In a Name
by Vittaria
Looking over the remains of a battered kingdom, the oldest princess of the O.Z. struggles to figure out who she is. One-shot.
Thirteen annuals.
She hadn't been able to feel anything for thirteen annuals.
She'd like to think this simple fact kept her out here on the balcony for hours, running her long, elegant fingers over the well-worn stone railing and reveling in the chill wind caressing her face. The suns were just beginning to descend, and the mountains they sank behind cast long black shadows across the valley. Darkness would fall, and she wasn't quite sure she could handle that. She wanted to see the suns in the sky for days on end, proof that the witch really hadn't succeeded; proof that she really was herself.
But really… who was she?
Azkadellia. Yes, she knew her own name. But the witch had masqueraded around with it for so long that it was no longer hers. It was not private. Azkadellia was a name that could stir fear in the hearts of the bravest soldiers, spawn nightmares if sworn by, move armies if signed. She could still feel the emptiness just under her skin, the part of her that had never really been her, the part of her that had been so full for the past annuals that she could barely move without recognizing the glaring emptiness from within. Yes, the witch was gone. But this skin, this skin was as unfamiliar to her as a stranger's. This chain-mail gown was someone else's, this hair that swept in front of her eyes in a stray breeze – this was not her. How could it be? She had not been herself for fourteen years. She had been a prisoner in her own mind. What was to become of her?
Princess Azkadellia. Certainly, there could be worse fates. She could be strung from the top of the highest towers by her thumbs and tortured. She could be thrown to those whom she had imprisoned. It would be befitting, would it not? To have her life finally ended, when she had ended far too many. But as a Princess, it would not be. She would have royal pardon. A place in the palace. A queen, a prince, and a princess to watch over her, stifling her, watching her as if she would at any moment revert back into a monstrosity of a woman. It would be warranted, of course. She deserved no less. Princess. The last time she was a Princess, she had died. Was she now still dead?
Answers did not come and thoughts spiraled downward as dark eyes overlooked a desolate kingdom. She had done this to them, and it pained her. How could she have let so much hurt come to a place she had always held so near and dear to her heart? She had been the shy one ,the responsible one; it was she who would not allow DG to squash bugs, but instead usher them onto folders and release them outside in the tall grasses. And yet it was she who had said nothing when it was called for entire villages to be destroyed; she who had stood idly by when souls were sucked from people like clams from their shells.
She shuddered, elegant hands now clutching at the stone railing. Greedily she sucked in deep breaths of cool air, trying to calm herself, memorizing the feel of every aggravated nerve in her throat as she did so. It was proof that she was still alive, after all.
"Az? Az." A pressure on her arm caused her to look down, then up into a set of familiar, wide blue eyes. "Az, come inside."
She did not say anything, but dropped her head as she shuddered again. Inside, inside the halls that were familiar from somebody else's thoughts, somebody else's eyes. No, she did not want to go inside, thank you. The rooms were keeping ghosts in corners that nobody else would see.
"I won't let you stop being as brave as you were during the Eclipse," DG again broke into her thoughts, leaning over the railing a bit as to keep in her line of sight.
"I am not brave," she responded, barely a whisper. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
Her younger sister raised her eyebrows and reached out, gently prying her hands from the stone she clutched so desperately. The feel of her work-worn, yet soft, hands touching her own had a warm feeling bubbling up inside. This was the miracle of touch. A squeeze to her fingers brought her attention back to her sister. "Az, you're the bravest person I know. I don't remember much, but I remember you were always the one defending me. You've lasted years in a personal hell with a wicked witch, and today you told her to get lost in what very well could have been the end for both of us. If you're going to tell me you're not brave, I'm going to tell you you're a liar, and a bad one at that."
There was something very familiar about the determined set of her jaw, something that told her that she shouldn't argue with this gi—no, not girl. Young woman. Instead, she softly asked, "What… what did you call me?"
DG gave her a slightly confused, slightly cautious glance. "Az… I called you Az. I think I used to call you Az. Do you not like it? I'm so used to my own nickname that I sort of give them to everyone else. Is that okay?"
Az. Az could be a person. Az was a young woman with a brave blue-eyed sister and a beautiful lavender-eyed mother and a father who hugged her as if she were going to disappear. Az had potential that the princess and Azkadellia did not.
"No," she finally responded, a slight but genuine smile – the second of the day – gracing her lips. "No, I like that very much, DG." She tried something – she turned away from the railing, dropping one of DG's hands, facing the inside. One of her hands came up to clasp the Emerald, the Emerald that she had not given up to the witch. The response to her action was a brilliant smile from her sister, who stepped forward and tugged on their clasped hands.
"Coming inside, Az?"
Az took a steadying breath and looked through the door into the faces of her Mother and Father, and then took a hesitant step forward, then another, so then they two were walking together into the light, closing the door on the night falling behind them.
Thirteen annuals. She had a lot of catching up to do.
Author's Notes: I thought, perhaps, as an afterthought, I may want to explain this random ficlet. It just so happens that I was supposed to be doing my calculus homework (but of course I wasn't), when I decided to see if my paycheck had been deposited so I could go to Amazon and buy my very own Tin Man DVD. That was when my muse - out of nowhere (she's been lost for a while) - smacked me in the back of a head with a brick the size of a small tractor trailor. Thus, giddy and bleeding, I sat down and poured Azkadellia's heart out in two pages in Microsoft Word for the better part of an hour.
This is what I got.
It was checked over by my dear friend Saraki-chan, and I thank her very much for her time!
Feedback is good for the soul of my muse.