I wrote this because my partner and I were having some personality clashes and we just couldn't talk it out without wounding each other. I'd also picked up a great graphic novel entitled "Foiled", written by Jane Yolen and illustrated by Mike Cavallaro. I rarely enjoy North American comics these days with their penchant for angst, women in refrigerators, buffed heroes in form fitting tights that make you wonder how long it takes for them to put them on and why the women don't have camel toe or the men have severe groin definition, but this one was so well written, it took my breath away.
In it, the protagonist of the story, Aliera Carstairs, a sixteen year old, talented, fencer, visits her cousin, fourteen year old Caroline who has rheumatoid arthritis and is confined to a wheelchair. Aliera describes her this way: "I may fence, but she's always been the brave one." They play role playing games together in Caroline's introduction to the reader. Aliera plays Xenda (which brought to my mind Xena,) the Queen's Defender and Caroline plays Queen Furby. There was a single frame that simply struck me by the beauty of the ennui, where the narrative says, "I'd been entertaining Caroline with stories of the lab and Avery. She sounded a little jealous." The understatement of the narrative and the masterful drawing of the restrained emotional conflict within Caroline, Aliera's eyes closed in pleasant memory as she tells Caroline of Avery and the lab, Caroline's eyes on the hand Aliera has paced unconsciously upon her own, is simply sublime... sublime and heartbreaking.
This germinated an idea in my brain: what if the Queen was in love with her Defender? How would she express this and still be Queen? How would she wrestle with it and maintain the dignity of her upbringing, the respect of the Crown and the loyalty of her subjects?
Under the Stars
by sweetPixiesmile
When I finally accepted the fact that I loved her, I was upset. No, I was furious. I was afraid. I was mortified. I was confused.
It was hopeless.
Worse, it was unnatural.
Worst, it was true.
How do you fall in love with someone you've known since childhood?
How is it that you suddenly wake up in the middle of a Challenge and discover that your eyes were only ever drawn to theirs?
And I knew, as clear as day, and dark as night, the moment my Champion stepped onto the field of battle, as my Defender, to defeat all challengers in my name. I knew when I saw the brightness of magic shining in her eyes and the light of purpose blazing from the jewel on the Defender's sword in her magnificently large tapered hands...
It was then that I knew, without even a minuscule thread of doubt...
I loved her.
She'd turned away from me with her jaunty, knowing grin, flipping her glossy black mane over her shoulder. A sixteen year old girl, adjusting her leather cuirass, a banded affair topped by wide banded straps. Her left arm was covered by metal that ran from her fine leather gauntlet, at the way to her shoulder, the hardened leather gilded with The Silverwing of my family. Only the vambraces were of mithril, dear, dwarf wrought, lined with runes, a gift for my coronation with unknown virtue.
They knew what it meant through their interminable, internecine wars when a crippled, stripling of fourteen takes the throne without a Regent. Granted, the Old Guard, loyal to the crest and call of Falconor, stood fast and ready, but our land also had the rule of law... and with law, even the crown must submit or be forever tyrant and invite in an evil unrepentant.
Thus did I lay sacrifice my dearest friend, who stepped down from the wide, three step dias that elevated the uncomfortable jewel encrusted throne, leaving my side to answer Challenge with swiftness. An old tradition, Challenge, to be played out immediately upon issuance on the hides. Another remnant of history and tradition, the battlefield was a special mat of nine adult cow hides, cured and tanned expressly for such challenges.
The challenger was Sir Gunnarson of Thremblay, on the behalf of the Corisov Clan, a bevy of licentious and ambitious sibs, each and every one. He was the third son of Duke Corisov, tall, well built and strong. Several years her senior, several stones her weight, a hero of the recent marsh wars. He wore a full armoured set, including a great helm, a bulky cuirass, his arms and legs covered with layers of metal, and his powerful thews hefted a war hammer dubbed, dramatically, Skullcrusher. He drew two powerful blows, so quick the haft thrummed through the air with a deep reverberating hum.
And there my heart stood, as my chest throbbed painfully, in her light leather armour, her mithril vambaces, her leather greaves. A young sapling against a cold iron statue. She drew her weapon and whipped it back and forth, stretching, while Sir Gunnarson stood ominously immobile. Lord Silvercrest, my old tutor, bent over my shoulder to whisper something through his whiskers, but the thundering of my pulse made me wave him back irritably.
Oddly enough, the royal sword of our kingdom is a foil. It is magical of a surety, yet can only kill with its point. It is rumoured that ruled with Justice and Charity shall the blade know to strike down the enemies of the crown. I worried my hands and gripped the arm rests knuckle white, wondering if that were true.
So, in the first full day of my reign, I was Challenged, and I discovered that I loved my Champion beyond life and duty as she skillfully danced past the murderous intent of Sir Gunnarsson and struck him down through the minuscule gap between pauldron and cuirass in a single motion. The jewel on the pommel drew a fiery, sullenly defiant reddish orange trail that split the shocked silence that followed. Her eyes fair glowed with it.
And my heart, gracious as she was, did not profane or desecrate the fallen by cleaning her blade with a scrap of the defeated's surcoat, but returned silently, nonchalantly to the dais. She stood before all the court and the throne and quietly cleaned her blade with my favour. I sat as I had been taught, straight and well-formed, my chin proud as the Queens of the past, and addressed the pallid, angry faces of gentry, those vying for prominence with the backing of the Shullah Empire, a desert terror, as vast and unforgiving as the desert that covered most of their lands, gesturing for my love. She sauntered to the royal brazier and threw in the blood stained favour. This act shocked even the hardest of hearts and the staunchest of supporters.
Why did I burn the favour?
Why did my Defender make such quick work of a well known, battle hardened and respected knight?
My frail hands would never grip a sword. Even the sceptre felt unruly in my tender grip. But where my precious Champion's strength was in steel, my weapon was my mind. Long hours under the tutelage of Lord Silvercrest had honed my mind as my Champion's keen skill had blossomed under the watchful eye of Lady Berlia of the Fey. Aliera's blade had laid bared our opponent's defences.
It was my words that hammered home.
"As we burn this, our favour, all debts are paid in full, and all is clean of traitorous stain. We must hold together, for it is our unity that will defend our lands against all aggressors, just as our disunity will be our demise. Long have the Northern Guard held against Winter and honourable has been the south against the Shullah. Our West has held fast against the Nomads and our East tames the oceans. It is time that we, the centre, do our part and rise, once again to the glory that our forefathers have taught us: Fierce in Loyalty, Honourable in Fraternity, Steadfast in Fidelity. For even the smallest of holdings, our arms will be open, and our might meted out freely with Justice and Mercy." I remained seated as she came back to my side, my heart thrilling at her safety and her closeness.
But I was well trained, and as Lord Stirtgurd, the Chancellor, stepped forward to announce the names of those swearing fealty, my face remained impassive and serene as the stone halls of Falconwatch Castle.
And the nobles, cowed for a day, for this day, waited their turn to bow over the swollen joins of my hands to pay homage to the power I held. Under the watchful gleam of my Champion's eyes and her knowing smile, and the firmly impassive glare of the greatest feline wizard of the age, the Corisovs could not hang back, and even as the body of their relative cooled on the hides and was arranged by the marshals to lie in state, they came forward and the bitter words dripped from their lips like so much poison.
My body was nigh sore before the end of the Service of Fealty.
This was one of my grandfather's legacy, the use of spectacle and ceremony. This was still rather new to the harsh mountain home of the Wind Wardens. They would know the true power of ceremony soon. But for now, I concentrated on my words of acceptance as the rough Warrior Lords of the north saluted with their bearlike war cries, the bejewelled Southern Princes swept their elegant bows, the eastern Admirals dipped their hats and the Western Grain Barons clasped their hands. I must have been pale, but ignored the concern my Defender directed towards me as I did my duty, both to my ancestors and to my tiny kingdom.
"You shouldn't push yourself so, my Lady," she said to me that night as I prepared for bed. I was sleeping in the safe-room, secreted past the hearth of the royal bedroom. She knelt by my desk as I sat, exhausted on a much more comfortable chair; my father's favourite chair, where he had read manuscripts and dissertations to me as I sat silent and serious on his knee before bedtime. Now, my own chair. My joints throbbed and ached. Unspoken, she knelt by my feet and pushed the hem of my nightgown higher.
"If you keep this up, you'll catch cold," she noted my blushing cheeks as she rubbed my swollen knees. In truth, there was a tempest raging inside me, but what should I say when she performed an old and familiar ritual a thousand times before? She continued to regale me with the talk amongst the Heroes of the Realm after the ceremony as I stewed in a well concealed agony of longing.
"Sir Avery thinks that we handled the Princes very well," she smiled. She always smiled too much when speaking the name of Avery Artus.
"And this the first day only," I reminded her. She shrugged as she continued to rub, causing me to squirm in delicious torment.
"Does my Lady require my medicinal ministrations of a more intimate nature?" she teased mischievously.
"My lady will have her jest," I pouted, and blushed.
"You should blush more often," laughed my Champion. "It's a lovely colour, and suits you." Which of course made my face more red. "And don't call me a lady. Lady of sword and steel mayhap."
"You father was the closest confidant of my own; you're entitled, and landed as well."
"You don't have to remind me," she grimaced. "Still, at least Silas is able to care for the lands; he was always more nurturing, as you know."
"Your brother will do well enough," I replied. "Does he still moon after Lady Stephanie?"
"I only wish him the best," she said with a sardonic grin. "She'll never marry a youth two years her junior, and never be satisfied with a small plot of land in the heart of the Kingdom. She's for the silks and sun of the south, I think. What about Sir Briar?"
"Or of the Shullah ambassador?" I asked in a pique. She just had to mention the knight of the Western Kingdom who still pursued my hand. His name was Brian, but his ambition was prickly as the name we had dubbed him. The Law required my willing acquiescence for there to be a lawful union, and my hand was a precious and dangerous weapon.
"The Fullathah Confederacy isn't enough for me," she grinned again.
"Prince Assam's fiefdom is thrice the size of our whole kingdom, and his warriors are known across the lands for their ferocity."
"Prince Assam is handsome enough. But he has five wives, and I don't share." She shrugged, as she continued rubbing my knees. "Besides, to simply be a prize wife, a barbarian princess, never again allowed to hold a weapon?" She shook her head. "That's not the life for me."
"Yes, the life of danger and peril and intrigue as the Queen's Defender is much better."
"It's a sight more exciting, at the very least. I can make use of my strong will and large bumbling hands."
I laid my own hand, small and ugly with their swollen knuckles, still hers to silence.
"You are perfect, in my eyes. And my eyes work, unlike the rest of me." To my utter surprise, she ducked her head slightly, the firelight unable to mask the flush of her skin with it's flickering crimson and gold flames.
"Feel better," she grunted brusquely as her hands began kneading my knees.
"Yes. Thank you my Defender." She gave a short nod, then laughed.
"I should know better than to trade words with you," she smiled.
"As I would never desire to trade blows with you," I smiled gently at her. I hesitated. "I would never deliberately desire to cause you harm, Aliera."
"I know, Caroline, I know." She stooped over me and lifted me into her arms. She glanced at me sharply. "You have been eating, have you not, my lady?"
"Only a little. The day has been nervous enough without me unleashing a torrent of eaten food on my subjects. They might object to such a display of distemper."
"They surely would," she gave a bark of laughter as she brought me to the bed. She laid me down on the nondescript, soft mattress in the corner of the room and firmly tucked me in.
"Aliera..." I bit my lips, unsure of what I wanted, desired to say. I put a hand on her arm, to delay her departure. "My heart was relieved to see you unscathed by the Challenge." She hesitated, then sat by my side.
"I was scared. I know, I didn't look it, but I was terrified. My first kill, Caroline. I knew from the start that Sir Gunnarsson's life was in my hands, from the moment I drew The Sword, I knew. I knew I could do it and I knew it had to be done." She shook her head. "I've been in battle before. Remember the time the trolls raided near the castle? I killed there too. But that was so uncertain. This... there was not contest."
I lay my hand upon hers and squeezed it. I said nothing, only holding her hand as she sat by my side. I knew. I understood. And just as I would deflect the Sullese ambassador to protect her, she had drawn The Sword to defend me. She sighed and shook herself.
"Second day, tomorrow. Better get some beauty sleep," she said, squeezing my hand with hers before standing. She blew out the candle on the desk. "Goodnight, my Queen," she said as she stood, a dark silhouette at the secret door.
"Good night my Champion."
Long after she left, I mulled the day over. One day, perhaps I will tell her. Perhaps I will have a chance, as she should have the chance to reject me. I would bide my time, and plan and plot and bring glory to the kingdom. Many nations will wish to test the mettle of The Crippled Queen of Helfdom and her adolescent Defender. And who knows? Perhaps I will have the courage to speak my love under the brightness of the stars.
And so I fell asleep, with blazing foils, knowing eyes and stars in my head.