Just something short. I might continue with more one shots. Let me know if you're interested.
Whenever someone brought up chess, they thought of the Easterners, of Grumman and that twerp that somehow made it to Central. They never even imagined Olivier Armstrong, cold and rigid, moving pieces while sitting across from Miles or Baccaneer or some other Northern soldier. She never sat for a game more than once every month or two, but she still sat.
The Promised Day was her ultimate play, and also her most desperate.
She was a true King, surrounded by her enemies, sitting back from the fight until the battle dictated her help was needed.
Many of her pawns fell. She would never say, especially to that man, but she felt every blow, knew every name.
Her Bishops moved swiftly, never faltering, always advancing her play.
Baccaneer was sometimes her Knight and sometimes her Rook. On the Promised Day, he was her Knight, twisting his route at the end and sacrificing himself for a glorious capture. It took hours for his sacrifice to finally reveal its meaning, but Bradley fell. And Olivier was certain he fell because Baccaneer weakened him. It shouldn't hurt so much, to have a piece fall.
Alexander was her Queen. She resented that fact, resented him while loving him, but he was by her side, protecting her, and he was an Alchemist. He had a wide variety of moves.
Olivier managed her checkmate. Many boards were in play that day, stacked high on top of each other. But they managed checkmate.
Olivier's board was the emptiest, many pieces gone. Each one hurt, though her face was ice and her heart was stone and her voice was steel and her eyes were silver. She was the Northern Wall. She protected and fought and won.
She never played chess more than once every month or so. It hurt, still.