Precious

See disclaimer in 01

The day was breaking.

Yggdra's shoes rang on the cobbled streets as she flew through them, navigating the mazelike pathways of St. Meriata towards the field hospital. The horizon was flaring red-gold far off to her right, painting the white city in deep floral tones.

The coin-shaped ball of the sun was deep scarlet.

The red dawn rising, the bloody night spent.

There was blood enough, and the scarring of weapons, of horses' hooves and dragons' claws. Places where cannon shells had exploded, and areas singed by fire magic. So much destruction. It seemed to haunt her wherever she went. Would she ever be free from it?

Would there ever be a day when she wasn't running like this, so afraid for someone else's life more than she was for her own?

That, and similar despondent thoughts brought on by her violent, sleepless night, were banished as she turned a corner and set eyes on the hospital at last.

There were a great many people in here receiving treatment. Her belly clenched tightly as she picked her way through rows of beds where men and women lay pressing bandages onto red-soaked shoulders or hips or backs, trying to stanch the flow of blood. Yggdra heard Flone's voice, though she didn't see the cleric, and thought she glimpsed Russell passing out supplies in the corner of her eye.

It took her a moment to find him. Beyond the fact that her mind was filled with the death Gulcasa usually wrought and her eyes were drawn to the beds with the worst cases, she hardly recognized him out of his heavy plate armor and chain mail. But at last she saw him in one of the beds at the very end of the row, propped against a series of pillows, all bandaged up and leafing through a book.

As she approached, he glanced up, his smoke-gray eyes meeting hers. There was a flicker of surprise across his face, and he dogeared his page and set his book aside, running a hand through his short blond hair.

"Sir Gordon…"

"Your Highness—or should I say Your Majesty?" He smiled at her, unbelievably. "It's good to see you back."

Yggdra just shook her head miserably, and sat down on the empty bed next to his. "How are your injuries doing…?"

"They aren't so bad. You forget—as a Temple Knight, I'm used to campaign wars. I've had worse." He grimaced, then laughed a little. "Probably."

Yggdra just looked at him despairingly.

"Now, what's that face for, Majesty? It's a… very interesting combination of sad eyes and the desire to tear into me, if I may be so bold as to say."

She sighed. "Sir Gordon… I'm sure you're well aware of this by now, but I can't help but reiterate—it was an extremely foolish risk you took, attempting to halt the main force of the Imperial Army on your own. You were hurt very badly, and could easily have died. Gulcasa is not known for showing mercy—and in its current state, Lombardia needs you now more than ever."

"A man has duties over the course of his life," Gordon replied easily. "What kind of people would any of us be, if we couldn't see to our duties?"

"It's beyond duty to try to play the hero, to endanger yourself so recklessly—and that's something I'm sure you've been told over and over since you were brought here." Yggdra sighed. "Sir Gordon, I'm sorry."

"Now, what have you to be sorry for, Majesty?"

"Far too many things, it seems." Yggdra shook her head, closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her face. The ruined holy city, and the blood she'd spilled on the altar of Welheim, weighed at her. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew that there was much more she had to do before then—and that nightmares would likely plague her when she tried.

They came so often now that she'd caught herself wanting to ask Flone for the drugs healers used to induce dreamless sleep. She was furious with herself for fostering such thoughts, such weakness; still, she couldn't keep herself from wishing.

"We're the ones who brought this war here," she said softly. "Lombardia is such an old and tired land… it deserves better than this constant battle. And even though I so thoughtlessly brought bloodshed here, when the time came, I couldn't stay here to defend it. When I left—when I left, I only had one responsibility, to see the Pope through safely… and I couldn't even accomplish that. Apologies aren't enough to make any of this better… but they're all I have. Sir Gordon, I'm so sorry."

"My Queen."

It was said with reverence, with humor, and something like love. Yggdra blinked, confused, and glanced up to see that Gordon was smiling at her.

"That's right, lift up your head. The crown is a heavy burden—all of us who've thought of the toll it must take realize that—but it's not so heavy that you can bow beneath it. Keep your chin up, Majesty. If you continued past here selfishly, thinking only of the war you have yet to wage, we would blame you. Lombardia would blame you for our losses, and we would turn our faces from you. We would be prepared for that, my Queen; we've had that response before from your ancestors.

"But you—you have come here, grieving for our losses and taking all their weight upon yourself. And so, I and all others to whom you come with your self-blame will say to you… it's alright. That you feel this way about what has happened here is enough for us. You couldn't have known for sure what would happen when you came here… and it's enough for us that you did the best you could."

As she heard his words, Yggdra was struck with the intense desire to just break down and start to cry. She didn't understand it; she couldn't give in to it. But she couldn't keep looking at Gordon's easy, accepting smile and keep her eyes from stinging.

"You need sleep," he told her. "And I've a feeling you won't get much in the next few weeks. Lay down your head for now; just take a short rest. You'll be moving on soon enough."

Yggdra couldn't speak. All she could do was nod, and gingerly rest against the edge of his mattress as her heavy eyelids fluttered lower and lower until she couldn't keep them open any longer.

Roswell found her there an hour later, curled up half on the bedspread and half sliding out of her chair, with Gordon paging through his book with one hand and lightly stroking her coiled braids with the other.

As he approached them, the knight looked up and nodded to him.

"You take good care of this one," he said in a low voice. "In this country, we've known a lot of kings and queens… and even as far as they go, she's special. Don't let her wear herself down. If Lombardia didn't need me… I think I might be tempted to leave my men behind and fight with you myself."

Roswell bent down and laid a hand to Yggdra's shoulder; she shifted and murmured slightly in her sleep, but didn't wake.

"We know," he said at length. "We… all know her worth. So you needn't worry. Even if she didn't hold the fate of her country in her hands… she's important to each and every one of us. No matter what happens, we will ensure she makes it through this alive and well."

He stood and turned the sheets down on the empty bed next to Gordon's, then softly and gently eased Yggdra into his arms. She turned towards him in her sleep, nestling close against his chest; a kind of light and warmth came into his eyes, and he was smiling slightly as he laid her down and tucked her in. He lingered for a moment over her—perhaps to whisper something in her ear, or to brush a gentle kiss over her hair—before he stood.

"For better or worse… she's all we have now," he said to Gordon. "So you needn't worry for her. I'm sure you will anyway—I would, we all would, if we couldn't follow her—but it's something you should know. We'll keep her safe until the time comes for the two of you to meet again."

Gordon looked at him for a while, then smiled and nodded. "I understand."

:owari: