Fragile
Hey, everyone. It's been a while since I've done a oneshot for this section, and this idea popped into my mind a few days back.
I hope you enjoy reading this.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"You've grown stronger, Amelia."
"Your footwork's improved tremendously."
"Good work today, lass. You've grown into a fine soldier."
"Hey, Franz, don't you think Amelia's improved a lot?"
He's heard the words, heard the praise. He's heard General Duessel speak glowingly of her abilities. He's heard others like Ewan and Ross talk about how good she is. He's heard Forde express amazement that the little deserter from Grado who couldn't hold her lance right can now hold her own in a sparring match against him.
He's heard all of that, and more.
But somehow, as he stands hear now, her tiny frame enveloped in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder, a soft sigh of contentment coming from her lips, he can't see the strong, tough warrior that the others do. He can't reconcile the image the others have of the powerful fighter they say she is. He can't see the girl who faced down Caellach the Tiger Eye in single combat in Jehenna.
Instead, all he can see is someone who's quiet and shy and needs to be protected. Someone who feels like she would shatter if he simply pressed harder on her (not that he would ever do that, not in a million years). Someone… fragile.
He knows he shouldn't feel like this, and it worries him that he still does. He's seen her fight alongside him, he's seen her skill for himself – skill he admits, if only to himself, might even surpass his own – time and time again. But whenever he tries to envision it in his mind he can't, and the only images he can pull up are of her lying bleeding and broken on a battlefield, and he is crouching by her side, having failed failed failed to protect her, to keep her from harm.
Perhaps she senses the slight tightening of the embrace around her, because it is at that moment that she pulls away and looks at him, a smile on her lips and a question in her eyes.
"What are you thinking about?"
He knows that he should tell her the truth. That he's been around her long enough that she won't take any (serious) offence to what he says. That it should clear the air out between them, perhaps lead him down the road towards being able to stop viewing her as something to be protected and looked after.
But he doesn't, and instead he shakes his head and simply says, "Nothing."
He notes the raised eyebrow – she knows him well enough to tell when he's lying, and he knows her well enough to tell that she can tell – but she doesn't press the issue (and a part of him dearly wishes she would), merely parting from with a quiet 'Good night,' before she heads back to her tent, leaving him to stare up at the starless sky and wonder why and when this relationship had gotten so muddled.
(X)
The next day is another battle; it's not a particularly big one, but that sort of distinction becomes academic once the enemy is thundering towards you, a battle-axe in his hands and murder in his eyes. A soldier can be wounded (or…) just as easily in a skirmish as he can in a massive all-out attack.
As Franz brings his blade to bear on the enemy, he tries to keep Amelia in his line of sight always, tries to keep a lookout for anyone who would try to hurt her. But his opponent is skilled and demands all of his attention, and then the press of battle draws him away from Amelia.
Finally, he succeeds in disabling his opponent and he rushes away, trying to look everywhere at once, trying to find the flash of golden hair and red armour that will let him know where she is as he continues to fend off opponents that try to attack him.
Finally he spots her, facing down a trio of soldiers and comfortably holding her own, and his heart leaps – with gladness or with anxiety, he isn't sure – and he starts to walk towards her.
He's almost reached her when suddenly a fourth enemy, one none of them were aware of, leaps at her from behind, one hand holding a gleaming dagger. At the last possible second Amelia spots it and dodges – almost. But a crimson gash opens on her side and she stumbles and falls, face screwed up in pain.
He's at her side before he knows it, sword already raised to strike her assailant down. Quick flashes of silver gleam along the blade, and the enemy soldiers fall down or fall back. Franz barely pays them any heed, already turning to tend to Amelia.
The sight of her lying on the ground, one hand clutching at a wound from which blood continues to flow freely, taking rapid, shallow breaths as her body goes into shock from blood loss, sears a fire straight into his heart. As he stoops to the ground, one hand already reaching for the Elixir at the side, he feels the blood rushing in his ears, and the world around him grows dim.
(X)
He sits by her side in the infirmary – he hasn't moved from there all day. An hour ago his brother had brought some food for him to eat – it's still sitting on the table, untouched.
It's not just that he has no appetite. It's also that he feels like he would throw up if he ate anything.
As he sits there staring at her silent form, at her chest slowly rising and falling with every deep, steady breath, he ponders the absurdity of it all. Amelia was the one wounded, and now she lies on the bed, in a dreamless sleep, comfortable thanks to the efforts of the healers. Meanwhile, he now sits at her side, a sharp, bitter pain deep in his chest.
It's as he's staring at her face, no longer furrowed with anxiety or pain, it's so pale, so delicate, so open, that he suddenly realizes.
She's not the fragile one. He is.
His heart isn't strong enough to bear of seeing her suffer. He simply can't stand the thought of her in pain. And if something were ever to happen to her, if she ever went away, he would never be able to bear it. He would crumble away like ashes in the wind.
So he leans over, clutching her hand in his own and resting his forehead on her arm, closing his eyes tightly and simply being there.
Then he feels her shift under the covers and when he opens his eyes he can see that her eyes are open too, and she's smiling at him. She blinks sleepily and glances out towards the exit of the tent.
"What time is it?"
"A little past dinner," reaching over, he picks up the plate of untouched food – it's cold, but in the army and on the move, they'd learnt to accept that a long time ago – and holds it up in front of her. "You should eat."
"Yeah, I probably should," she sits up in bed, wincing slightly at the pain in her stomach as she swings her legs over the side. "Hey, Franz?"
"Yes?"
She smiles, that little crooked, uneven smile that she's showed him so many times before, and for a moment he feels entirely happy. "Thanks for saving me again."
And he wants to protest that no he didn't, he didn't save her at all, because now there're another set of bandages across her body, and that she'll bear another scar, and that if he had truly protected her none of this would have happened.
But he doesn't say anything, he simply sits there in silence and watches her slowly finish her meal. And then he leaves, promising to visit her again soon.
(X)
"Franz?"
He looks up from where he had been sitting on the bench, silently staring at the campfire. Amelia is there, another soft smile on her face, but there's something in her eyes that hint at not everything being all right.
He sidles to the side and makes way for her to sit as well, and for a long moment neither of them speaks, they simply stare at the crackling blaze of the campfire until Amelia finally draws in a deep breath and turns to look at him.
"What's been bothering you?"
Franz isn't surprised, not really. After all, it's not like he'd been doing a particularly good job of hiding all the things he'd been going through. He sighs and looks over to Amelia.
"I'm sorry."
She scratches a insect bite on her arm. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific."
"Amelia, you've grown stronger, you know? From when we first met until now…"
"Yeah, everyone keeps telling me that," she raises and lowers a shoulder. "I guess it's true, too. I mean, I've gotten better, but I'm still nowhere near where I need to be."
Franz gazes down at the ground. "I know, but… I never really accepted that."
She wrinkles her nose, "Huh?"
He shrugs too, feeling oddly helpless. "I got so used to the idea of protecting you, that, well… I wasn't willing to let it go. Whenever we go into battle, I still find myself looking after you, trying to keep you safe," he closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I don't why, and I know it isn't right, but whenever I look at you I see a young girl instead of a trained and disciplined soldier, and I can't bear to see someone like you get hurt."
He's silent for a long while, not knowing how she's going to react, until suddenly he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he turns in his seat to look her in the eye. She's smiling.
"I am a soldier, Franz," she says softly. "But I'm a girl too."
And before he can react, she leans over and kisses him.
Franz believes he's learnt a few things that day.
There's nothing wrong with wanting to look out for or to protect Amelia. As much as she likes knowing that she can take care of herself, she likes knowing that someone is willingly watching her back even more.
At the same time, he needs to acknowledge that Amelia has grown strong. Sometimes he finds it hard and he has to forcibly remind himself of that fact, but he thinks he's improving (and Amelia thinks he's improving too).
And the last thing is that it's always easier to bear a burden – physical or otherwise – when someone's there to share it with. Amelia's promised to protect him too, and when he fights alongside her now, he feels like he could take on anything and win.
Maybe neither of them are as fragile as he'd once believed.
Story End
And now I worry that I made it too thematically similar to some of the story arcs in No Longer Alone.
Oh well, that's really beside the point. Thank you for reading. Please review.