Tarnished
Disclaimer: Characters and settings within belong to the respective companies. The storyline recorded here is purely mine.
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Standing silent and alone, he stood staring aimlessly at the carved wood of the royal coffin.
He had known that it could come to this. Intellectually of course, because his heart had never even considered the thought of Eirika passing away before he did. Not once in the terror of the war, with dangers too numerous to count, had he feared for her safety. He had protested her presence upon the field of battle, but when she turned those trusting eyes upon him, had yielded to the arguement that she presented. With him by her side, what foe could touch her?
And indeed she had passed throughout the campaign without so much as a scratch. Through fire, and flood of foes, and the fury of and unleashed demon king. Some light had touched her and made her impervious to those threats. With the wars end, he thought that life had been secured. The people loved her, whose innocence and caring thought had brought them relief from the horrors that the war had wrought.
How ironic it was then, that no man took her from them.
She had been out riding that day, that glorious spring full of life and new growth. The flowers were blooming full in the sun's gentle rays, and he'd tucked a blossom behind her ear before she'd departed with a small contingent to enjoy the day. She'd been laughing then, and had leaned down from the saddle to kiss his cheek. He had flushed at the intimate contact, and wished her well with her endeavors.
As she rode out of the castle gates, she'd turned and waved. It was the last moment that he saw her alive.
The guards that rode out with her told him later. They had reached the fields, and the princess had let her mount have its head. Racing across the rolling hills, they attempted to keep pace, until that fateful moment where the horse stepped into a hole. No rider, no matter how proficient, could have kept their seat. She had been thrown as the creature fell, and by the time that help reached her, she had already passed on.
A broken neck, they said. No magic existed that could have turned the tide for her.
When the rider came in, with the news, both he and the king had rushed out of the place. The found her lying in the meadow, surrounded by flowers and looking all the world as if she were merely sleeping. Even pale as she was, and covered dirt, he scarce believed that she was gone. Until he touched her hand and found it cool, and placed his ear to her chest and felt not the beating of her heart.
Beside him, Ephraim wept. As the terror filled his own soul, the day darkened. Eirika was no longer there to grace them with her light.
They bore her body with all reverence into the castle. The maids had washed it, and dressed her in the finest silks. Her bier was laden with all manner of blossoms from the palace gardens, and when one looked upon her they could see still the gentle nobility that was the princess of Renais.
Her friends all wept at her passing. The land mourned with them.
And now Seth alone stood in her tomb. Silence surrounded him, and the only light came from the flickering torch set within the holder on the wall. In silence the silver knight removed his armor, setting each piece with care in front of his liege's tomb. With trembling fingers he placed a single white rose upon her coffin, and then turned to take the torch. He did not stumble as he walked away, though wounded most grievously. All injuries before had pierced only his body; this wound went straight through his heart.
When the sun arose the next morning, he had vanished from the castle grounds. To his king he bequeathed one last letter.
"I beg forgiveness for this trespass my lord, but I have taken a wound that shall never heal. The general that you so depended upon is broken, and can no longer serve as he once has. My armor has tarnished, my light has vanished; the Silver knight is no more."
"My days are numbered now, and my path leads towards death. Whether it be two days, or ten years hence, I cannot say. Know that I have taken my sword alone from all my possessions and now seek that end in whatever adventure may now befall me. In memory of my lady I will fight and fall. If some great evil is vanquished, look there for my sword."
"When I die, return it to her."
"It was always hers."
"With all sincerity..."
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Three years after his sister's funeral, Ephraim received word of the wayward knight. One of the returning parties of soldiers from the reconstruction of Grado sent a messenger ahead to the king. Appearing in the throne room, the man hastened to bow and presented a bundled package to the king. Franz, now one of Ephraim's trusted knights, took the package from the man and handed it to the king.
Lifting the cloth, Ephraim peered inside of the bundle. Silently he returned it to his knight before turning back to the messenger. "Where was this found?"
"Outside a small village in Grado, my lord. The man that it belonged to held off an army of dark spawned fiends for the whole of a night, unarmed save for that sword. By the time that we arrived, they had swarmed him and he was dying. His last request was that we deliver his blade to your majesty." The man raises his head slightly to look upon the throne.
"And the man? What was done with his body?"
"Buried where he fell, my lord. As we have done for any valiant citizen of Grado who perished in defense of their people." A long look passed between the king and his knight, and the soldier hesitated in his report. "Did you know this man, my lord?"
Ephraim nodded. "He was a brave knight Renais. It seems that he has once again found his way to the side of his mistress."
Dismissing the messenger with a wave, the king turned once again to the Franz. "You know what it was that he wished. Please ensure that it reaches her."
Bowing, the knight took his leave.
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In the tomb of the Lady Eirika, there stands a suit of armor tarnished and full of dust. Though no longer worn by a knight, it stands sentinel through endless time, a testament to the devotion of the knight for his lady. Affixed in its grasp is the hilt of a sword, the blade of which sought a path from life into the darkness that had consumed the princess.
Thus ends the tale of the Silver Knight.
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AN: Angst. Not greatly written angst at that. Why am I writing angst when I don't even like it that much? Well. Not much more than that, I'm afraid. Let me know how badly I did. Or didn't do.