[ It was hard to know when he had actually fallen asleep because of all his shifting. But after a while, Rey had to settle. If she didn't take her chance, she wouldn't be able to keep her eyes open much longer. Worse, she'd lose her nerve.
Her eyes opened, and she exhaled slowly, watching him.
He didn't seem to stir at that, so she sat up, pulling the knife from her sling. It wasn't sharp. Too old, not intended for this purpose. She'd have to hit hard.
How hard? She'd never stabbed a man before. Sitting up in the dead of night, knife in hand, staring down at his restless form, she decided it'd have to be the neck. It would be the easiest, the most likely to kill him quickly and quietly. Right? She thought of that slaver she'd been riding with. The way his blood had gurgled bright and red out of his throat.
She wanted to cry. He hadn't been innocent, either, but it had still been horrible to see. It had still been wrong for them to do. But this wasn't wrong — it's the only choice she had. She got up off the bed and walked for his. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, and she stood over Ren's bed.
By now her hand was shaking on the knife, and she pulled off her sling so she could steady it with her injured arm too. She had to get it right the first time. The second, at the very most. He was larger than her and stronger. If he woke up, he would kill her, and she would be forgotten. Probably not even buried, but cast into the sea for convenience's sake. Treated like garbage.
Not for the first time.
She gripped the knife in both hands, raised it over him and drew a deep breath. But she stopped before completing the motion. Her arms didn't want to budge.
She couldn't kill a man in his bed, in his sleep. Maybe the redcloaks could forget their oaths and their honor, and maybe in dealing with them, she ought to. But she couldn't. She didn't have that kind of evil in her, no matter what the world around them called for. ]
Fuck. [ She hissed it out, dropping the knife and backing off one, two steps. ]
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Her eyes opened, and she exhaled slowly, watching him.
He didn't seem to stir at that, so she sat up, pulling the knife from her sling. It wasn't sharp. Too old, not intended for this purpose. She'd have to hit hard.
How hard? She'd never stabbed a man before. Sitting up in the dead of night, knife in hand, staring down at his restless form, she decided it'd have to be the neck. It would be the easiest, the most likely to kill him quickly and quietly. Right? She thought of that slaver she'd been riding with. The way his blood had gurgled bright and red out of his throat.
She wanted to cry. He hadn't been innocent, either, but it had still been horrible to see. It had still been wrong for them to do. But this wasn't wrong — it's the only choice she had. She got up off the bed and walked for his. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, and she stood over Ren's bed.
By now her hand was shaking on the knife, and she pulled off her sling so she could steady it with her injured arm too. She had to get it right the first time. The second, at the very most. He was larger than her and stronger. If he woke up, he would kill her, and she would be forgotten. Probably not even buried, but cast into the sea for convenience's sake. Treated like garbage.
Not for the first time.
She gripped the knife in both hands, raised it over him and drew a deep breath. But she stopped before completing the motion. Her arms didn't want to budge.
She couldn't kill a man in his bed, in his sleep. Maybe the redcloaks could forget their oaths and their honor, and maybe in dealing with them, she ought to. But she couldn't. She didn't have that kind of evil in her, no matter what the world around them called for. ]
Fuck. [ She hissed it out, dropping the knife and backing off one, two steps. ]