Slipped Away
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"The day you slipped away
was the day I found
it won't be the same..."
- "Slipped Away" - Avril Lavigne
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She'd become accustomed to his advances, apparently miffed but perhaps, in her own way, flattered. Theirs was a schoolyard romance; borne of conflicting loyalties and restrained by petty matters and the use of…emissaries for lack of a more proper word, with which to continue this rally of flirt and falter. Strange that, religious training and years of experience instilled a thrill for battle and indifference to the fright of monsters, but their courage fell short of enough to face one another.
It had not been her dream to fall for the general with the hair of snow and eyes like liquid sapphire -- he was the last she'd voluntarily court. A soldier of Malkuth, she'd more sooner have his head on a wooden stick than his hand in marriage. But love, and life, was funny like that. Surrounded by handsome men all her life, odd that it would be he -- her enemy -- who would capture her heart and replace it with a rabble of energetic butterflies.
But politics had no place for butterflies and blushes. Malkuth and Kimlasca would forever sit on the fragility of peace unto eternity, their citizens two species whose union may be viewed as treason during times of war and with it, bring disaster upon their families. She'd learned that lesson firsthand and wished not to repeat her ancestor's mistakes.
So she'd offered him the dagger, a dramatic part of her hoping he would use it to pierce his chest so that maybe she could do the same. She'd broken his heart, or at least tried to, receiving his precious ring in return, and the continual promise it symbolized.
I believe you are the bride to be described in my Score.
Could it be? She often mulled over the possibilities late at night, when the world was asleep and all she had was a fon lamp radiating gentle orange light on the desk beside her, a pen in hand and a report half completed.
Score or not, she had her duties and he had his. This world would forever be torn apart by strife, if not by one country or the other, than by monsters and radicals. Someday he would forget about her, focusing on mobilizing his troops and squandering the threat, a lonely young general and her constant rejections the least of his worries. She was sure of it.
I'll wait as long as it takes for your feelings to change.
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The letter came in late afternoon. The sun was bright, shining through the pink-purple haze of miasma hovering like a storm cloud above their heads. The troops were in the fields beyond Kaitzur, honing their skills through skirmishes with wild beasts that roamed the woods.
It came, not from the sweaty hands of the Duke's son with his acquired band of cranks, a sight that sparked a childish giddiness in her chest, but from a helmeted soldier who got it from another soldier who got it from a Malkuth soldier who got it from the emperor. She peeled it open with her thumb upon remembering that the knife she generally used to open letters had been given away with nothing to show for it but a ring and rigid promises.
The hand was messy -- she'd assume a five-year-old's were she not already told otherwise -- and there appeared to me a smears of dirt in the haphazard shape of rappig hooves. But soon she started to make sense of it and her hands began to tremble violently, her vision blurring behind welling tears she knew she shouldn't have.
Dear General Jozette Cecille,
It is with great sorrow that I send you this letter. Reports state our Chesedonian Regional Forces were attacked by unknown assailants flying the flag of Kimlasca whilst they were training outside the city. Militaristic healers did all they could to save the general, but unfortunately, their efforts were not enough. At approximately 13:25 this afternoon, Brigadier General Aslan Frings passed away in the Grand Chokmah Sanctuary due to multiple physical wounds.
Aslan was a dear friend of mine, as well as an admirable soldier. I believe it was his final wish that you receive this letter and I humbly ask that you find a way to attend the memorial service that shall be held at Grand Chokmah Port in two days' time.
My deepest sympathy,
Emperor Peony IX
She'd seen her share of terror on the battlefield. She'd watched allies die, men and women she'd fought beside, ate beside, countless times before. She'd feared for her life, but never once had she shed a tear for the fallen. Death was natural, unavoidable, even less so in war. Crying was not going to bring anyone back. But as the letter fell from her numb fingers, the tears fell silently, and she wasn't even aware they were there until she tasted them on her lips.
The air had been crushed from her lungs, her nostrils tightened with invisible hands. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, felt nothing but the gaping wound beneath her breast, exposed to the harsh winds and burning heat of reality.
"Aslan…" Her voice was raspy, rising at the end as she spoke his name like a sob, willed him to hear and walk through the door, all right and alive. The door opened, but the man that entered was too tall, his chest puffed out with an air of arrogance, thinning hair and bald head shining, moustache curled slightly at the ends. His uniform was red.
"Requesting permission to take leave," she said calmly, robotically.
Count Almandine studied her face, the tracks made by tears on her cheeks, the death in her eyes and the jaw and back that was a little too rigid, fighting off a crippling quiver. Slowly, he nodded his large head. "Permission granted, General."
.
It was a solemn event, like all funerals. Custom to memorials in the capital, he was buried at sea, a procession of well dressed soldiers lining the steps, flags raised and trumpets melodic in the silence. She stood in the back, out of the way, out of sight of those who may single her out as Kimlascan. This was a time to respect his life, not judge her. She'd hurt him terribly in life; she wished to honour him at least in death.
Dressed in black, she held her head low, waiting for those who were close to him to pay their respects and wander away with their arms around one another, offering what little strength and comfort they could. When it was her time, she approached the crystalline water, wondering what it may have been like to grow in this spectacular city, wondering who she may have been, had she been born into another family, where she would be now. With him, perhaps?
I believe you are the bride to be described in my Score.
Did the Score mention this? she mused, watching her reflection wobble back and forth, distorting her lovely features in the ripples. Or was this merely punishment for straying off the path of the Score? For not accepting herself as his lady, his wife? She considered following him into the watery depths -- sort of a Romeo and Juliet type of deal -- before reminding herself it was not what he would have wanted. An impossibility now, he, like all other admirable souls, wished only for her continued happiness, however she found it.
The rose, red, the colour of blood and love, passion and fear, floated above the surface, riding the ripple waves like a sea bird, before the blossom filled with water, dipping below into the darkness. She watched the rose sink until the last thorn went under, then turned on her heel with the intent of returning home. The world had not ended, though hers may have, and there was still much to do.
She found the soldier, a good three decades her senior, standing by the steps, his breast decorated with medals and badges, a walking work of art and nobility. He glanced over her shoulder, at what remained of the service, the love and admiration for a young soldier made old. The man before her looked her up and down, knowing he'd never seen her before, but sensing a sorrow deeper in her than in all other guests together.
"How did you know General Frings?" he asked in a voice sandpaper rough. "Were you a friend?"
Cecille smiled, her mouth pulled down by despair and her chest empty, her whole body tight with the sense of loss and regret. Then she brought her hand to her heart like something special and even in the dim afternoon light, her finger sparkled.
"He was my fiancé."
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Fin
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Disclaimer: All Tales of the Abyss characters and locations are property of Namco.
Authors notes: Unless the search engine has failed me, I can't believe there are no other Frings x Cecille fan fics! This couple needs more love!