4: Sleepless

Alexandrie was six the first time she tried to sleep standing up.

Well, she’d protested at the time, she was six and a half. The half mattered, of course. She was six and a half, Père père had gently reminded her, as he tucked her into bed. Chevalier was at least 40. How could she expect to sleep standing at only six and a half? She was not old enough at all.

This was a reasonable point to make, so she was eight before she made her next attempts, to Maman’s frustration. An eight year old Sinrou should not have the number of bruises Alexa gained in that stubborn two month stint. Finally, in frustration, Maman had told her that Chevalier did not sleep. He was not really alive, she said, not really dead, so he did not sleep and did not count as someone to imitate in this regard.

Which begat a whole slew of new questions as Alexa asked whether plants and trees and insects and the frog spawn she’d collected that day (hidden in her wardrobe until she got time alone to investigate) could sleep.

And to Alexa’s great interest, Maman got in trouble when Grandmère overheard the following the next day:

“Chevalier, Maman says you’re not alive. Are you alive?”

“I guess it would depend on how you define being alive. I do not eat or drink. I do not sleep. Is that what it means to be alive? But then I still think. I feel. I laugh, I love. I experience joy and I experience sadness. Are those perhaps better indicators of being alive? I like to think they are, but different people will have different opinions on the matter.”

He was, Grandmère pronounced, most certainly alive - and she knew because she had been there on his birthday. Which made Grandmère very very old, but this wasn’t the point. Despite what he said, Chevalier must (if he were alive and even had a birthday) sleep. And he did it standing. Which meant Alexa could too, if she were only disciplined enough.

So she tried leaning against walls, propping herself up with cushions…in desperation one night, she asked Chevalier to wake her should she fall, which of course he agreed to do.

Her experiments didn’t work. The problem, largely, was that Alexandrie was very good, very very good at sleeping. She slept so very well that by magic, it seemed, she would wake in her bed no matter where she fell asleep or how she arranged herself. At eight she never considered that she wasn’t too heavy for a seven foot praetorian to lift, or that as she fell asleep someone would catch her and tuck her into bed. And no one told her that’s what was happening.

She began to get a sneaking suspicion that maybe Maman was right - that maybe Chevalier, despite what he said, was not alive and therefore did not sleep.

And thus the experiment was born.

Chevalier did not lie down to sleep, but sometimes he was still in the hallways, or in his room. She knew he could hear her - from the time she could escape her crib she had taken his hand to accompany her to the kitchen for a snack if she woke in the night. If she had a nightmare, he was often the first to soothe her and tell her it was alright to go back to sleep.

Unlike Maman et Papa, Chevalier didn’t try to rationalise bad dreams - he would just listen to them.

But the experiment:

One afternoon, while the household was quiet, Alexa crept up to Chevalier, who stood still, apparently sleeping. She knew if she were too loud, he would hear her, so she tiptoed as quietly as an eight year old could. 

If he slept, she reasoned, he would be just as prone to falling as she or anything else that lived.

She just had to push.

So she did.

And nothing happened.

But Chevalier was very heavy - especially for an eight year old.

And this was an experiment, after all. 

So she pushed again.

Nothing happened. Again.

Frustrated, she huffed and frowned. What did this mean? That he was awake, or asleep?

Inconclusive.

So she pushed again.

And Chevalier fell.

Seven feet of porcelainesque plates and metal crashed sideways to the floor, thundering with the weight of a felled tree.

And didn’t move.
“Chevalier?” She’d whispered when she got hold of her senses.

No response.

Panic began to flood the little girl, and she ran to the one who had been there on his birthday. When Grandmère saw Chevalier she looked gravely at Alexandrie.

“Oh, Alexa,” she said quietly. “Haven’t you ever heard that you must never try to wake a sleeping praetorian?”

“No…” Alexandrie replied. “Shouldn’t we be doing something to help him? Did I hurt him? How do I wake him?”

Seeing Alexa’s panic, Grandmère crouched and kissed Chevalier, seeming to whisper something to him. Then she put her arms around the girl.

“It’s ok, Alexandrie. Chevalier in fact, does not sleep. Vieillard, you can get up, now.”

So she knew. 

She knew.

Jumping out of the window and landing poorly.

She knew.

Ignoring a fractured ankle to run to Chevalier’s side, she knew.

Even as he’d explained the process that parts of him would shed to protect his core, she knew.

She’d known since she was eight.

Chevalier. Didn’t. Sleep.

When she was exhausted, she slept and it made her feel better.

Chevalier didn’t sleep.

He had processes that would help him recreate and refit his armour. She just had to give him time.

But the fight had been gruelling.

And he’d locked himself in with the Vel’bla’dran

And La Chanson had been useless.

She’d been useless.

Chevalier needed to protect.

It’s almost as though he didn’t care about himself.

And if that were the case

If that were the case, she needed to protect him.

But he was so exhausted.

And the fight was still happening.

It wasn’t safe.

He needed time.

So she did what he would do: Drones to protect.

He needed time.

But he was so tired.

And he doesn’t sleep. Didn’t sleep. Doesn’t.

Why did he look like he was sleeping?

Healing did nothing. He was just

Exhausted.

He looked just like he had the day of the experiment.

It was just an experiment. She’d learned.

Chevalier doesn’t sleep.

So why wouldn’t he wake up?

Why was she making drones? He did it.

She was just giving him time to sleep.

They were safe here.

He’d fought so hard

He was just

Tired.

What if he was having a nightmare?

She couldn’t protect him from that.

Not from here.

Not if he wouldn’t wake up.

“Is he afraid?”

She wasn’t even really asking La Chanson, but she got a reply anyway.

“No.”

Good. At least he was sleeping peacefully.

Chevalier doesn’t sleep.

Why was he lying down?

8 and 18 reached out in confusion, hands finding the sigil on his forehead, the faceplate he’d crafted. Her hand moved down his arm to hold his.

The hand shifted, began to become motes, particles.

No.

No. Chevalier doesn’t sleep. Not lying down, not standing up. 

Are things that don’t sleep alive?

Yes. They laugh, they love. They experience joy and they experience sadness.

The harder she tried to hold onto Chevalier, the faster he disappeared until he was gone. All except…

It wasn’t until she was carefully placing the box and faceplate into her bag that she heard La Chanson creeping into her head, and her hands shook slightly as she pushed the box out of view.

It was dark and still and she was alone with La Chanson.

She hadn’t even noticed the silence until it was replaced with a powerful, ever present entity. One that had called her so far from home, and led her so far underground.

“What good are you, though?”