If The Nineth Lion Ate The Sun

[Pippi]

((Galahad Matthews continued from P - I - P - E - S))

“Heya Freya.”

He’d always wanted to greet her like that. Cause it, y’know, rhymed and all that, ‘heya Freya’. He’d never actually done so because he knew she’d hate it. It was silly and cutesy, and Freya would have thrown something at you if you’d tried to describe her as such. But hey, he had his chance to say it now! Great. Really great. He laughed with only the barest embers of warmth remaining.

“Heya Freya.”

His voice was tremulous as he said it again. Stupid. Just a silly, stupid little phrase he’d wanted to say for ages, and that he’d wanted to feel good about saying. Not that there was much about this reunion to feel good about in the first place, anyway. He sniffed. He looked ahead, Freya’s prone form just about in his peripheral vision as he sat with his back to the wall.

He supposed it wasn’t particularly beyond the realms of belief to have stumbled upon his best friend out here. This wasn’t a particularly large town. Even by solely wandering to places he hadn’t visited yet, he doubted the odds of finding her were too low. And yet, the moment he’d set foot into this shitty little room in this shitty little crumbling house, and the moment he’d set eyes on Freya’s lifeless body, he’d scarcely been able to believe his eyes, refusing to accept the scene in front of him.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t accept that Freya was dead. He didn’t doubt that the announcements had told the truth about her passing. It was just… well, what was he supposed to do when confronted with the evidence? His mind didn’t want to make it real.

He didn’t know what to say, now that he was sitting next to her. He thought he had, when he had merely thinking about talking to cameras about her. But now, in the moment, nothing really felt correct.

He’d already made his trademark apologies when he’d started walking towards her, so he didn’t even have that to fall back on.

For a few more moments, Galahad kept quiet. Then his mouth fell open, and words started tumbling out.

“I bet even you didn’t think I’d make it this far, huh? I know… I know that I sure didn’t. Even before I heard your name on the announcement I thought I was one day away from being… well… y’know…”

He cleared his throat for a moment before he carried on speaking.

“And then after I heard it I was constantly this close to just giving up, lying down and… waiting. But I got myself up, and kept trudging along forwards, aimlessly but… alive.”

Galahad looked down into his lap for a moment, silent, before talking again.

“Rajni died in front of me. I was too slow, too late to actually do anything to help her. It gave me the kick up the arse I needed but… I just wish it hadn’t been at the expense of somebody’s else’s life. But it gave me the realisation as to my motive to survive. Cause if… whoever “wins” this doesn’t tell your stories, doesn’t let everyone who’ll listen know who you all are... Then you’ll all just disappear. You’ll all have died and vanished into nothingness. And even if they do tell your stories…”

Galahad turned his head, looked at Freya, or as much of her as he could bear to.

“... Nobody knows you like I do. Nobody will tell the world how loyal and honest and proud you are. So… that’s what I need to live for. To tell the world about everyone at Saint Editha’s. And, I know, good old Galahad, always doing stuff for somebody else, never for himself…”

He laughed momentarily, another laugh with only the faintest hints of warmth.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with living for somebody else, to honour them and their memory. And if I don’t succeed, if fate has other plans in store for me… I’m gonna find you, wherever you end up, and I’m gonna give you the biggest, longest hug possible. I know you’ll give me hell for it. As well as, uh, the ‘heya Freya’ thing. So… even more motivation to stay alive, huh?”

He smiled at her. He didn’t know if she’d be smiling back, wherever her soul had ended up. That was fine. She didn’t need to. Their story together had never been one of smiles, but of an ironclad bond. Unbreakable.

“Bye Freya. I love you.”

His voice cracked as he stood up and walked off, bag and weaponry in tow, leaving Freya’s absent body behind. He moved forwards. For her. For Rajni.

For himself.

((Galahad Matthews continued in Out of the Depths of Sorrow and of Sacrifice))