Well, it has been a while since I tired my hand at a hurt/comfort or an angst story. I can do those stories but I don't feel the greatest confidence with them. Though a writer very special to me named concisponci encouraged me to try my hand at it again. This was the result after some mulling about over it. So thanks once again, concisponci. I'll be trying to upload more next year, both stories and oneshots like this. Hope you all have a wonderful new year. One last note, the music I imagine for the box is an instrumental song called Glass Princess by Adrian von Ziegler. I would encourage you to listen to it as you read.
Darkness had long since settled across the country, and with tall anvil-headed clouds across the sky, not a single star or beam of light from the twin moons made their way to the land. Only the braziers inside the fort provided light, and even then, many had long since burned themselves out. Now only those along the path of the sentries were ablaze, scanning the infinite darkness for an enemy they knew deep within their hearts would come soon. Dawn would come soon, and with it another day of despair and bloodshed.
Inside the simple fort, in a simple but large room, a woman sat alone. Normally groomed emerald hair fell around her shoulders in tangled locks, the tips of some clumped together with dried tears of frustration. Her near pristine armor and family heirloom weapon were tossed around the room in a fit of rage. Discarded like they were poisoned garments that ate away at the wearer. In the light of a single blue candle, the queen of the land held a glass of triple fortified red wine that was the only companion she truly had for the night.
Elincia was not one who normally gave into the siren's call of the bottle, but this was not any normal time. Mere days ago, she was living safely in the comforts of Castle Melior surrounded by plenty of food, wine, and dear friends. She would handle affairs of state with perhaps a less than receptive crowd of nobles, but she always had three of her closest confidants who were there for her to help her with the burdens of ruling. She was surrounded with friends, laughter, security and much more that took the edge off of ruling the young upstart nation after a terrible war.
Now where were her true friends? Those who would brave the fires of hell to make sure she was alright at the cost of their own wellbeing? Gone, away from her and any chance of making a difference in this uprising. Bastian was far away dealing with affairs of foreign policy, Lucia was held hostage by the same madman who would come for the throne and her headstrong brother laying siege to find her. Elincia was alone in a sea of uncertainty lashed to the sinking ship.
She took another drink of the strong wine, a breath of exhaustion escaped her lips once she swallowed it. Now she was at a small fort away from the capital where almost assuredly there would have been dancing ministers at her upheaval and replacement. The bonds of a weak child have been taken off, we can now become the great nation we were destined to be without those filthy animals, along with many other rallying cries would be heard from the gullible masses and the ministers who stonewalled her for the three years she sat on the throne.
Elincia poured herself more wine and looked over to a simple box that was on her table. She reached out with a slow, but shaky hand to touch the aged wood. It was a sight she was familiar with, since her youngest days as a child. She opened the lid of the wood to reveal weathered red silk lining the box. A little oval mirror with a few scratches upon its surface caught the light of the candle and the eyes of a grown up Elincia, bloodshot from tears and exhaustion.
Though it all paled in comparison to the part of it that always amazed her even up to adult hood. When the box was fully opened, there was a small porcelain figurine of a grown princess. The paint was faded but still it held a vibrant red and green dress with long golden hair tied behind the back in braids. Elincia's hand moved towards the worn brass knob at the side of the box. She turned it once, twice, three times and soon the figurine began to move in place, music familiar to her slowly drifted from the box and filled the air around her. The music sounded like an old harp that was woefully untuned, but it still played a song that was familiar and sorrowful at the same time.
It was nothing extravagant, even for the most lesser of landed noble's daughter. But it was a gift Elincia was given by her parents many years ago when she still knew only the villa and the Delbrays who raised her. In younger days, this would have been filled with inexpensive jewelry where she and Lucia would play dress up to act out over exaggerated roles of their parents, or more accurately the lords of the villa. Overtime precious jewelry was placed inside the box to replace the and soon with her parents falling deeper into the duties of state and hiding her from the rest of the world, the box became the only real reminder of her parents that she hardly ever saw except for her birthday or other special events.
They treated her like she was the figurine in the box, something to be admired and showed off when the need arose, but always careful. Coddling and placing the figure away so it would not be exposed to the real world. She snarled under her breath and drank more of the wine, emptying her full glass in a single swallow. The burn intensified as she remembered just how much she despised her parents. She rarely saw her 'loving' mother and father, and when they did arrive, there may have been a moment of love and affection, but how much of it seemed like they were speaking to the prized hunting hound or some other piece of property rather than the flesh and blood of their union. Goddess she hated them for that! They failed to show her the real world and instead placed her in an ivory tower far away from the real world until it came to swallow their nation whole, thrusting upon her the duties of leadership in a world gone mad.
Though the real question was how many had she failed? The wine loosened the knot in the back of her mind, one she had locked away in the deepest parts of her thoughts, and it was one she never really considered. She was a mess, a woman born with the right blood but not the right talents to rule a growing nation filled. Her parents, from what she read, were wise rulers who kept the peace. She had to fill their shoes when she took the throne, but how could she fill their roles if she didn't know how to do their position. They gave her an education in statesmanship, but it was only the ideal world of how the nation would be run. If they had actually loved her and showed her to others rather than the clandestine smoke and mirrors, they could have prepared her for the real world!
Regardless, she caried the name Crimea, and for a hundred and fifty years her family had ruled. The first of her family name was thrusted into the positon of power and established a dynasty. A dynasty that was unraveling between her fingers.
She poured another glass of the crimson liquor. The sick joke of it all was how much she failed as her position as a queen to both other monarchs as well as her own subjects. She wanted to repay the laguz, those who had helped her reclaim the throne from the Mad King Ashnard. But when she approached the people, those same people who for almost an entire year had suffered under the hand of insanity, to thank their liberators, there were no cheers or victory parades for them. Bigotry and xenophobic tendencies ran deeper than she expected and everything she tried was only met with more resistance. She saved the people from a monster, but she could not save them from themselves. They hated her.
But even that sting was eclipsed by the people she truly failed, those who had sacrificed so much to see her squander it all on some half-imagined future. The Mercenaries who only took a minimal fee and whose leader expressed great faith in the future under her rule. They had bled and many almost died to secure her reign, sacrifices that were pointless. Lucia willingly threw herself into certain death because she believed in a queen who could not believe in herself. And little Geo… all of the times he rode into battle for her was all for nothing.
Gallia and Pheonicis must assuredly see her as a weak ruler. Someone who was not able to bend the lords and masses to her will must have be the greatest shame in the eyes of those who value strength at arms. They must have seen her much like that porcelain figure that turned around in the slow music. Something that looked adorable, but with a single fault it would shatter into innumerable pieces. Oh how great it would be if she was dashed upon the stones beneath her window.
To lose her eyes and sleep, never to wake up… such a thought was seductive in this time. It might have been- nay would have been- better if she never took the throne or even been born from the womb of a queen who hid her from the world! Usurper, naive child, pretender! All of these names and more were hurled at her at such a regular basis that it was a surprise that she didn't accept this sooner. The nation would move on without her, more likely for the better. She was not worthy. She never was.
Somewhere she knew that even though she had to be strong for others, how she could be strong for herself? Her world was falling down around her, one where she was at fault for all the problems of the land. Her people, the nobles who consider themselves greater than her, and the other rulers she had forged bonds with; all of them despised her more and more for each breath of air she took! Soon it would all end and her embarrassment of a life would be over.
There were few options left to her. All of them pointed to death or perhaps a fate far worse. Ludveck would march his forces to this fort, that was assured, and there her fate would be decided. It was unlikely that she could win with the small garrison she had, and the Knights could not reach her in time. She drank more of the wine, and considered her choices. She could ride out to meet the force in battle and fight to the bitter end for what she believed in. She could surrender and submit herself to the mercies of a deposed monarch. She suspected death would be the answer, perhaps one drawn out in a cell somewhere she would not pose a threat to the newly crowned king. A fate worse than that would be to be demoted to something less than a painted whore to all manners of perversion the duke and his followers had.
There was another way, and it seemed like the best option when compared to life as a slave of pleasure. One she had seen more than quite a few times in the Crimean War of Liberation amongst the noble ladies who had their fathers, husbands, or brothers killed in battle. A simple manner of suicide that was efficient and easy to carry out by any woman. Elincia picked up a long needle, one he used to keep her hair in order during battle. They had a sharpened point so that in a pinch they could be used as a last means of defense when there was no other weapon around. It could pierce flesh with ease, and her throat was the weakest part on her body.
She took the needle with a steady hand, calm and prepared to finish it. She felt the cold pin touch her throat and took in a deep breath to steady herself. This was for the good of all. She pushed down, tears forming at the pain as the tip punctured the first layer of skin. A single droplet of warm blood came out of that wound and slowly ran down her elegant neck. Just a little more and she would pierce the main vein, and the end would come in a matter of moments. She screwed her eyes shut, tears continued to fall down her cheeks as she prepared to end it all. No more responsibilities, no more hatred, just the cold infinite void that awaited everyone.
She held the needle there but didn't push it in any further. Her mind moved to those same people she thought she failed and asked a simple question that pierced her despair. What was the greater shame she could bring upon those, making their sacrifices truly worthless or trying, no matter how impossible it may have seemed, to make it worthwhile?
She pulled the needle out of the small incision she made and planted her head in her hands. She may have been a novice when it came to statecraft, but there was room for improvement. She was not the first to deal with such issues and she would not be the last. Ludveck and his rebellion wouldn't win over everyone and there would be resistance against his new regime. He would assuredly face similar problems when his arse sat down on the uncomfortable chair. No matter who sat on the throne, there would always be those who resisted to be commanded and opposed the monarch.
She thought of those who had sacrificed so much, even those who gave themselves up to the altar of war and were broken, for her sake. It was not to see a Crimea 'brought from the ashes of incompetent rulers and made great again' as many insurgents claimed, but to see the right ruler upon the throne once more. Men and women fought, bled, and many died to see her restored, not because she was a great ruler or a wise one, but because she was the rightful ruler.
She thought of a young boy, an orphan with no family to speak of and no more than sixteen who had been with the Royal Knights as a page during the war. She remembered him giving his life to protect her from a stray arrow during the final battle, and how he died in his arms with a smile, thanking her for giving him a cause to believe in. If she surrendered to despair now, could she honor that nameless child's ultimate sacrifice? Could she go to the land of her ancestors and see the spirit of that child and tell him that it was meaningless?
She was facing her first true test as a monarch, and if she gave into despair she would fail and her legacy would shatter into a thousand pieces along with all those who offered up something to see to it that she was the Queen. She placed the hair needle down, noting the tip of red on the ivory colored metal. She sighed in frustration and returned to the almost empty bottle of wine, pouring herself a final glass.
There was a massive bellowing sound outside her window, and it shocked Elincia. With weak legs she moved to look out the window to the edge of her fort. The sound came again, and it was a sound she was familiar with during the war against the Mad King.
It was a Crimean war horn, not one of hers though.
With the light of the morning came the reflection from five hundred soldiers dressed in the white and golden armor of Feliare, with the banner of the black boar's head in front of a silver sun with golden edges with the words As Certain as the Dawn written under it. The horn was blown for a third time, the front banner man trying to intimidate the meager garrison.
Elincia looked at them and felt her despair give way to something resembling relief. Battle, the foolish duke thought he could push her into submission with the threat of war and death. Elincia knew she was already dead, a walking corpse that didn't know it yet. She was ready to throw it away to spare others under her command, but she wouldn't give Ludveck the satisfaction of taking a stroll to claim the throne. She was surrounded by a few, but many more around the continent, who saw her as the true and just ruler of the nation. She would be damned to the deepest of the hells before she acknowledged anyone else before her.
Her hands moved to her hair and began to move it into a bun. She picked up the blood tipped hair needle and pierced the hair to keep it in place. Elincia felt her mind move to the defense of her fort. She had no intention of surrendering, or of slowly starving to death in a siege as her support bled away. If she won, she would solidify her reign with this victory. If not, then her dynasty would end in the way all should: in fire and blood.
She strapped her armor on, her mind clearing off all unnecessary thoughts. She tied her sword to her side, the image of running this through Ludveck's skull brought a sense of calm. Before today, such things would have shocked her. But the innocence was gone, the last vestments of childhood were placed away. Mewling in self-pity wouldn't save Lucia from harm, nor would crying make sure Geoffrey returned from his own siege faster to fight for her in this battle. She was her own individual, and she would take a single shot at victory against impossible odds. She had to make the sacrifices of those she knew and those that were forgotten mean something.
With the last belt attached around her waist, Elincia turned to leave the room and face death once again upon the field of battle. She stopped at the door and turned around to see the open reminder of her past. She walked over to the table, and picked up the small chest, the porcelain figure inside looking directly into her eyes. As attractive and lovable glass and porcelain was to young girls, the real world shattered them easily. Real rulers, real people needed to be tempered in the crucible if they wanted to not only survive but thrive. In steel, glass was simply an impurity that caused the metal to become useless.
With a sad smile, Elincia closed the chest along with the rest of her childish notions of rule. She placed it gently down on the table and turned away to walk into the maelstrom of blood and iron. She had to see to the defenses and temper herself for this coming battle. This was to be the place where she would either be broken over the knee of a traitor.
Or where she would be forged into the queen she was always meant to be.