Summary:
Beatrix and Steiner have spent their life negating themselves under the guise of honor and obedience. At one point, they have to confront themselves—and each other—as creatures of passion completely independent of their duties.
This story takes place somewhere after the botched love letter scene and before the official beginning of their relationship when Steiner stopped Beatrix from leaving Alexandria.
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy IX and its characters belong to SquareEnix.
Splendor, Might, and Honor
I
The end of the day came to Beatrix with either relief or anguish. The duty, always impeccably done, did not, if never, determine the outcome of the day. Everyday the great General repeated the cycle religiously and efficiently, such that each part of the ritual-like routine of dressing and buckling up never took any unnecessary surplus second, yet everything was done with utmost precision and awareness.
The only part of the day that sometimes made her linger a little was when she took some time to gaze over the horizon before she left her chambers. One of the caretakers in the orphanage liked to tell her the story of Siegfried the dragon slayer. She thought of herself as the child in rough linen dress, whose hair was always dusty and unkempt, and who always wished to wake up in another place, in a different time, as "the hero who does not know fear".
The image of the hero always came to her vaguely, lost among many other images: the scarcity of the food, the dampness and the sterile smell of the dining room in the cellar, the occasional beating, the resonance of the pipe organ in the chapel, but most of all, she could not detach the view of the crimson line in the horizon with the two rhyming words that she so often heard: die Pracht, die Macht; the splendor, the might.
One of the songs often sung by the choir depicting the sun rising "in ancient splendor":
Doch erstehst in alter Pracht, Glorie der düstren Welt.
Du am Morgen, neu erwacht, wie ein stolzer Siegesheld!
Oh, how she hated this song then, but under the layers of repulsion she did recognize its beauty, which made the two rhyming words Pracht, Macht sound almost empty and conceptual. She often found herself repeating the two words as she raced the empty corridors of the orphanage at dawn with anxiety, Pracht, Macht... But the more often she repeated them, the emptier and the more distant they seemed to her.
When fate finally turned, she found the two words in the resounding clang of swords clashing. Contrary to the resonance of the pipe organ that inspired in her disgust and resentment, the metallic resonance woke the hunger in her, which came with a sense of liberation, especially coupled with the conscience that the sound may accompany her death someday. In the wretched place where the beatings in the orphanage seemed like caresses in comparison, she whispered Pracht, Macht like a credo. Although she never actually had the impression that she understood these words, she gradually gave them her own meaning. Strangely, they were almost comprehensible the day a fine Burmecian knight destroyed one of her eyes. Blood from all sorts of origins, of which she was familiar over the years, seemed more and more confounding itself with the crimson shade of the morning horizon. She heard the song in her head every time as she watched the sun rise. She wished that one day it would stop and she would eventually forget about its existence altogether.
***
"The orders will be carried out as Your Highness commanded."
The resonance of the voice of the strict-mannered Adelbert pleased her. She never actually asked, but she heard here and there that her rival Herr Steiner (she always addressed him thus, as an expression of both soldierly respect and guarded courteousness) hailed from a village framed by stone mountains that had swallowed many lives of hot-blooded young men like him, less because of enemy ambushes but rather of unwise braveness. When she almost emerged as the finest swordsman in the Alexandrian army, he beat her in a duel. It was a rather tight victory. Steiner himself congratulated her personally after the duel, which she almost refused in resentment. The admiration was mutual, but at the same time she found it fascinating that although Steiner's techniques and movements were not very elegant, at some points even rather abrupt, they were focused and efficient. Perhaps that was how Siegfried killed the dragon as well—efficient and abrupt, leaving uneven cuts on the scales and a big gaping hole where its heart was.
When she surpassed his rank and her troop overtook the exclusivity of The Knights of Pluto, the humanness showed in an honest expression of shattered ego. She wished that he would take his helmet off before Queen Brahne finished her debrief, throw it on the marble floor at her feet, then leap out in a violent and raw gesture that would equal the fire in his deep brown eyes. The same fire that she saw every time she nonchalantly called him "Bergkletterer", which connotes his countryside upbringing, and which she knew he hated.
"You can address me so disdainfully, my lady," he said calmly, although she noticed the fire in his eyes, "do you know what they call you, as disdainfully as you call me?"
"I am pleased to hear it from you."
"Die Höllenrose—Rose of Hell."
"That does not sound very disdainful to me, Steiner."
"Yes," he said sternly. In his eyes, the fire burned more and more intensely, "a woman who dedicates her life to denying her beauty for the benefit of her combative ways, such that she is not a 'rose', but rather a rose from hell, should realize that she deviates from... conventions."
She chuckled.
"And is thus an object of disdain?"
"One would say so, yes."
"You are a rather conservative man, of that I know, Steiner, but I do not think that you are superficial."
He flinched.
"You do not disdain me, and are not bothered by my deviation and my 'combative ways'...," she leaned in a bit closer, "and I do not disdain you. In fact, if it is true what they told me, I would be happy to be born where you were."
For the first time, she believed she almost saw a smile (or rather some jaw muscles loosening up) on his usually stern face.
"I know very well who to disdain and who to laud. My opinion regarding you in this matter is known to everyone."
His armor made light clanging sound when they walked away from each other.
She whispered her credo again and again in her mind, looking for appropriate meaning, anything concrete, as she patrolled the kingdom grounds early in the morning. Pracht, Macht... A part of her wished that emergency bell would ring, signaling a major ambush, loud enough that her heart would leap and her hands tensing up for battle, to feel the warmth of living blood covering her hands and face, her entire body. Another part of her looked for the meaning of the words as her eyes lingered the castle grounds. She saw soldiers polishing their weapons, bathing the horses, eating, laughing, getting drunk in plain daylight. Her sight halted on the tall, strong figure that she more often saw with than without armor sharpening his weapons. She approached carefully, feigning that it was a part of her patrol, and let her gaze linger. The natural shade of his skin was a little tanner than the others, but it also had taken a paler shade because of the constant wearing of armor. The back of the neck showed some burn from the blazing sun, the shoulders as well. The cut of his black hair was strictly utilitarian to prevent any hindrance for the chainmail and the helmet. His arms were darker where the armor did not cover them, and the movements of his calloused fingers are adept as he polished his swords. Pracht, Macht... how ironic would that be, were she to find the meaning by looking at Steiner's bare torso.
"Good afternoon, General Beatrix," he greeted her in his usual curt manner, "could I be of any help to you?"
He stopped polishing for a while to check the general state of the blade, frowned to the sight of some imperfections, then put the blade back on the working board. He went to a giant wooden gallon of fresh water in the corner to splash his face and drank.
"Such scorching heat would make any good knight doubt himself more than any call to combat," he said nonchalantly, rubbing fresh water on his face and hair. She watched him as he did so. The wet hair and skin underlined a rather savage charm emanating from his figure, which his firm movements only reinforced. He was never a handsome man, she thought, and never fancied of being one. The skin reflected every exposure to heat and cold. His facial features were prominent, and his jaws wide and protruding. The elegant ladies of Treno would dismiss him without a second glance. Yet, in a very particular way, if one looks, one could find the appeal of his rugged features.
"I do not have the proper eloquence to address this...," he finally broke the silence after some time, "but my lady has had her eyes on me for a considerable time now. I begin doubting that these swords, lovely as they are, are the source of your interest."
She did not expect that from the usually tight-lipped soldier obsessed with order and good manners. He walked up to her, his naked torso glistening with sweat. There was almost a kind of freedom that she had not seen before, almost defiant, known only to people born with the survival instinct to both confront and embrace the nature's grandeur. The freedom was almost stubborn, animalistic, that was completely alien to the basement of a dilapidated orphanage. He looked at her with the fiery gaze that he constantly suppressed, and which she had grown familiar with. One look and she knew that he wanted to impose it on her, to see her under his commands and admit his strength. He knew that she would defy it, and he thought that it would be amusing for them both, because in the end the clash of forces would feed them both.
"Do not flatter yourself thus, Steiner. It hinders your vigilance."
"I am merely speaking from what I can observe," he gave a finishing touch to the sword on the working board, hooked it on his belt, then looked back up to meet her gaze.
He wiped the sweat off his temple with his forearms, then approached Beatrix. She realized that her heart was beating faster, although her facial expression and her posture reflected nothing of the tension. Steiner reached out to the handle of Save the Queen strapped on her back, and as he did so she felt the warmth of his body, whose scent is of sweat mixed with earth and iron dust. By reflex, she reached out to stop his hand from touching the handle. Steiner's hand remained still in her tight grip, showing no intention to move away, leave alone retaliate.
"I did not give you the permission to mock me thus," she said, tightening her grip.
"I notice some rather harsh weathering signs on the handle, and the junction to the blade has a very subtle fissure that can grow into a crack if not properly taken care of. It shows that you have been quite busy with your duties these days. But I have some time today, and can perhaps do something with them. It is merely a friendly offer," he replied matter-of-factly. She loosened up her grip then let go of his hand.
"I will send one of the guards to deliver it back to you in the evening," he added a while later.
"I was hoping to have it delivered by the good Captain himself," she replied, strapping the weapon off her leather belt then handed it to him.
"Then it shall be done."
II
It was slightly past midnight when she heard the dull resonance of steel clashing against the old stones. She had long changed into the loose old silk robe she always slept in, but rushed to the door, barefoot, when she heard the knock. Behind the door was Steiner himself, clad in armor except for his helmet and well-armed for his night patrol. His gaze lingered on her for a while, which he quickly cast down as he handed her the nicely polished Save the Queen.
"Does it bother you to see me in such an exposed state, and my decrepit eye uncovered?"
"Not in the least," he said, "and the cause is not what my lady think it is."
She took the sword from him, then placed it on the stand by the door.
"It has been some time since I last saw such an excellent work. Thank you. You did me a favor." His gaze remained cast down. A sign of courtesy: his honor codes.
"Do you find me pitiful in this state?"
"No," he said, rising his gaze to meet hers, but only very briefly. "You are... (he hesitated) lovely, Beatrix... but I am afraid that you would not like what I have in mind at this moment."
"What is it and why would it bother me?"
"I am thinking: those who call you 'Höllenrose' are blinded with the General's splendor and might."
"Splendor and might...," she repeated as if to herself, the way she always whispered the credo to herself. "Do you see those in me, Steiner?"
"You may not be happy to hear my thought, but I feel that they mean either too much for you, or have no meaning at all."
"You are right in both," she said with a faint smile. "So much for a life spent blindly following orders and bathing one's hands with blood."
She noticed his gaze softening, and his figure loosening up. They were both surprised that such gentleness could form between them.
"Is this what you are thinking when you are alone?" he asked gently, which would come out as rather abrupt in the standards of his usual behavior. It was one of the rare moments in their acquaintance where he did not think about the codes first before he spoke.
"Adelbert," it was the first time she ever addressed him thus. "It does not matter what I am thinking when I am alone. It does not matter what I want outside the call of duty. We have learned too well to negate ourselves, to define ourselves with codes of honor... The self-questioning has to stop, someday."
She glanced at the empty and dark winding staircase behind him. The silence, except their breathing, was complete. In that span of silence, she heard the song in her head, the one she heard when watching the red horizon at dawn. It always came with an overwhelming sense of isolation. Before she managed to drift too far away, Steiner's large, calloused hands seized her jaws as he leaned down to kiss her. The kiss itself was rigid, his lips dry and cold. It was hard to imagine that he had kissed anyone before... She wondered, but instead decided to savor each passing second. When the kiss ended, she saw the familiar dark eyes sheltering the fire stifled by the codes of honor, of splendor, of might.
Author's Note:
I wonder whether I should continue the story. As much as I like that it ends on an untreated cliffhanger, I also think that an alternative ending could be great.
Please tell me what you think :)