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Fill: Seivarden, amnesia trope (Reply)
Fill: Seivarden, amnesia trope
2017-05-06 01:29 am (UTC)
She woke to a blinding light and an even more blinding headache, and someone saying, scoldingly, in an unfamiliar accent, “Lie still, Lieutenant.”
She coughed, blinked, shoved the hands off her shoulders and sat upright. The light receded slightly, though the headache stayed, and throbbed.
Someone slapped a patch on her neck and immediately she felt her body relax. When she spoke she found herself slurring the words.
“You did something very foolish,” another voice said, in that same odd accent.
“Brave,” said the first voice. “But foolish.”
She couldn’t remember anything happening. Why couldn’t she remember. Something was wrong. Who were these people? Asking would be embarrassing, if they were people she was supposed to know, but she was starting to panic. “Who are you?” she said, and tried to sound as in-control and authoritative as she could, but she was afraid she didn’t succeed at that since her speech was coming out mildly incoherent.
She blinked again. She could see better now. This looked like- Medical? A provincial-looking person was peering at her, too close for comfort, and she flinched back a bit. First Voice, she decided, that one had sounded closer. There was someone else in the room, too, but she couldn’t see them clearly. First Voice’s uniform didn’t look right. What was going on?
“Ship?” she said, really panicked now.
“I’m here, Lieutenant,” Ship said in her ear, and she would have relaxed, except Ship had the same odd accent, and because Lieutenant wasn’t right, it was Captain, wasn’t it? Something had happened to her. She had brain damage, she must have. What if it couldn’t be fixed?
“Aatr’s tits,” she mumbled.
“I’m Medic,” said First Voice. “Mercy of Kalr’s Medic?”
Seivarden shook her head. “I don’t know that ship,” she said. “Who the fuck is Kalr?”
The other person stepped closer. Seivarden flinched away from their eyes.
“Do you know who I am?” they said.
Ship, Seivarden wanted to say, but no, the uniform coat was half black, and though the cut and shape of it was strange Seivarden still knew what that meant. Not an ancillary’s uniform.
“No, sir,” she said.
“She might not recognize faces,” the person claiming to be a medic said to the one in a fleet captain’s uniform. “That can happen, with brain damage.”
She turned back to Seivarden. “This is Fleet Captain Breq Mianaai,” she said.
Seivarden shook her head again. “Never heard of her,” she said. “Sorry.”
They didn’t tell her everything at once. First they asked her a lot of questions. Determining the extent of the damage. She held herself still and answered honestly because she couldn’t think of another option. She didn’t trust them, but her brain was foggy- the drugs- and she couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation for all this. None of it made sense. She wanted to just talk to Ship, but insisting on that would be incredibly rude, so she held herself still and stared at the fleet captain’s nose. It was a light brown, and broad and flat.
At last they told her she wasn’t on Sword of Nathtas, but some Mercy she’d never heard of, and that-
“You’re fucking kidding me,” she said, blankly.
“I’m afraid not,” said the medic.
“I don’t believe you.”
The medic sighed. “I suppose I wouldn’t either.”
The fleet captain barely said anything.
A thousand fucking years? It had to be a lie. But the ship showed her her own face, through the medic’s eyes, and the face was older than she thought it should be.
Her head had been shaved bald so that it could be half covered in a corrective, and there were others she could feel on her chest and one of her legs, though she didn’t feel any pain- the drugs, probably. At that point she became aware that she was only wearing a flimsy medical gown and was briefly overwhelmed with self-consciousness and a terrible sense of vulnerability. She wanted her ship.
She wanted to wake up again and find that it was all a dream.
“I’m… I’m sorry about this, sir,” she said to the fleet captain.. Best to play along. Until she had more information.
"It isn't your fault," the fleet captain said. Quiet.
Her accent had changed, since she’d found out that Seivarden had… forgotten. It was perfect, nearly a duplicate of Seivarden’s own. The ship’s accent had changed too. It made Seivarden feel more kindly disposed towards them. She distrusted that feeling.
When she asked about Sword of Nathtas they told her it was gone. That that was how she’d been lost for a thousand fucking years. She tried to process that, and couldn’t. After some silence, she asked about Justice of Toren. There was a pause, and then they told her Justice of Toren was gone too.
What was the last thing she remembered? She didn’t know. She just knew how things should be. She should be on Sword of Nathtas, Ship should be serving her tea, Lieutenant… what was her name… Lieutenant… her first officer should be here, and her ship’s medic.
Her patience broke, and she pulled off the correctives over the loud protestations of the medic, and pushed herself off the bed, and walked out into the corridor. At least the ship opened the door for her. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t trapped in one room.
The corridor outside was wrong again. An ancillary was walking down it, holding a tea set. It stopped when it saw her. “Sir?”
Why was it surprised? An inconsistency. She leaped on it. “What year is it?” she demanded.
It gave the same number the medic had.
“What’s your name?”
A long pause. “...Tisente, sir.”
There was a hand on her arm. The fleet captain. “Sit back down, Lieutenant.”
There was such authority in that voice that she found herself obeying without thinking.
She saw the ancillary- no, the- the officer?- staring after her.
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