This is a one shot. It does have a past and a future that I may one day write. For now, I hope you enjoy this drabble.

White Queen, Black Knight


The light in the room dances in the shadows as the fire slowly dies in the grate. The room is silent beyond the occasional crackle of an ember giving up the last of its fuel. The ghosts have retired to wherever it is ghosts retire. She had been played hard that evening by the boy with the hair and the temperament that matches the snap and burn of the fire grate. Her people had won thanks to his clever foresight. She looks over across the plain and beyond the black defensive line. All is still.

She knows the impossibility of feeling anything in her state; her heart was frozen decades ago. She is guarded fiercely, loyally, and, although she is thankful she is finally safe, she mourns her freedom. Her eyes try to make out his shape in the dim light.

She thinks back over the decades. Thinks of how many times he had to cut her down. She doesn't blame him. She sees the sorrow in his eyes every time and it breaks her. Every time. She can't blame him.

She looks over her shoulder at her King. He is kind but he is cold. He's never had a heart that beats and as such can never understand her. He can never gift her his. She wishes she could be satisfied with what is. But she can't.

Her Black Knight is across the battle-worn field. A field chequered black with heroes falls and white with their rebirths. It is scarred but so is she.

She wishes, not for the first time, and likely not for the last time, that she was nothing but a pawn. A rook in this dusty game. She wonders how it would be to have no one to hide behind. To set out her own path. In this life, too, she is trapped.

She is an important player. She has power and her loss is always felt keenly. Often she is out in the field and has to watch her Black Knight fall. Over and over again. She wishes she could reach out and touch him. Run her fingers along his cheek. She wishes he could touch her. Wipe away the tears that would flow. That should flow.

But tonight is quiet and she is tucked safely behind her troops. She knows that across the board, her Black Knight is safe. This is her night time ritual. She remembers. She knows that he is remembering too.

That is enough.


Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think!