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EDINBURGH CASTLE LOOMED up from the horizon like the fortress it was and it was more beautiful than Hunter had ever imagined it could be.
It was safety, it was success, it was food and dry beds and it was medical supplies she felt she probably needed fairly badly. Her nose had stopped bleeding after half an hour, but between her mouth and her nose she'd lost enough blood to feel lightheaded. Her eyes were still taking too long to focus on things and it seemed like one was almost seeing in greyscale.
But worse was what was happening in her mind. Under normal circumstances—normal for Hunter or Quon Li-Chen, at least—there was always a low-level buzz in the back of her brain, the everyday thoughts of those around her, kept to a minor annoyance by the fences and walls and locked gates she'd built in her mind, the only way to retain her sanity. Now it seemed the fences had been thrown down, the locked gates left open and the walls crumbling. The dull buzz was now a continual roar as random spikes of thought drove through her mind, from everywhere and everyone.
Exhaustion from everyone.
Relief and hope from those they'd rescued.
Nervousness from Ransom.
A feeling of failure from Hobson about which she badly wanted to tell him to fucking stop, but she could barely think through the driving rain of everyone else's thoughts.
And there was fear and hostility from those manning the walls of the Castle, seeing a group approaching but not yet knowing who or why.
But the worst, by far, was the staggering number of suicidal thoughts that pounded into her like bullets from every direction. She was crying before she realised it, dropping to her knees sobbing before she understood why.
So many with so little hope. So many who felt it was better to die by their own hand than to face an uncertain future.
Hunter, who had as a defense mechanism safely locked away her emotions in childhood, was now feeling the emotions of every human around her.
"Hunter," said Ransom, quietly and in her own voice. "You have to get up. You're the one everyone will recognize."
Hunter nodded, but that was all she could manage. Ransom hooked her arm around Hunter's waist and helped her to her feet, supporting her as they began to walk again.
"Thank you," said Hunter, roughly wiping her eyes. It didn't make a difference, the tears wouldn't stop.
"What's going on?" asked Ransom, her voice barely a whisper.
"I can't... block anything," said Hunter, tapping herself on the forehead. "I'm feeling it all. From everyone."
"Oh my god, Hunter... okay. Okay, we can fix this. We can fix this."
She paused, glancing around. Waving over Hobson and Grieve, when Ransom spoke again it was loud and clear and as Prince Arthur.
"I need to help Hunter with something, something that can't wait. Hobson, I need you to make sure everyone gives us space. Grieve, I need you to go on ahead to the Castle gates, let them know who we are and that we'd greatly appreciate them not shooting at us when we get closer."
Grieve and Hobson both nodded, but both also looked at Hunter with doubt and concern.
Though Hunter was staring intently at the ground, she felt their concern as clear as day. It both touched her and made her feel sick.
"My abilities," she said slowly, knowing the soldiers wanted and deserved an explanation. "I can't filter out the noise anymore. I'm feeling it all, hearing it all—it's like a tornado of thought and emotion inside my head and I can't control it."
Grieve nodded and headed off. Hobson paused for a moment, seeming like he was about to speak, but instead nodded to Hunter and followed Grieve.
"Okay, sit down," said Ransom, leading Hunter to the remains of a car. It had been stripped near bare, but the seats remained. "Look at me."
She did, with some difficulty. Not because she didn't want to, but because her eyes seemed dead set on making their own decisions.
"Can you hear me?" asked Ransom.
"Yes."
"I mean in your head. Can you hear my thoughts, feel what I'm feeling?"
"I can hear everyone and feel everyone."
"Look at me, Hunter," snapped the young woman and Hunter immediately obeyed, not even having realised her attention had drifted.
"I'm looking at you."
"Keep looking into my eyes. What colour are they?"
"What?"
"My eyes. What colour are they?"
Hunter squinted and tried to focus.
"Blue. With... flecks. Flecks of gold? I think gold."
"How am I feeling?"
"...what?"
"Jesus fuck, Hunter, focus! How am I feeling! Tell me how the fuck I'm feeling!"
It was like wading through quicksand, pushing aside all the noise, all the waves of terror and despair, to find one, single person. One grain of sand in a desert. But she did it.
"You're scared. You're scared about taking over the Prince's identity," said Hunter, then paused and felt a tear roll down her cheek. "You're scared for me. For my well-being."
"Yes. What else?"
"What else?"
"Tell me what else I'm feeling."
Closing her eyes for a moment, Hunter swallowed heavily, then again locked eyes with Ransom.
"You're... hopeful. That you can inspire people now, like you couldn’t before. And you're... disappointed? In yourself for some reason...," she said, screwing up her face in concentration. "Because you weren't willing to stand up like this before. To lead. But there's also... I don't know..."
"Go on," said Ransom, softly.
Hunter noticed Ransom's eyes welling up.
"I think it's disgust," said Hunter. "At the things you've done. The people you've killed? But not... not disgust for having done it."
The young woman nodded.
"Disgust at how I don't feel the slightest bit of remorse," she said. "Hunter, every time you start to feel overwhelmed, like the dam isn't going to hold back the river any more, I want you to focus on me. Just me."
Hunter shook her head.
"I'm not sure how much control I have any more, Harley. I don't know if... once I get inside your head, I don't know if I can control what I see."
"I don't care," said Ransom. "I don't care what you see. You focus on me, do you understand? No matter where you are, no matter where I am, you reach out and you find me and you focus on my mind until yours is calm. Jesus, Hunter, I'm not asking you, I'm begging you to please do this for me."
They were both crying now.
"Why would you do that for me?"
Unable to restrain herself, Ransom reached out and grabbed Hunter in a fierce hug.
"You believed in me, Hunter, when no one else did. You have no idea how much that means."
In a flash, Hunter was back on the Vimy Ridge. She was Quon Li-Chen again and she was being given a chance at freedom by the ship's frustrating, brave, possibly insane commanding officer. He had believed in her. When no one else did.
She squeezed Ransom a little tighter.
By the time they walked through the Portcullis Gates, the whispers had already started.
Hunter did her best to focus on Ransom, but the waves of emotion hitting her still leaked through. The curiosity, the old feelings of pride in the Monarchy that had been thought extinguished. The hope.
There was hope, just thinking that one of the Royal family had survived.
Hunter had, thankfully, been able to walk into the castle under her own power. Standing tall, confident, head held high, Ransom walked two paces ahead of her. All eyes were on Ransom.
No, she corrected herself. All eyes were on Prince Arthur.
She watched as Ransom nodded to people, smiled at others, shook the outstretched hands of still others.
Gratitude and hope.
It cascaded through the crowd like dominoes, tumbling one after the other.
Hope.
Hope for the future.
A chant of 'long live the King' started somewhere off to the left and was soon taken up by nearly every voice in the crowd.
Ransom—no, Arthur—turned back to Hunter and their eyes met.
The chanting grew louder and morphed into something else, another phrase: Pen Draig.
Pendragon.
The once and future King had returned in Britain's hour of greatest need.
Britain could be saved.
The world could be saved.
There was hope.