the stairs to the speakeasy of this Gentleman you’ve heard so much about, when a tabaxi turns to your group. She starts:
“Halt friends, I do not r— Lucien?” Her eyes widen in shock, but you still don’t know who she is, you’re racking your memory, but the name
The name makes you feel ill, all of a sudden, an itch at the back of your skull. There’s no time to consider it.
“It has been too long, two ye–”
“Far too long!”
“Two years!” She laughs, bright, hands still gripping your shoulders on either side, tightly, like an old, old friend. “Look at you! You grew out your hair! And you are covered in tattoos!”
There’s something in her expression that seems confused about this, as her eyes flit to your hands, your neck.
“We’ll catch up, we need a table, we need drinks for me and my compatriots.”
“Of course, you– these are your friends now?” She looks over your group, appraising, but then goes to do as you’ve asked. Drinks and a table.
You now get a better look up at the top, some skulking individuals with long dark cloaks and dark armor, carrying what looks almost like a heavy crossbow, but it’s a long, metal rod. You’ve only seen them in use here and there. A recently emerging technology that has been largely guarded within use of the empire itself.
The second she turns, you give Fjord - a green, half-orcish man, a little pat on the back and hiss a whisper at him. 
“I’m sorry, this is my nightmare, please just go with it? It’s Lucien.”
He simply looks a bit baffled in return. The tabaxi returns to the table, reaching her hands out for yours.
“Oh, too long.” She starts quickly, sitting up straighter, then her face suddenly turns apologetic. You see all the faces of your friends, twisted in confusion. They aren’t even trying to hide it.
“Luci— Nonagon. I apologize for using your old name. Nonagon, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Who can keep track these days? Again, a long story.” You manage to croak out. She doesn’t seem to notice. She just looks concerned.
“Nonagon, what happened? We watched you die.”
She looks expectant. As do the rest of them at the table. Jester, Fjord, Nott, Caleb, Beau. All of their eyes are trained on you. They all await your answer.
“I’m sorry, it— I think it all went a bit fuzzy at the end there. Won’t you remind me?”
The tabaxi looks almost stricken, but she recovers. Casting a glance at the others at the table, and then,
“I don’t trust these people, Nonagon, but—
If you trust them, then I trust you. You gave us a speech. We had a fine meal. We all got ready there in the forest. . . She said it would be hard for us to tell whether or not it worked at first, but we went and checked, and you were not breathing. For a good hour, you were not breathing and you had gone cold. We knew then that-- that we had lost you. We checked, and I'm very attuned to vitals, as you know. There was no heartbeat. So we waited longer. The sun rose, and nothing. So, as you told us, if anything were to go wrong, we had to get rid of any sign, any trace. So not far from the Tomb Taker hideout, we buried you and we went our separate ways. She took the tome, the mage woman, it was part of the arrangement you had with her. Her contract said she was in the right and that we knew better than to go toe to toe with her and her ilk.”
They all turn to watch your reaction. Eyes on eyes on eyes on eyes.
Mn. [ the response, easy and casual, brings a twitch of a smile to his face.
...it doesn't last for long, though.
this one was more grounding, because there's no mistaking it. it's a memory. he saw the world through mollymauk - lucien - nonagon's eyes? he saw beau, a familiar face, several unfamiliar (most beyond his usual realm of existence and comprehension), and...
when the memory fades out, gu yun's less disoriented, but no less concerned. he's stopped where he was standing, midway to molly and towards the chairs, and it takes him a slow moment to look up, and over (another pair of eyes, it seems). thinking. my third grave, he'd said.
it's a restart, in the way that he pulls himself back together and covers the last few steps across the front hall of the little studio, coming over, pulling out the other chair, and coming to sit down right next to him without any announcement or fanfare.
for the hundredth time, it feels like, he doesn't know the right thing to say. but mollymauk gave it to him, barely minutes ago, and gu yun goes with his gut and finds molly's hand, grabs it before it can move in both of his. his fingers are jarringly cold as ever. ]
Tell me you're here. [ he says. the same exact phrasing, carrying an immediacy of quiet urgency. he doesn't know who 'lucien' is, he doesn't know a thousand things in that memory, but -- molly, is here, in this body he made all his own, the body he intends to keep that way.
[He doesn't pull his hands back, though he is a little . . . far away for a moment. And then he snaps back to reality, just looking at their hands - and nodding quickly.]
I'm-- I'm here. I'm alright. Not the first time I've seen it today.
[He isn't quite sure where to go from here, though. That maybe a few things-- well. Stories can unravel so quickly when you pull the right thread. He just knits his brow for a moment, and then:]
. . . Stupid name, isn't it? Nonagon. I keep thinking about that every time I see this one.
[ gu yun replies, some of the ease slipping into his voice, but it's more a cover than anything. he looks away from molly's face for a moment, back at that hand still held between his. ]
[It flexes a bit, in that way that happens when you're coursing with anxiety. fingers tightening and untightening. the eye on the back, red and bright.]
Depends who you're asking. Time's a bit of a funny thing -- since you're asking me, then a few weeks before all this? So maybe a month ago now.
[ nine sided... he likes mollymauk better, even if that's also a weird name, but that's fine. he can't judge.
there's a beat of silence; his other hand shifts over the back of molly's, and he covers the red eye with his calloused palm. ]
...Was that your first?
[ death. lucien, then.
you'll send me to my third grave, molly had said.
unfamiliar or not, it's easy to pick up the thread - and gu yun's watching, too, another pair of eyes watching for reaction, carefully observant, though neutral. maybe leaning towards concern, though, with the way his mouth pulls as he connects the dots. ]
[That's fine. There's another on the palm on the same hand. Hard to cover them all, isn't it?
mollymauk (mollymauk?) just studies gu yun's face for a moment, but he isn't really trying to hide what's obvious in the expression: he is weighing the calculus of whether or not to lie.
then he seems to come to a decision.]
My first what? Awkward introduction to someone? Far from it.
[ gu yun is clever. he's always been clever. and gu yun, who just had his past dug into and dumped onto the carpet in front of them, is more than capable of picking up on a lie. he's nearly a professional at them himself, at this point.
mollymauk is a bastion of mystery, still, and likely always will be - there are a thousand things he'd like to ask (he keeps thinking about that eye, even with the one he's covering, nine sided, nine eyes), but he is capable of reading a room, too.
to find out so quickly almost feels like cheating. like ripping open your red envelope hours before you're supposed to, just to see the amount of money inside - a brief moment of thrill that ends the build up to a surprise. similarly, gu yun doesn't try to hide his expression - the way his eyes search his face, briefly, dark and clever, brows a little furrowed.
but then, it eases out into something more easygoing. ] A charmer like you? I can't believe it.
[ there's much more to that then just sly talk. there's an allowance to it; of recognizing what's happening, and allowing it to happen, anyway. molly didn't ask about his vision, his hearing, didn't pry into something gu yun would rather die than spend a moment explaining to anyone, or admitting that it's real. he can afford molly the same.
(friendship--without rank, just friendship-- is such an interesting thing.) ]
I'm not-- I'm not Lucien. I'm not Nonagon or whatever he cares to call himself. I'm Molly. [he squeezes the hand on his, almost to the point of pain. insistent.] And I've only died the once.
[There's a frantic immediacy to that-- a little bit of guilt when you know you've taken someone's offered hand of kindness, and feel a bit dirty and wrong for it. others here have seen the truth, the whole of it. gu yun likely deserves that much too, but,]
Look-- I'll explain whatever you'd like to know in a bit. [ . . . ] I've just never been afforded the chance to explain this on my own. They [the nein, the ones sitting at the table and watching] put a truth spell on me right after that and I had to split my own gut open in front of them too early as well.
And the same thing is happening here. Can't say-- can't say there aren't others walking around just knowing all my little fucking truths now. But I just want one chance to say it on my own.
the tight, tight squeeze doesn't bother him much - the prick of nails, the almost pain. he lets it happen, watching the emotions fly across molly's face, and then the truth, the actual truth of it come out.
friendship is weird, because things like that start to really, really matter - he can't imagine telling anyone anything about his own, can't imagine having a single thing about his utter lack of senses given over just because. the significance of molly wanting to tell him is almost novel, and it's. the feeling he's coming upon is that it's touching, kind of, and that he cares, and that it's a gesture of trust in its own right, and one that gu yun has never, ever offered to anyone in return. molly's comfort matters to him, in ways that, when trying to learn things, comfort never mattered. he's never just made a relationship quite like the one he's built up here before. ji ping had always just been there.
there's a brief moment where he has to actually decide what to say, instead of just talking out of his ass like he normally does, and eventually gu yun lifts the hand on the outside and claps it down, once, affirming. a decisive gesture. ]
So then, wait. I'm not an impatient person. [ because ... molly might just tell him without being forced by the whims of this place. just because they get along. just because he wants to. and because he wants a chance to say it on his own - and gu yun is the one who he wants to say it to.
it's miniscule, but his eyes soften past his usual confident demeanor, just for a moment, a crinkling of affection at the corner of his smile, as he sorts through about thirty emotions all at once. ] When you're ready, I'll want to hear it, though don't leave anything out, hm? If it's the chance you've got to tell it, I expect a story.
[ hopefully... hopefully he can still hear it, at least.
there's a beat. ] Though, we may yet have to ignore each other all week, otherwise, should you want such a rendezvous. Who knows what triggers it short of rotten luck. [ :/ ]
Don't get all excited, it isn't that good of a story. Told much better ones already.
[he's never wanted to voluntarily tell another person a damn thing in his life. the first thing out of your mouth should always be a lie. don't give away a story for free. no point in wallowing in a past that wants nothing but pain from you. but he thinks, as he does with many other things with his new friend, might as well try it.
gu yun is eerily perceptive about these sorts of things though. he doesn't truly think he's able to hide that very well. at least now, when he looks up at him, he actually seems slightly more well-rested, the dark circles under his eyes receeding. he reaches up to put a hand over the one at his shoulder though, face twisting into less discomfort with the truth and more childish sulk.]
What, just ignore me? Well, I don't want that either.
[ a snort, and then, dryly: ] There was a talking, walking cat in that memory. Anything you tell me is going to be exciting.
[ yes, of course he noticed that. there are a million things just to unpack from that memory alone that have absolutely nothing to do with molly's actual tragic backstory and more to do with the world itself. he's turning into a huge nerd? this is terrible??? ji ping would have a field day.
anyway. he watches molly's expression shift into a sulk, childish and silly, so he cannot resist the urge to tilt his head, and look away, briefly, and - ]
[ WOW HIS BUTT!!! he yelps, and then grins like a little shit, pleased with himself and his terrible little joke, snickering. wehehehe.
what a great time for a horrible memory share! ]
[ you're maybe five or six years old, and you're sitting on the roof of your house, pulling tiles off of the roof for no reason and tossing them to the ground. no one knows how you got up there, but at this point, your exasperated mother and father are both over your misbehavior.
you beam down at your mother. her face is a little bit fuzzy - gu yun's memory of the first princess is scattered, after so many years - and she's got a feather duster in her hand. you know that's not actually a feather duster, because it's got some kind of horsehair instead of feathers, and when she swats you with it, it hurts. you really don't want to be hit with that, so you lock eyes with your mother for a long, long while.
and then, your lower lip starts to wobble.
your mother makes an aggrieved noise. "Xiao Shiliu-" she starts, and you jump down from the roof and land in front of her, feeling tears well up in your eyes. ]
Mom, don't you like me anymore? [ you whimper, and your mother makes a noise and reaches out to catch you by the collar -- you deftly duck out of the way, as slippery as a fish, and feel the mischief running through your bones. "Get back here, you know you aren't allowed up there!" ]
Am I not the flesh that came from your body?! [ you yell back, pitifully, pathetically, jumping over something in the courtyard. you are six years old and your terrible mouth says things like this, even now. your mother chases after you - you make three more steps before she snags the back of your robes, and when she catches you, there are tears running down your cheeks, and any sign of mischief is gone. ] Do...do you want to change me out, for a better son? I'll be better, I promise, I'll be good.
[ you sniffle. (you are a very good actor, at six.) ] I only have one mother... [ and rub at your eyes with your tiny fists - ] ...If you don't love me, then I'll become a stray child... [ and your mother GROANS, the most aggrieved noise, as she sweeps you up into her arms.
"Xiao Shiliu, who taught you this trick!" she scolds, and your crocodile tears dry up in a second - you squirm and wiggle and knock the feather duster out of your mom's hands, and she sighs, reaching out to pinch your cheeks. it's a warm memory, a happy one - one of the servants in the courtyard croons about poor, poor shiliu in the background, and fades a moment later.
...but that's not the end of this little trip down memory lane, either. a cw for child abuse
the next memory comes in hazy shades of brown and gray - your medicine isn't effective, yet, the dose not correct, and you can just barely see. all of a sudden, you feel the sun, hot on your face, and a hand wrapped tight around your arm as you're dragged out of your room and into the courtyard. it burns - your eyes are only freshly injured, now, just a few weeks after the accident at the black iron camp.
all you can do is stagger after your father, and this time, when you're crying, it's real. tears stream down your cheeks, but you don't say a word, this time, no wailing or shouting as your father drags you over to the small koi pond in the center of the courtyard, something you can't even really see. your head is pounding, your eyes are burning, and your father stops at the edge, and drops your arm.
he wraps the whip he uses on his horse around your neck. you feel it, then feel his hands on your head, forcing you down to your knees to look at the water's surface. the brightness make your eyes ache - his voice comes right next to your ear, and he's shouting. to you it sounds like he's barely talking. Look at you, the old marquis says, Look at your current appearance! Do you think you deserve to be named Gu?!
something seethes up in your heart. tiny, angry. your throat is constricted by the whip, and you take a huge, deep breath, grab at it with your tiny hands, and roar at the top of your lungs, "I can't see!"
your father doesn't appreciate your fury or the point you've made. he grabs the back of your head by the hair, and shoves you face first into the water. it fills your lungs, and you gasp, your senses flooded by it, choking you further - he holds you there, five seconds, ten, and then yanks your head back up. you gasp for air, your lungs heaving.
your father shouts, again, in your ear. "If you can't see, then submerge yourself until you figure out how to!" you're coughing and gasping, wheezing, and your father's voice snarls in your broken ears, "Either you will learn to stand up, or you will find a place to hang yourself. The Gu family would rather have no heir than raise a worthless child."
the whip's pulled back - you gasp for air, and your father drops his grip on you, leaving you soaking wet and coughing at the pond. your hands curl into fists, and you take a deep, trembling breath, and that phrase buries itself into your heart like an iron nail. ]
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a soldier in black iron armor walks past you - he looks down at you, and chuckles.
"Angered the Marquis again, huh?" and another soldier walks with him, laughing too.
"He angers the Marquis every day! What a rambunctious monkey. Still so proud, though, just like his father."
"Makes me glad I don't have one yet."
"Ha! With that face, you never will!"
their chatter fades as they walk past. you were punished for causing mischief, but even for that, you refuse to let anyone see you upset, even if you're freezing cold, even if your stomach gurgles. you would rather die than let anyone see you cry, rather die than let anyone know that you, wild, rambunctious, barely the height of a table gu shiliu was affected by getting in trouble.
as you're considering how you're going to exact your vengeance (maybe you'll sneak into your father's bed and prevent him from getting anywhere near your mother, he always gets crazy over that) there's a sudden thud - at your side, a guard wearing a giant suit of Heavy Armor (eight feet tall, heavy silver iron, a thing you've known your whole life) falls to the ground as if he's been felled, right at your feet. you jump, startled.
and then the noise happens again. thud.
thud. thud. thud.
all around you, the patrolling guards of the black iron camp begin to hit the ground, and before you have even a moment to figure out what's going on -- cacophony breaks out, as a hundred men dressed in the sleek silver of Light Armors come charging over the border of the camp - and the black crows of the black iron camp are already felled, frozen on the ground.
for a moment, you're confused. the black crows of the black iron camp wear black armor, and then you realize.
those soldiers aren't allies.
they're enemies.
you jolt and look at the face of the man in the heavy armor who fell at your feet-- you know him. he's one of your father's soldiers, and here, he's wide eyed, stunned, his mouth opening and closing, but he can't move. he won't move, as if he's been poisoned. as if --
there's a noise like a howl. arrows fly through the air - one hits the man in the heavy armor through the throat, sailing past your face. you gasp - blood spurts across your vision, and you stagger backwards, stunned. terror grips your heart, so fierce that you feel the immediate urge to try and grab a weapon to defend yourself, and you stumble backwards, reaching over past the corpse of the man with the heavy armor, and grabbing for the sword --
another body falls, another, another. these men who you have walked among since you could even walk, your fathers soldiers - they're frozen to the spot, on the ground, and the men in light armor come with gleeful shouts and weapons blazing - blowing a man to smithereens with ziliujin - bashing another's head in with a sword handle.
you feel those tears, now and you grab the man with the heavy armor's sword and pull, pull, pull but you're too weak, too small, you can't rip it away, you're going to die here, scrabbling with your feet in the snow and trying not to sob as you try and get the blade free. you can't, you can't, where's your father, where's your mother -
the man who was chuckling and teasing you just a moment before the chaos forces himself up from where he's fallen, only a few feet away. he's bleeding, dragging himself forward like a dying bird - he forces himself forward, drags himself across the snow, and drapes over you.
the weight of his body and the armor forces you to your knees; he manages to get his arm lifted and wraps one around your shoulder, as the invaders shriek and yell their way gleefully through the black iron camp. the guard takes his last shuddering breath as he holds onto you, his grip going slack as the life leaves his body, and you watch trembling over his shoulder, as one by one, the great black crows of the iron camp are slaughtered in front of your wide eyes. the barbarians kick the corpses, howl like wolves as they win their victory, and then -
-there's a sharp burst of pain radiating out of your back.
it's an arrow. you're eight years old but you know what that is. it strikes you, and you have just enough time to gasp, your heart clenching in your chest - and then it seeps in.
it feels like your limbs are disappearing. like there's something leaking through your body, something that's not supposed to be there. you lose sensation in your fingertips, your hands, your legs, your back
and then the sounds in the world go mute, and your sight -- of that man who died protecting your body, fades.
but you're not unconscious. eight years old, and your consciousness swirls and lurches, but you are stubborn, and in a moment of clarifying horror, you realize. i can't see.
i can't see--
and in the last moments of your consciousness, you hear something clearly, over the sound of the din of the battle. a voice, female. it's your mother. relief, faint, far away, confused, grabs you and you choke out a sob -
and then the cacophony of the world turns into an explosion as one, two, three, ten, twenty, thirty light armors held by thirty suicide barbarian soldiers explode, and turn the camp into ashes, and take your consciousness along with it.
--
when you wake up, a week later, you're alive. the armor and the body of the man who protected you kept you from being blown to pieces. your mother took shelter in a similar way, protected, and the marquis was in another part of camp when the attack happened.
but it doesn't matter.
because a week later, you're alive, but your entire world - sight and sound - is pitch black.
the last moment of memory is a taste - it's a bitter, medicinal one, bright and cold, burning fresh on your tongue - and the world starting to come back to you. the marquis stands over you, his face hardened, angry, furious, but visible. temporary, you hear. what do you mean it's temporary?
molly's been around gu yun enough to notice, the taste of that bitter medicine that lingers long after the memory vanishes is the same as the smell that seems to cling to gu yun's body; that smell that seems especially strong, today. ]
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darkness.
molly reaches over quickly, to try and take his hands - squeezing tightly. At least with the memory he'd (had?) seen, it hadn't felt like an invasion. A violation. this one, gu yun's, is. it's his alone.]
Do . . . you want me not to have seen that? I don't have to have seen it.
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finally -- it's molly's voice that drags him out of it. he shakes his head, sudden, coming back to the moment, and looks up, disoriented, and even then it still takes a moment for his brows to furrow and the normal, composed expression to return to his face, every line of tension in his body tight as he does. ]
It was a long time ago. [ he says, eventually, reaching for an excuse, but it's the last part that sticks around in his head. temporary, what do you mean it's temporary. knowing about his experience that day is one thing.
but knowing about his secret is another. that has to be protected. it has to be covered, kept safe - it's a weakness, especially here, when the stakes are so, so high. gu yun takes a deep breath through his nose. ] Nothing to be done about the past, is there?
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He tries to keep his voice steady, to shake off the last of the memory (emotions that aren't his to feel, things that aren't his to remember, fear, fear and desperation,) - leaning in a little closer.]
Doesn't matter. Just your past. That-- that doesn't matter, you're here now. Come on, tell me that you're here right now.
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you're here now.
he is, isn't he? despite everything otherwise. despite an accident (that he doesn't know - that wasn't an accident) that destroyed his life. he survived what he wasn't supposed to. gu yun always survives what he's not supposed to. cockroach, shen yi calls him, somewhere between affectionate and insulting.
his gaze shifts, finding molly's, pulling him back from the memory itself, finally, and the flint of determination in his eyes is unmistakable. steel and iron, always makes up the marshal gu. indestructible - but fragile, underneath that shell, too. ] I'm here.
[ and he is, isn't he? that mark under his eye is bright red. gu yun knows the direness of the situation. without miss chen's medicine, he has two weeks of sight and hearing, left. it explains things - the liuli glass making its appearance last week, the occasional slow response - but it doesn't, either. gu yun has gotten so good at lying and covering it over the years, that you have to be watching closely to notice him ever slip up.
...trust is hard. the idea that molly knows, now, isn't - it's not great, but, if anyone had to find out. if anyone in this place had to know what was wrong with him, if it was molly...
another quiet breath, in and out. ] Sorry you had to see it. It was a messy affair.
[ ??? that's it?? gu yun??? this is fine. ]
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[Running his thumb over the back of gu yun's hand. if his vision and hearing at weak, he can feel well enough. he'll relax a bit (he'd been holding his breath too, now he realizes, a shock of terror down his spine).
He's reminded of other moments. Of a woman, hair dark, fading to white at the ends, shoulders heaving. leaning in to kiss him on the forehead - brief. something he does for his friends. come now. you're alright. you're here right now. are you here, right now?
But, quickly:]
Don't apologize.
[And then, rushing in that way where you know you've snapped in a way that could be misconstrued.]
You don't have to apologize to me of all people. I'm sorry. I won't-- you're more competent than me in every way, I believe, but if you need anything. I mean it. I don't offer bullshit platitudes. We'll work on it together.
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...we will. [ we'll work on it together. he's brushing off the problem on his own end, really - there's nothing to work on, not in his opinion, nothing he can't and hasn't been handling for the past decade. it's a memory that's long buried, a memory he doesn't care to acknowledge. accidents happen, this was his lot in life, and gu yun has done the most he can with it. we'll work on it; he'll figure out what the hell was up with molly's memory, too.
eventually, he huffs, at the soft gesture from his thumb, once that moment passes. ] I can see, you know. [ ...but, doesn't push it away, either. ] Let's get out of the hall.
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[He's reminded not to call gu yun virginal, again. turning to lead him down the hallway at least.]
My room? The bar? Somewhere else?
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[ he's joking, at least, grabbing that normalcy and digging his claws into it, letting molly lead the way. ]
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[Just dragging him along then, fiddling with his phone to get the room open. hi! it's kinda messy in here at this point. please clean. but it's fine.]
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[ sigh. ] ... Most of the things in my life, I don't care about talking about. In fact, I'll tell you stories all day long. There are few exceptions. [ and the exceptions are big!!! like that one.
but, he seems to be a little cheered by molly's sense of humor, easily going along with him and letting the conversation flow back into something more natural. he was blind until like (looks at watch) a few hours ago so it's not like he cares all that much about a mess!! he does, however, customarily nudge out of his boots at the door once they're inside, while he's aggressively boxing up the mortifying ordeal of being known. ]
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[ He's idly kicking his boots off as well, matching the habit now, just sitting at one of the chairs when, something shifts and
the memory is clear and bright, in the way that most terrifying experiences are, when you think them over.
You’ve just descended the stairs to the speakeasy of this Gentleman you’ve heard so much about, when a tabaxi turns to your group. She starts:
“Halt friends, I do not r— Lucien?” Her eyes widen in shock, but you still don’t know who she is, you’re racking your memory, but the name
The name makes you feel ill, all of a sudden, an itch at the back of your skull. There’s no time to consider it.
“It has been too long, two ye–”
“Far too long!”
“Two years!” She laughs, bright, hands still gripping your shoulders on either side, tightly, like an old, old friend. “Look at you! You grew out your hair! And you are covered in tattoos!”
There’s something in her expression that seems confused about this, as her eyes flit to your hands, your neck.
“We’ll catch up, we need a table, we need drinks for me and my compatriots.”
“Of course, you– these are your friends now?” She looks over your group, appraising, but then goes to do as you’ve asked. Drinks and a table.
You now get a better look up at the top, some skulking individuals with long dark cloaks and dark armor, carrying what looks almost like a heavy crossbow, but it’s a long, metal rod. You’ve only seen them in use here and there. A recently emerging technology that has been largely guarded within use of the empire itself.
The second she turns, you give Fjord - a green, half-orcish man, a little pat on the back and hiss a whisper at him.

“I’m sorry, this is my nightmare, please just go with it? It’s Lucien.”
He simply looks a bit baffled in return. The tabaxi returns to the table, reaching her hands out for yours.
“Oh, too long.” She starts quickly, sitting up straighter, then her face suddenly turns apologetic. You see all the faces of your friends, twisted in confusion. They aren’t even trying to hide it.
“Luci— Nonagon. I apologize for using your old name. Nonagon, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Who can keep track these days? Again, a long story.” You manage to croak out. She doesn’t seem to notice. She just looks concerned.
“Nonagon, what happened? We watched you die.”
She looks expectant. As do the rest of them at the table. Jester, Fjord, Nott, Caleb, Beau. All of their eyes are trained on you. They all await your answer.
“I’m sorry, it— I think it all went a bit fuzzy at the end there. Won’t you remind me?”
The tabaxi looks almost stricken, but she recovers. Casting a glance at the others at the table, and then,
“I don’t trust these people, Nonagon, but—
If you trust them, then I trust you. You gave us a speech. We had a fine meal. We all got ready there in the forest. . . She said it would be hard for us to tell whether or not it worked at first, but we went and checked, and you were not breathing. For a good hour, you were not breathing and you had gone cold. We knew then that-- that we had lost you. We checked, and I'm very attuned to vitals, as you know. There was no heartbeat. So we waited longer. The sun rose, and nothing. So, as you told us, if anything were to go wrong, we had to get rid of any sign, any trace. So not far from the Tomb Taker hideout, we buried you and we went our separate ways. She took the tome, the mage woman, it was part of the arrangement you had with her. Her contract said she was in the right and that we knew better than to go toe to toe with her and her ilk.”
They all turn to watch your reaction. Eyes on eyes on eyes on eyes.
The memory fades. ]
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...it doesn't last for long, though.
this one was more grounding, because there's no mistaking it. it's a memory. he saw the world through mollymauk - lucien - nonagon's eyes? he saw beau, a familiar face, several unfamiliar (most beyond his usual realm of existence and comprehension), and...
when the memory fades out, gu yun's less disoriented, but no less concerned. he's stopped where he was standing, midway to molly and towards the chairs, and it takes him a slow moment to look up, and over (another pair of eyes, it seems). thinking. my third grave, he'd said.
it's a restart, in the way that he pulls himself back together and covers the last few steps across the front hall of the little studio, coming over, pulling out the other chair, and coming to sit down right next to him without any announcement or fanfare.
for the hundredth time, it feels like, he doesn't know the right thing to say. but mollymauk gave it to him, barely minutes ago, and gu yun goes with his gut and finds molly's hand, grabs it before it can move in both of his. his fingers are jarringly cold as ever. ]
Tell me you're here. [ he says. the same exact phrasing, carrying an immediacy of quiet urgency. he doesn't know who 'lucien' is, he doesn't know a thousand things in that memory, but -- molly, is here, in this body he made all his own, the body he intends to keep that way.
no letting him forget that. ]
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I'm-- I'm here. I'm alright. Not the first time I've seen it today.
[He isn't quite sure where to go from here, though. That maybe a few things-- well. Stories can unravel so quickly when you pull the right thread. He just knits his brow for a moment, and then:]
. . . Stupid name, isn't it? Nonagon. I keep thinking about that every time I see this one.
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[ gu yun replies, some of the ease slipping into his voice, but it's more a cover than anything. he looks away from molly's face for a moment, back at that hand still held between his. ]
...How long ago was that?
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[It flexes a bit, in that way that happens when you're coursing with anxiety. fingers tightening and untightening. the eye on the back, red and bright.]
Depends who you're asking. Time's a bit of a funny thing -- since you're asking me, then a few weeks before all this? So maybe a month ago now.
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there's a beat of silence; his other hand shifts over the back of molly's, and he covers the red eye with his calloused palm. ]
...Was that your first?
[ death. lucien, then.
you'll send me to my third grave, molly had said.
unfamiliar or not, it's easy to pick up the thread - and gu yun's watching, too, another pair of eyes watching for reaction, carefully observant, though neutral. maybe leaning towards concern, though, with the way his mouth pulls as he connects the dots. ]
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mollymauk (mollymauk?) just studies gu yun's face for a moment, but he isn't really trying to hide what's obvious in the expression: he is weighing the calculus of whether or not to lie.
then he seems to come to a decision.]
My first what? Awkward introduction to someone? Far from it.
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mollymauk is a bastion of mystery, still, and likely always will be - there are a thousand things he'd like to ask (he keeps thinking about that eye, even with the one he's covering, nine sided, nine eyes), but he is capable of reading a room, too.
to find out so quickly almost feels like cheating. like ripping open your red envelope hours before you're supposed to, just to see the amount of money inside - a brief moment of thrill that ends the build up to a surprise. similarly, gu yun doesn't try to hide his expression - the way his eyes search his face, briefly, dark and clever, brows a little furrowed.
but then, it eases out into something more easygoing. ] A charmer like you? I can't believe it.
[ there's much more to that then just sly talk. there's an allowance to it; of recognizing what's happening, and allowing it to happen, anyway. molly didn't ask about his vision, his hearing, didn't pry into something gu yun would rather die than spend a moment explaining to anyone, or admitting that it's real. he can afford molly the same.
(friendship--without rank, just friendship-- is such an interesting thing.) ]
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[There's a frantic immediacy to that-- a little bit of guilt when you know you've taken someone's offered hand of kindness, and feel a bit dirty and wrong for it. others here have seen the truth, the whole of it. gu yun likely deserves that much too, but,]
Look-- I'll explain whatever you'd like to know in a bit. [ . . . ] I've just never been afforded the chance to explain this on my own. They [the nein, the ones sitting at the table and watching] put a truth spell on me right after that and I had to split my own gut open in front of them too early as well.
And the same thing is happening here. Can't say-- can't say there aren't others walking around just knowing all my little fucking truths now. But I just want one chance to say it on my own.
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the tight, tight squeeze doesn't bother him much - the prick of nails, the almost pain. he lets it happen, watching the emotions fly across molly's face, and then the truth, the actual truth of it come out.
friendship is weird, because things like that start to really, really matter - he can't imagine telling anyone anything about his own, can't imagine having a single thing about his utter lack of senses given over just because. the significance of molly wanting to tell him is almost novel, and it's. the feeling he's coming upon is that it's touching, kind of, and that he cares, and that it's a gesture of trust in its own right, and one that gu yun has never, ever offered to anyone in return. molly's comfort matters to him, in ways that, when trying to learn things, comfort never mattered. he's never just made a relationship quite like the one he's built up here before. ji ping had always just been there.
there's a brief moment where he has to actually decide what to say, instead of just talking out of his ass like he normally does, and eventually gu yun lifts the hand on the outside and claps it down, once, affirming. a decisive gesture. ]
So then, wait. I'm not an impatient person. [ because ... molly might just tell him without being forced by the whims of this place. just because they get along. just because he wants to. and because he wants a chance to say it on his own - and gu yun is the one who he wants to say it to.
it's miniscule, but his eyes soften past his usual confident demeanor, just for a moment, a crinkling of affection at the corner of his smile, as he sorts through about thirty emotions all at once. ] When you're ready, I'll want to hear it, though don't leave anything out, hm? If it's the chance you've got to tell it, I expect a story.
[ hopefully... hopefully he can still hear it, at least.
there's a beat. ] Though, we may yet have to ignore each other all week, otherwise, should you want such a rendezvous. Who knows what triggers it short of rotten luck. [ :/ ]
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[he's never wanted to voluntarily tell another person a damn thing in his life. the first thing out of your mouth should always be a lie. don't give away a story for free. no point in wallowing in a past that wants nothing but pain from you. but he thinks, as he does with many other things with his new friend, might as well try it.
gu yun is eerily perceptive about these sorts of things though. he doesn't truly think he's able to hide that very well. at least now, when he looks up at him, he actually seems slightly more well-rested, the dark circles under his eyes receeding. he reaches up to put a hand over the one at his shoulder though, face twisting into less discomfort with the truth and more childish sulk.]
What, just ignore me? Well, I don't want that either.
[brat. you can't have both.]
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[ yes, of course he noticed that. there are a million things just to unpack from that memory alone that have absolutely nothing to do with molly's actual tragic backstory and more to do with the world itself. he's turning into a huge nerd? this is terrible??? ji ping would have a field day.
anyway. he watches molly's expression shift into a sulk, childish and silly, so he cannot resist the urge to tilt his head, and look away, briefly, and - ]
Mm?
[ DON'T PRETEND TO BE DEAF ]
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[Molly's tail whips around and smacks him
on the ass
for that little act]
[Mockingly:] Mm?
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what a great time for a horrible memory share! ]
[ you're maybe five or six years old, and you're sitting on the roof of your house, pulling tiles off of the roof for no reason and tossing them to the ground. no one knows how you got up there, but at this point, your exasperated mother and father are both over your misbehavior.
you beam down at your mother. her face is a little bit fuzzy - gu yun's memory of the first princess is scattered, after so many years - and she's got a feather duster in her hand. you know that's not actually a feather duster, because it's got some kind of horsehair instead of feathers, and when she swats you with it, it hurts. you really don't want to be hit with that, so you lock eyes with your mother for a long, long while.
and then, your lower lip starts to wobble.
your mother makes an aggrieved noise. "Xiao Shiliu-" she starts, and you jump down from the roof and land in front of her, feeling tears well up in your eyes. ]
Mom, don't you like me anymore? [ you whimper, and your mother makes a noise and reaches out to catch you by the collar -- you deftly duck out of the way, as slippery as a fish, and feel the mischief running through your bones. "Get back here, you know you aren't allowed up there!" ]
Am I not the flesh that came from your body?! [ you yell back, pitifully, pathetically, jumping over something in the courtyard. you are six years old and your terrible mouth says things like this, even now. your mother chases after you - you make three more steps before she snags the back of your robes, and when she catches you, there are tears running down your cheeks, and any sign of mischief is gone. ] Do...do you want to change me out, for a better son? I'll be better, I promise, I'll be good.
[ you sniffle. (you are a very good actor, at six.) ] I only have one mother... [ and rub at your eyes with your tiny fists - ] ...If you don't love me, then I'll become a stray child... [ and your mother GROANS, the most aggrieved noise, as she sweeps you up into her arms.
"Xiao Shiliu, who taught you this trick!" she scolds, and your crocodile tears dry up in a second - you squirm and wiggle and knock the feather duster out of your mom's hands, and she sighs, reaching out to pinch your cheeks. it's a warm memory, a happy one - one of the servants in the courtyard croons about poor, poor shiliu in the background, and fades a moment later.
...but that's not the end of this little trip down memory lane, either. a cw for child abuse
the next memory comes in hazy shades of brown and gray - your medicine isn't effective, yet, the dose not correct, and you can just barely see. all of a sudden, you feel the sun, hot on your face, and a hand wrapped tight around your arm as you're dragged out of your room and into the courtyard. it burns - your eyes are only freshly injured, now, just a few weeks after the accident at the black iron camp.
all you can do is stagger after your father, and this time, when you're crying, it's real. tears stream down your cheeks, but you don't say a word, this time, no wailing or shouting as your father drags you over to the small koi pond in the center of the courtyard, something you can't even really see. your head is pounding, your eyes are burning, and your father stops at the edge, and drops your arm.
he wraps the whip he uses on his horse around your neck. you feel it, then feel his hands on your head, forcing you down to your knees to look at the water's surface. the brightness make your eyes ache - his voice comes right next to your ear, and he's shouting. to you it sounds like he's barely talking. Look at you, the old marquis says, Look at your current appearance! Do you think you deserve to be named Gu?!
something seethes up in your heart. tiny, angry. your throat is constricted by the whip, and you take a huge, deep breath, grab at it with your tiny hands, and roar at the top of your lungs, "I can't see!"
your father doesn't appreciate your fury or the point you've made. he grabs the back of your head by the hair, and shoves you face first into the water. it fills your lungs, and you gasp, your senses flooded by it, choking you further - he holds you there, five seconds, ten, and then yanks your head back up. you gasp for air, your lungs heaving.
your father shouts, again, in your ear. "If you can't see, then submerge yourself until you figure out how to!" you're coughing and gasping, wheezing, and your father's voice snarls in your broken ears, "Either you will learn to stand up, or you will find a place to hang yourself. The Gu family would rather have no heir than raise a worthless child."
the whip's pulled back - you gasp for air, and your father drops his grip on you, leaving you soaking wet and coughing at the pond. your hands curl into fists, and you take a deep, trembling breath, and that phrase buries itself into your heart like an iron nail. ]
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