Palladium Chariot

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I told her to be strong, though I knew it was unnecessary. She told me to stay close by her side, though she knew there was no need. I told her I would gladly follow her to the gates of heaven or through the pits of hell, though she already knew.

I always had the feeling that Commander Sigrun knew everything. Where I had tried with all my heart to sympathize with the apostle, I always felt as though I were so cold, so distant, where the commander was always so natural, so empathetic, so everything. I emulated her, her everything, from the fluid thrusts of her lance to the natural strokes of her sword. Even the way she spurred her pegasus onward when she kicked off the ground was a starting point for my emulation of her. I was always right behind, always a second slower, always leaving the earth behind for the sky after she did, always reaching out towards her as she reached back to me.

It is only because the sky is so invigorating and so full of life that I have the strength to say anything beyond what I'm required to say. My subordinates call me fearsome, terrifying, with the body of a woman, the heart of a man, and the soul of a statue. I could only tell Commander Sigrun that I admire her gentle courage in the skies, where the blowing wind washes away my restraint. I wish I were like you, I say. I wish I were as strong, I tell her as we ride on our feathered chariots millions of years above the ground. I wish I could be as dedicated and true to the apostle and to our people as she is. Her strength is beautiful to me. I wish I could be her shield as she is my sword, her earth as she is my water, her strength as she is my kindness. She has been there to guide me since I was a raw recruit learning how to fly. Her gentle eyes encouraged me to work harder. Those things I could not say; I could only think and feel.

I can only talk to the commander plainly here on the winds, the winds that remain the same no matter how they shift, the way I want her to remain: ever steady, always smiling, feminine, and strong. I need to tell her that she is my icon, who catches my eye every morning when I wake and every night when I sleep. I can always fly, but when I told her I could not go on if she died, it was because she can do what others cannot: bring me down from the skies. That is where I feel most alone. The commander was the one who presented me with this uniform, the mantle of the Holy Guard. She speaks with power and conviction, and she never doubts. Sometimes, when we are flying, she takes my hand and smiles. When we dive downward through the sky and break the cloud cover on our chariots so that we can see the trees and the grand spires of Sienne with the furious wind secreting away our voices, that is the only time I can ever tell her that I love her as a woman, as a knight and my commander, and for the love she has for everything in this world.

Sometimes after a mission we sit in the room where pegasus knights gather to relax, and after everyone else has left, I sit upright and the commander lays her head in my lap and touches my blistered hand with her smooth one and we sit without speaking. In those moments she reminds me of water and I am like earth and we together are shield and sword, and she tells me how genuinely proud she is to have me as a soldier and a companion, though I already know. I stroke her hair and smile and tell her it makes me happy, though there is no need; she already knows.