Fight On
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Elena of Avalor
Copyright: Disney+
/
"If I could, oh, I would be a hero
Be the one who would take all the arrows
Save you from the pain, carry all the weight
But I know that you're brave
Fight on, fighter
Don't let anyone steal your fire
Fight on, fighter
The Spirit is alive inside ya, yeah ... "
- "Fight On, Fighter" by For King & Country
/
" … Let the Swordsman's Cup begin!"
King Raúl of Avalor wrapped up his speech in a ringing voice, lifted his hands, and took his seat as the spectators burst into applause. As the commentator announced the names of the first two contestants, though, he was relieved to have the attention off him. Up high in the royal box above the stadium, the only people close enough to read the look on his face were his closest advisors and - unfortunately - his brother.
No one else could see how fake his performance was.
"What's the matter with you?" Prince Ramón lounged in the seat to the right of the throne. "You look constipated. More than usual, I mean."
"I just don't see why … after everything … swordfighting should still be celebrated like this."
The metallic clash of fencing foils echoed through the stadium. Raúl knew that sound well, had trained with weapons himself since he was big enough to hold one. He had never been in battle, but his father had. A Castillo leads from the front, King Rodolfo had always said, and it was on the front lines of the Corizan War that he had been killed. Stabbed through the heart by an enemy general. Raúl would never look at a sword the same way again.
"This is hardly the same thing, sire," said Agustín, Chief of the Castle, in his quietly reassuring way as he stood on Raúl's other side. "If you recall, it's against the rules to injure your opponent in a fencing match."
The reminder did help, and Raúl nodded gratefully at the older man. Ramón, however, rolled his eyes.
"I agree with my brother, actually," said the Prince, to both men's astonishment. "Our martial arts training in Avalor is clearly something to be ashamed of … given that we lost the war." He shot those last three words in Raúl's direction like arrows of contempt.
"We signed a peace treaty," Raúl said tersely.
"I call that losing. If you hadn't rolled over like a dog for Father's murderers before he was even cold in his grave - "
"If I hadn't done that, many more children would have lost their fathers by now."
"And what about the next time someone threatens us? You showed the whole world that Avalor is weak, that we won't even defend ourselves. Your bleeding heart will be the death of us someday."
How many times had they had this argument already? He should know better than to let Ramón keep baiting him, but he couldn't help it; his younger brother always knew how to push his buttons. He wanted to believe the peace treaty had been the right choice, but was if Ramón was right, and he was only setting an example of weakness?
"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed Agustín with what Raúl suspected was exaggerated awe meant to distract the brothers from their argument. "Did you see that, Your Majesties?"
Raúl looked down at the ongoing fencing match just in time to see the maneuver that had impressed his Chief of the Castle so much. If the older man wanted a distraction, he couldn't have found a better one, because all thoughts of war and politics flew right out of Raúl's head.
One of the fencers, lithe and slender figures in cream-colored suits, had just defied gravity by leaping into the air, tapping the other between the shoulder blades from overhead, and landing on both feet like a cat. Their lightness, their grace, and the relentless effort it must have taken to achieve it, took Raúl's breath away. This was everything he'd ever loved about fencing before the war. This was not a battle. It was a dance.
"Wow," he breathed.
"Who are they?" Ramón asked, grudgingly impressed.
Agustín consulted his clipboard. "The Señoritas Flores, Your Highness. Lucia and Margarita. Daughters of Don Francisco Flores. That was Lucia who just won, I believe."
So they were sisters, then. Raúl watched with a pang of envy as the two women clasped forearms. Unlike the Castillo brothers, nothing about their body language spoke of jealousy or resentment. Margarita clapped Lucia on the shoulder in a gesture of hearty congratulations, and received a hug in return. They walked back to their tent together, gloved hands gesturing with lively energy as if recapping the match.
"Flores? That name sounds familiar," said Ramón. "Wasn't he the one who married a shopgirl? No wonder their daughters have no sense of decorum. Women fencing, indeed."
"There's no rule against it," Raúl retorted. "Admit it, you were admiring them too."
"Not as much as you, brother. Stop drooling before everyone sees."
"Ay Ramón, can you be quiet for once and let us watch the tournament?" Raúl snapped, his temper fraying. "Or would you rather have the guards escort you out?"
"Your wish is my command, Your Majesty," Ramón muttered sulkily, but he did stay quiet after that. Still, as usual, Raúl was left with the uneasy feeling that he had lost the argument by winning it. Threatening his brother with the Guards when he hadn't actually done anything wrong was a step too far. There were no rules against being obnoxious.
Still, he watched the tournament with more interest than he'd felt in anything since his father's death. It felt as if Lucia Flores had struck a point on him instead of her opponent, jolting him awake, and he couldn't fall back into despondency.
All he knew was that he wanted to see her again.
/
The final round of the Swordsman's Cup took place the following day.
"Señorita Lucia Flores," announced the referee, "Versus Sir Elrod of Brazendell. En garde!"
Sir Elrod was good, but Lucia was better, and the Northerner's frustration increasingly got the better of him. The whole stadium heard him growl as he charged forward, only for Lucia to dart aside with cool-headed precision. Raúl didn't know whether to be worried or impressed. Fencing might be a dance to her, but it was clearly a battle to Elrod. What if he actually hurt her?
When she fell to her knees on the fencing mat, clutching her wrist, Raúl was halfway up out of his seat before he knew what he was doing. He had an irrational urge to run down there and help her up.
"Spirits' sakes, sit down." Ramón rolled his eyes at him. "You'll make everyone gossip."
"What happened?" Raúl asked Agustín, ignoring his brother. "Is she all right?"
"I don't know, sire. I can't tell the extent of the injury from here."
The referee got between Lucia and Sir Elrod, examining her wrist. Sir Elrod bowed a profuse apology, one hand over his heart, the other offering to help her up. Lucia let the referee help her instead, dignified despite her obvious pain. She looked Sir Elrod in the eye and spoke a few quiet words.
"Señorita Flores forfeits the match," the referee announced, in a voice too loud to show any emotion. "Sir Elrod of Brazendell wins!"
Cheers filled the stadium (though there were also a few boos). Confetti rained. A huge golden cup was brought out to Sir Elrod, who clutched it with a scowl, as if daring anyone to take it from him.
Raúl knew what came next. Thanks to a lifetime of royal training, he successfully hid his distaste as he descended from the royal box to congratulate the winner in person. Sir Elrod's flourishing bow had nothing of humility about it. His handshake was sweaty, although to be fair, that was only to be expected after such a strenuous fight.
What Raúl did next was not strictly within protocol, but not forbidden either. There were no rules saying that the king couldn't speak to the second-place contestant.
As he approached the tent into which Lucia Flores had disappeared, he realized he wasn't the first visitor. The tent was full of voices talking over each other. From the sound of it, her whole family had come to rally around her.
"That dirty cheat!" A sharp young woman's voice. "He hurt you on purpose!"
"You don't know that, Rita." Another woman's voice, softer and warmer, subdued with pain. That had to be Lucia. "Innocent until proven guilty, remember? I wasn't strong enough, that's all. I let him get too close."
She was quoting the constitution Raúl's great-grandfather had written like someone who truly believed in it, but it was her self-reproach that went straight to his heart. I wasn't strong enough … How many times had Ramón accused him of being weak? How many times had he been afraid his brother was right?
"Wasn't that match proof enough?" An older woman, loudly indignant. "You deserve that trophy, mijita, anyone could see it. You would have won if that scoundrel hadn't - "
"Please, mi amor, calm down." An older man, cultured and soothing. "Lucia is right, we have no proof. The most important thing to do is make sure she recovers. Doctor, what can you tell us?"
"Your wrist is broken, my lady," said the physician. "I'll have to set it in a cast for at least six weeks, maybe longer. It's a complex fracture, so even when it heals, you may lose some mobility."
"Will I be able to fence again?" asked Lucia in a low voice.
"Absolutely not!" thundered Don Francisco.
"Impossible to say," said the physician.
There was a low hitch of breath, something like a gasp or a sob, followed by a rustle of fabric. The Castillos had never been as affectionate as the Floreses seemed to be, but Raúl was fairly certain he could recognize the sound of an embrace.
He realized, with a hot burst of shame, that he was eavesdropping on what ought to be a private moment. His father would have called this behavior unworthy of a king, and he would have been right.
He was about to walk away - slink away, actually - when he heard the familiar sound of a throat being cleared. Agustín stood behind him, proper as always in his yellow livery, except for the knowing twinkle in his eyes. He tilted his gray head in the direction of the tent as if to say, Go on. What are you waiting for?
The Chief of the Castle had been serving in his position since before Raúl and Ramón had been born. His ability to see through them was sometimes borderline uncanny. Raúl trusted him more than anyone in the world, and he knew if he didn't take the older man's advice, he would regret it.
After a few more respectful seconds - and a glance to make sure Ramón wasn't around - Raúl nodded back and gestured for Agustín to go ahead and announce him. He did not care for this custom, it sounded so pompous, but his father and his tutors had told him it was important to let people collect themselves before meeting royalty so they wouldn't feel overwhelmed. He didn't see what was so overwhelming about a skinny twenty-five-year-old wearing a title too long for him, but the last thing he wanted was to make Lucia Flores uncomfortable in any way.
"Presenting His Royal Majesty, King Raúl Castillo." Agustín stepped aside and introduced each member of the Flores family in turn, like someone whose job it was to know everything and everyone in Avalor Castle, which he did.
"As you were," Raúl hurried to say as everyone - including Lucia, whose arm was in a sling - stood up to bow or curtsy.
The physician stood beside her. The family was grouped around her chair, just as he had imagined, in a circle of love and support. She was tall like her father, with her mother's green eyes, and chestnut hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her sister, small and dark-eyed and fierce, was attractive as well, but it was Lucia's quiet strength that caught Raúl's attention. She didn't look overwhelmed at all, far from it. She bowed her head once, then looked him straight in the eye. If he hadn't been eavesdropping earlier, he never would have known how upset she had been.
"Señorita Flores? I, uh … I just came to say … " To say what? Blazes, he hadn't thought this through. "You, uh … you fence very well."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
That wasn't it at all. He hadn't been this nervous even in front of the Corizan delegation. Thank goodness Ramón wasn't here, he'd never hear the end of it.
"Seeing you out there," he added, getting at least marginally closer to what he meant. "It reminded me of everything that's noble about the fighting arts. I needed that, after … "
He cut himself off before he could mention the war. Too raw. Too honest. But judging by the flash of understanding and compassion in Lucia's green eyes, perhaps it was just enough.
"I was so sorry to hear about your father," she said gently. "May he walk among marigolds."
"You are very kind."
He must have heard condolences a million times by now, but she was the only other person except for Agustín who had said your father instead of the king. He saw her glance over to Don Francisco, who wore a navy uniform and had the short hair and straight posture of a veteran. He might have served in the Corizan War too, or more likely at his age, one of the previous ones.
"For what it's worth," said Raúl, "I have to admit, I couldn't help overhearing you all just now … and, well, my father always used to say that losing against someone else doesn't make you weak. Only losing against yourself will do that. You fought with honor, Señorita. No one can take that away."
It was the strangest thing, but for a moment, he could hear King Rodolfo's deep voice in his mind so clearly, he actually looked over his shoulder to make sure there was no tall, broad-shouldered figure with a blue royal sash and piercing eyes standing behind him. If his father were here, Raúl realized suddenly, he would probably tell him the same thing. Signing a peace treaty with Coriza didn't make him a weak king. Dragging on the war until Avalor was ruined would have done that. It would have meant ignoring his own conscience. It would have meant losing against himself.
Lucia looked down at her broken wrist, as if seeing it from a new perspective. "I'll have to think about that," she murmured.
"Is there anything I can do to help? With your injury, I mean?"
"Oh, I'll be fine, Your Majesty." Her free hand went to her sling, adjusting it. "As soon as I get to the clinic. Where did you say it was, Doctor?"
The physician named the street, which was on the other side of the city. "I can send for a carriage - " he began, but Raúl held up one hand and he stopped short.
"You can borrow mine," he said. "It should fit everyone. Agustín, would you … ?"
"Right away, sire." The Chief of the Castle ducked through the tent flap to send for the royal coach. It was well-sprung and cushioned, and should make the ride as smooth as possible.
"You do not need to go to so much trouble … " Don Francisco began.
Doña Luisa squeezed his arm and shot a pointed look at their daughters. " … but we are honored by Your Majesty's generosity," she finished the sentence firmly.
Raúl had enough experience with parents of marriageable daughters, and he blushed involuntarily as he realized how his impulsive offer of a carriage ride must look. Did the Floreses think he had eyes for Lucia? Although … if they did think so, they might be right.
He was being silly. They'd only just met. She might be completely wrong for him.
Still, the only way to find that out was to get to know her.
"It's no trouble at all," he said. "Since I'm hoping to call upon the Señorita anyway as she recovers. With her family's permission, of course," speaking to all four Floreses.
Doña Luisa looked pleased, Don Francisco startled, Margarita amused but not unkindly so, and the physician politely blank. As for Lucia, she looked away, then back up again, with a tentative smile on her face.
"I'd like that," she said, forgetting to say Your Majesty, which made Raúl unreasonably happy. "Maybe we can even spar together, once my wrist heals. I could teach you a few moves."
She looked up at her father, saw the appalled look on his face, and her green eyes lit up with mischief.
For the first time since before his coronation, Raúl grinned.