Challenge 011: Defenseless

Words: 497
Characters: Elincia, Geoffrey
Time: Part III of Radiant Dawn, after the battle where Elincia refuses to fight Zelgius's army.
Genre: Drama
A/N: Not much to say, except that I'm experimenting with present tense.
 

He escorts her to her tent that evening. One hand rests under hers; the other clutches her beautiful sword, the treasure of Crimea. It is clean and shining; she keeps it well. Every now and then, the crystalline blade reflects a brilliant sparkle of firelight into his eyes, clear and blinding.

Elincia has a tent all to herself, but as Geoffrey opens the thin flap for her, his heart breaks at how unworthy such a primitive lodging is of her, a queen, the finest queen any country has ever seen. She deserves to be sleeping within the grandest stone-carved palace, with windows of shimmering stained-glass stretching to the heaven-high ceiling. Her bedroom should have countless down pillows, sheets of softest silk, maids to wait on her whims… But deep inside, he knows that Elincia is not that kind of queen. Instead, she is the kind of queen content with a thin linen tent and a single bedroll, lacking a cot or even straw.

She turns to face him. The same firelight that makes her sword flash glances off the contours of her face. Half is in striking shadow. Wordlessly, Geoffrey extends the favored blade to her, but she remains still.

"My queen?" says Geoffrey.

"I wish I would never again have to touch such a weapon," she says sadly. "To feel life cut short at the end of my arm, for as you taught me, my blade is a part of me…"

"I… I am sorry."

Her eyes grow wide. "No, I do not blame you! Geoffrey, what you have taught me has saved my life many times over. I just wish… today was both terrifying and exhilarating. And yet, despite that, my heart was calmer as I stood there, defenseless, than it ever has been with death in my hands."

Geoffrey can only stand, speechless, letting her words wash over him like the tide of the very battle she had overturned. Slowly, steadily, Elincia accepts the sword from Geoffrey's hands and stows it inside her tent. Her gaze is so sorrowful that Geoffrey longs to touch her cheek and make her smile, like he did when they were children.

But they are older now, stronger and wiser. He wonders, sometimes, how much good that truly does them. When she nods at him, thanks him for his escort, her voice is resigned to her station. Geoffrey knows – and so does she - that despite her serene bravery, she will have nightmares of death and duty tonight. But, strong and wise as she is now, she will bear it all with grace, with poise. Like a queen.

He, however, does not have her regality, her dignity. He is strong and wise enough, perhaps, to protect her. But that is all. He does not have her fortitude, her compassion… his sleeping nightmares will all be of her, his radiant queen. She stands defenseless on the battlefield, covered in her own blood and falling to the ground as if asleep.