Chapter 29
The Rose Kingdom was silent and still at the dawn of the Tournament day. Only gentle, nervous heartbeats powered the early morning hours before the rest of the Kingdom woke.
Scattered across rooms, inns, and strongholds, a small but mighty crew of idealists prepared as best as they could for all that the day promised. They were quiet. Their eyes were bright. They gathered their hopes in their palms like wildflowers, pulled from the soil of their hearts.
Somewhere in the still-sleeping Kingdom, a lady-in-waiting knelt before Gaia, praying she would guide the right warrior to the throne.
A blacksmith faithfully inspected pieces of golden armor, checking again and again for flaws that might betray its wearer.
A knight with weary eyes sat upright on the edge of his cot, contemplating a small ruby teardrop on a golden chain.
A prisoner hummed a tune, blissfully unaware of what fateful day the sun had finally risen on.
And a Princess watched over her Kingdom from a high balcony, alone.
The sunbeams were the first thing to greet Amy that morning - to warm her face with such gentle fingers. Like they knew it might be her last day to feel such small delights and had taken pains to shine extra bright, just for her.
Amy took one last deep breath while the world still felt like a being who, at its core, was peaceful and kind.
Then, she turned and made her way out of her room to face the terrifying beast of a day head on. Her blood rushed through her body in a powerful torrent, spurred on by the excited beat of her heart.
She didn't want to stall any longer. She didn't have to. She knew what the outcome of the Tournament had to be, and she was ready to do anything it took to get there.
She walked through the halls, her stride long and powerful, feeling and seeing everything around her with dizzying clarity. Funny - only when she knew she might lose it all did she finally feel centered in the world; connected and tied to the very core of the earth. The vivid details of the real world dazzled all of her senses. The smell of moss growing on the stone. The curling craftsmanship on every frame around every portrait lining the halls. The frowns and graying color of each of her ancestors, painted forever into the history of the Kingdom as dour and joyless as ghosts.
Their disdainful gazes followed her as she marched through the castle. She picked up her pace to get out from under their watch as fast as she could, making her way through the courtyard to the arena.
Far before even the servants had risen to start hanging banners, Amy set the stage for her great coup in excitable solitude. She checked tasks off of her mental to-do list, and freed up space in her mind and heart for nothing but the fight - the field, the fury, the end.
She hid her underclothes in a changing room. She wrote the names of her companions on access lists for the private tunnels leading into the arena on all sides.
She found the ledger where the warriors would sign their names to officially enter the Tournament, and added her own borrowed one to the very bottom of the page.
Sir Dylan of Highsong.
Amy ran her finger over his name, disappointed that she could not proudly claim her own.
Did any of the other Tournament entrants know her, she wondered? She stared at the empty page, thinking of the other would-be Champions whose names would soon join Dylan's. Did any of the Lords coming to fight care that she would be their wife if they won? Were any of them fighting not for glory, but for her?
She shook her head and promised herself that when it was all over, she'd replace his name with her own. So the history books would remember what lengths she had gone to for her people; what lengths she had gone to for herself.
She left the book and turned, as if in a trance; pulled toward the gravity of the empty arena.
She walked until she was in the very center of the battlefield. Around her the bleachers were barren and the morning air was cold.
Amy closed her eyes and took a lingering breath. She just needed one more moment to herself - one more precious moment - before it all became chaos; all became something she could not control. Not entirely.
Alone in the arena, she slid her foot back into the dirt and summoned her hammer, taking up her fighting stance just as she had every night for a week in her cleared-out bedroom. She took long, slow breaths as she bent her knees and reinforced her balance, grounding herself in the feeling of her own beating heart.
Yes, despite everything, it was still there. Strong and loud, thundering in her chest.
She tuned herself to the frequency of the arena: two feet on the ground. Center of gravity settled in her stomach. Hammer secure in her grip.
The fabric of her body - the threads of her mind and heart tangled together and hummed in sync. It all felt so right and real that she almost wept.
She was ready. She was able. She would win.
She looked out over the arena, spinning in a slow circle. Two thrones, one grand and one small, waited expectantly on a dais nestled into the middle of the stands at perfect viewing height.
Beneath it, on the ground, was a freshly built wooden gallows.
For a second, the world went cold around her. Her hammer fell from her hands and out of existence.
The rope noose swayed in the wind, gesturing in eerie promise. Beckoning almost kindly, not to her, but to the person she loved.
She took one step toward it, like anything she could do this morning might keep him from having to step onto the platform and slip his head through the coarse loop of rope. But a loud creak sounded from somewhere in the courtyard and Amy startled, scurrying back toward her room before she could be caught by a castle worker.
As she walked back to her room, the reality of the day bore down upon her as tall and sturdy as the gallows itself.
Cream and Rouge dressed her for the Tournament in a heavy white gown, and Amy did her best to conjure that feeling of infinite rightness back into her body - the feeling of utter embodiment she had found in the arena.
Standing in white, done up like a bride or an angel or some other such innocent, heavenly gift, that comfort eluded her.
She shivered at her reflection. White, like a proper prize. White like… a ghost.
Cream reached forward and took one of Amy's hands in hers.
They stood facing the melancholy weight of her reflection together.
Cream squeezed her hand and said kindly, "you'll be magnificent today, miss Amy."
Amy's attempt at a reassuring smile came out like a tight-lipped grimace.
Rouge snatched her other hand and squeezed it, too. Much, much harder.
"Bring those bastards to their fucking knees," she said, her voice rich and venomous. It was not kind encouragement. It was a command.
Amy squeezed their hands back. She would be more than happy to oblige.
The crowd gathered in the city and outside of the castle gates thrummed in loud anticipation. Whispers, laughter, and arguments all turned into one cacophonous wave that crashed and receded just outside the castle, waiting to consume every ounce of entertainment it could.
Amy waited in the shade of the royal box with her father and tried to ignore the sound of the immense crowd. Tried to shake off all of the people, all of the potential ways she could falter on the arena floor and lose their favor.
She wasn't nervous, not really, she tried to tell herself. She was just… anxious.
Far off, the sound of trumpets heralded, and a great cheer rose from the crowd like a roar.
Amy winced. That was it, then - the morning had begun. The gates were flung open. The festivities had been set in motion.
The Tournament of Champions was an institution brimming with history, tradition, and rules both spoken and unspoken. It was a symbol of the Rose Kingdom's power, their generosity, their splendor. Tournament morning, in particular, was strictly for merriment. Children ran between entertainers who sang and juggled and dazzled them with small magic tricks. Vendors sold clay mugs of tea and hot pastries filled with vegetables. Banners of every color flew overhead, bright and playful, dancing in the tepid wind.
Amy used to love the Tournament morning. It was one of the few vivid memories she had with her mother - dancing together to the music of a small string trio while everyone gathered around and sighed and called them lovely.
She wished she could enjoy the day as she usually did - relaxed for the most part, except when it came to watching Shadow on the field. Instead, she greeted nobility as they filed through the King's viewing platform and into their own seats with barely concealed annoyance.
She couldn't be blamed for her behavior - the Lords were shameless this year. They had never been particularly kind or clean in years prior, but her explicit status as "Prize" seemed to embolden them even further.
An aging raccoon greeted the King with typical, gross enthusiasm. Amy rolled her eyes at her father, who enjoyed and encouraged the Lords' fussing and fawning for his favor.
The Lord turned his attention to Amy and took her hand in his. His nails dug coldly into her palm as he grasped her just a touch too tightly and too close.
"Your highness," he said grandly, "How magnificent you look today! What a pity it is that I'm recovering from a rather spectacular military excursion and cannot compete in the Tournament this year. The prize is most tempting, and my swordplay quite excellent."
Lord Rescue the raccoon smiled a self-satisfied grin and bent to kiss her hand.
A shiver racked down Amy's spine as lips met skin. She couldn't bring herself to be cordial with this man or any other Lord paying her similar 'compliments'. She was more than sure that there had been no such spectacular military excursion. Lord Rescue was just the type of man who would do and say anything to avoid confronting how singularly unspecial he was.
"Lord Rescue," she said loudly, her mouth turned down in an obvious frown. "It is a pity you can't compete this year, seeing as I hear you are in want of a wife. Am I mistaken, or is it true that your third wife was just formally granted her request for a divorce?"
Her father turned to her, eyes wide. Lord Rescue stiffened as Amy wrenched her hand from his grip.
"How very, very sad for me," she said blandly, "that I will not be your fourth."
Lord Rescue scurried away to a far seat looking positively indignant.
"Amelia," the King chastised, "the fealty of these Lords powers our Kingdom - are they not worth the smallest bit of respect?"
"Apologies," Amy said, and sighed with the effort of having to pretend to care about anything other than the impending battle. "I'm just… anxious, I think. About the day. The Tournament. Everything."
She shrugged as if to apologize and assure him to pay her womanly attitude no mind, and turned to look out over the stands. The actual Tournament events had not yet opened and wouldn't for several hours, but a few peasant families had settled in seats early to make sure their children could see the action.
Amy's heart plummeted as she watched a father lift his child onto his shoulders. The man held his son in place with one hand, and with his other, gripped tight to his partner.
She grimaced at the obvious apprehension in the way the man held tight to his loved ones. This day meant so much to everyone, not just her. Even if Amy hadn't planned to enter, this day would be crucial to the Kingdom, and everyone knew it.
They weren't watching to see who would be crowned Champion, they were watching to see who would be crowned King.
"I know you're probably… nervous, dear," The King said, snapping Amy from her thoughts.
He reached for her hand, then thought better of it.
"You… have nothing to fear," he said. His voice was soft, like he really believed that he was caring for her. "Once I am satisfied that he is a fine choice, I'll make sure the Highsong wins."
Amy smiled at him and plucked at her fingers. How grim, she thought, the ways in which her father could ensure an entrant's victory. The ways in which he could ensure her loss.
"Right," she said. "That is a comfort."
"Trust me," said the King, "we'll be much happier when this is settled. I'll be able to rest, finally, knowing the Kingdom will be in good hands and you'll be well provided for."
Amy did her best to not feel the aching of her heart. She had lived through a few great tragedies, but perhaps the worst one - the one she would regret even on her deathbed - was her father and their magnetic, repellent bond.
He was so close to care, so close to paternal love. He was just too small-minded to get it really right, and that inability to close the gap between them broke her heart.
"Of course," Amy said, doing her best to speak in thoughts that he could understand. "You deserve the rest - you deserve to be free of the crown. Especially when there is someone who wants to lead so desperately. Someone right here whose passions are justice and caretaking."
The King nodded in appreciation. "He sounds exactly right, if he cares about the Kingdom as much as you say."
"He is," she said. "He's exactly right. I promise, he will do well for the Kingdom if you can just find it in your heart to see that."
The King's eyes clouded with confusion as he turned to greet yet another Lord.
"I'm sure I will see it, Amelia," he said impatiently. "It won't take much effort on his part to impress me - knowing you approve of him is plenty comfort for me."
She nodded. Of course. She had always meant something to her father - to her Kingdom, to the line of succession. She had just never meant enough.
Amy spent the morning fanning herself and keeping an eye on the crowd, searching for familiar faces amidst the citizens slowly filing in and filling the stands.
When at last the sun struck midday and the stands were filled to overflowing, she had seen a few young bee kids whom she wondered might be Charmy, but no one else of note.
The stadium burst with chatter, people, and excitement. Families stood crowded in aisles and spilling onto the sidelines, and the nobles all sat in the shade, chatting mildly and sipping on bottle after bottle of fine wine.
Amy took a deep breath as the trumpeteers filed through the King's box and out onto the dais. It was time.
At the first blare of the horns, the immense crowd of citizens fell deadly quiet in a near instant. Amy shivered as she peeked around the corner of the royal box and out at the stands. The hush over the crowd was like a spell - impenetrable, eerie, magical.
There were innumerable faces, blurred into one mass of color, all waiting with bated breath for the beginning of the rest of their lives.
"His majesty, the King, and our beloved Princess Amelia of the Rose Kingdom!" cried the herald in a voice that boomed over the crowd.
There was no applause as the King stepped onto the dais. Every head in the arena bowed, every voice quieted. The King let the stillness sit for a long, reverent moment.
Then, he took Amy's hand and pulled her to stand beside him. He held her by his side, hand-in-hand like they really were a pair. United in cause and purpose for the Tournament - to find a King among Champions.
"Let the rightful Champion be guided by the light of Gaia," he said.
His voice rumbled over the field and through the entire stadium with ease. When he cared to use it, the King had a surprisingly deep well of power at his disposal.
"May our warriors each fight a fight worthy of our Princess - worthy of her hand, and worthy of this Kingdom!" he declared. "For this land, for my daughter, for the crown - let our honorable Tournament begin!"
It was then that the crowd came back to life, screaming and weeping and clutching to each other as their Princess stepped forward and stood tall, smiling and beautiful like a rose.
The energy was unbelievable. It hit Amy like a heatwave. Her heart raced, and she sweat and smiled and stood as formidably as she could while dressed so idiotically in white. She would return their energy in kind. She would give them a show they would never forget.
The King and the Princess took their seats, and the King waved for the herald to begin the joust.
Steeds and knights paraded onto the field, carrying banners and lances and helmets with great feathers sprawling from the top.
It was stunning - spectacular - the joust. Amy held onto her chair, her claws scratching into the arms as she watched as much of the event as she could spare, eager to slip away and get ready.
Though always a crowd favorite, the Tournament jousting was much more show than real sport. The pounding hooves and power of the horses, the clang of the armor lances, it all brought the citizens to their feet. It got them cheering, and screaming, and thrilled. It stirred the energy in the stadium into a frenzy. A hungry, bloodthirsty frenzy.
The men who jousted came mostly from the Rose Kingdom cavalry, and rumor had it that they traded off wins among them. Amy didn't know if it was true, but she had heard from ladies in the castle that the jousters enjoyed choreographing their show, and that deciding who might win and how was nothing more than a shared bit of humor between them.
Amy also happened to know that bets were placed on certain jousters the same way they were placed on melee entrants, and that agreeing on certain outcomes would benefit the men of the royal army financially.
If it was true, she thought, good for them. They deserved every penny they conned from the pockets of betting Lords with their wonderful spectacle of a tournament.
She usually would have loved the joust. What wasn't to like? The action, the horsemanship, her father's embarrassed pleas for her to sit and quiet down as she jumped and whistled for one competitor over another - it all delighted her to no end.
But this year, she paid not a lick of real attention to the knights sweating through clash after immense clash of bodies and metal.
She was searching for her out - searching for her chance to escape as unnoticed as possible. A rowdy Lord would do, or perhaps a Lady fainting? Even a runaway horse would be enough ruckus for her to make a clean getaway, if only she could -
Her eyes lit up. She saw the misplaced lance flash in the sun before anyone else, and she had to hold herself back from springing up out of her chair as a jouster took a nasty, crunching fall.
The crowd wailed in collective shock as he clanged into the ground and stayed there.
Opportunity decidedly in her lap, Amy took it and stood from her seat.
"Oh, god," she said in her best whimpering trill. "Oh, I feel faint."
Her father turned to her in concern.
Did he really worry for her, she wondered. Or was he only worried that she would not be well enough to tempt the competing Lords into thinking she was worth the effort of a fight.
"I think…It's all just a bit much for me this year," she apologized. "The noise, the- I think that my time at the camp made me more… sensitive to these things."
She only brought up the camp to pull at her father's heartstrings, but mentioning it still stung her own heart painfully.
"Of course," said the King. He looked like he might want to say more, but shook his head instead and turned back to the competition.
"Take as long as you need," he said, in a quiet voice.
Amy stood and made her move to leave the safety of the royal box in exchange for the uncertainty of the field. She paused on the step leading off of it and turned, one last time, to look at her father's back.
Again, she thought that perhaps he was doing his best for her. Again, she thought that maybe he was giving and had given everything he thought he could give her. Maybe, she thought with an aching heart, when she showed him that he could have given her so much more, he would listen and understand.
She wanted to reach out and hug him - tell him that she was doing this because she had no choice, not because she didn't love him.
Instead, she turned her back on him and made her way off of the dais and into the shady tunnels surrounding the arena.
Amy broke into a run as soon she left the sightlines of the platform. A maid called after her - tried to stop her or follow her - but she was already too far gone.
As she sprinted through the sparse tunnels, the few people who lingered inside of them watched her fly by in confused shock. Lords, knights, and servants all paused and gaped and wondered if they really had just witnessed the Princess running to who knew where. After only a short moment of consideration, they all turned their heads away and let the thought go - she was already gone, and besides, who were they to stop a Princess dead in her tracks?
As she ran, Amy pulled pins and pearls from her quills and threw them aside like pennies. She yanked the large, white headband and jeweled hair net from her head, shaking her quills free to try and keep people from recognizing her. And she smiled. Oh, how brightly she smiled as she ran and ran and ran through the tunnels; ran and ran without knowing exactly where she was going, just smiling and hoping blindly that she would find someone, anyone who -
Amy collided with a strong, tall body. She fought to get around the person on instinct, intent on out-running anyone who might try to catch her and return her to the royal dais.
"Sorry," she grunted, tucking her head down and breaking to the person's right.
But strong, big hands caught her around the wrists.
"Amy -" the man said quietly above her, "it's me!"
Amy gasped as she looked up at Knuckles, smiling fiendishly down at her.
"Nice dress," he sneered.
Amy thumped his arm and shoved him away from her.
"Yeah, yeah, tease me later," she huffed. "Where is everyone? Where are -"
Knuckles motioned her to follow him and took off along the tunnels.
"We're spread out for the moment - weren't sure which way you'd be coming from," he said under his breath. "But the melee competitors have mostly emptied out of the changing room - the one reserved for the fancier Lords, anyway. The closer we get to the holding rooms though, the more people there'll be. Take this -"
He pulled off his jacket as they hurried down the halls and tossed it under his arm back at her. She slung it over her shoulders, positively swallowed by the massive thing.
"Keep your head down," Knuckles lectured on. "And don't make eye contact with anyone. And put your quills up, too, if you can."
She did as she was told, speaking softly as the crowds in the tunnels grew dense.
"You've been in here all morning?" she asked.
They passed a few men in armor - combatants, Amy thought. She quashed the temptation to look up at them and kept her chin tipped down. Each man was surrounded by a small crew of squires, attendants, armor bearers, and their seconds. They were like small nations, each rallying around their champion.
"Not all morning," Knuckles said, parting the sea of people easily. "We gathered in the courtyard to go over positions, and then Tails, Blaze, Espio and I -"
"Is that all who came today?" she asked.
"No," he said without looking down at her. He was so efficient and sturdy as he moved, a perfect guard. No one batted an eye at him in the tunnels - he seemed as meant to be there as every other warrior did. "Everyone is here."
"Everyone?" she asked, feeling a smile warm her face.
"Everyone," he said. "Silver is in the stands with Vector and Charmy, Cream is on the sidelines with her mother, Espio, and Rouge, and the rest of us are -"
"Here!" Tails said, hurrying up to them with Blaze in tow. They both had their arms full with her suit of armor.
Amy's heart soared as they all fell into step with each other, threatening to break free of her body and shoot straight into the sky. She was like any other man here to compete - she was not alone. She had all of her most loved people with her.
Almost all of her loved people, she thought.
"Sonic?" she asked Tails. "And… Shadow?"
She didn't have to ask a full question, Tails understood her anyway.
"We have our suspicions about where they're holding Sonic -"
Amy stumbled over her toes. She grabbed tight to Knuckles' coat around her and managed to keep herself upright and still moving.
"Really?" she whispered. "Take me to him, I -"
"Get your head on right," Knuckles said furiously. "We're not going there - you're not dressed, we need to find you a warm-up space, you need to watch the foreigner brawl, there's still -"
"Please, Knuckles," Amy said, lurching forward to grab onto the sleeve of his white undershirt. "He's my second, I need to see that he's alright! I need to… One more time - just in case -"
"We'll find time," Tails promised. "There's still plenty of jousting left, and then the archers after that, but for now Knuckles is right - first, armor."
Amy frowned but let it go. She'd find Sonic before the Tournament started. She'd sooner die before walking out onto that field without having one more moment alone with him.
"Fine," she said. "But I have to see him. If I don't, I don't know if I could -"
Amy froze up. Her joints stiffened as she walked, her neck bent painfully down.
She watched a pair of armored feet, polished to perfection, move past her in slow motion. She didn't need to see anything else of the warrior to know exactly who it was that had passed her.
Her head snapped up and she turned back to look at Shadow.
He was so stunning. Her knight shone like a figure from an old tale. He stood tall, his sword hung at his side, gleaming with angry promise. His slate-gray armor emitted a cold, cruel light the same color and intensity of a moonbeam, and his dark quills tampered everything in cool shadow. He was no hero, he was the night and the starless universe and the darkness.
And he was looking back at her, too.
God, how she wished she was done up. She wished she was shining and golden like the daytime. She wished she looked impressive and tall and fearsome like him.
But she was huddled, hiding, hurried in her stupid white gown. She was smaller than him; lesser.
And she felt - for the first time ever in her life - afraid of him.
He turned the corner with his team, gone too fast - gone like a gasp or a shiver down her spine.
She hated this - hated that they were separate from each other, moving toward their own respective futures. She hated that they were standing each at their own crossroads, when she wanted nothing more than to be standing at the intersection of their lives together. Making choices together.
She wanted him on her team.
Knuckles put one big hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently forward.
"Don't look back," he said solemnly. "Eyes forward. We have to keep going."
And so they pressed on.
The week, for Sonic, was - in simple truth - terrible.
Waiting in the dungeon was one of those experiences that, after too short a time, he began to fear was infinite. Nothing but darkness and rotting and time, time, time. He honestly thought, on more than one occasion, that he might actually have died and gone to his personal level of hell.
He was grateful for the intermittent beatings, really, because it gave him something to do. A way to mark the passage of time. The pain of each strike on his body was, at the very least, entertaining. It was the most real, most blinding sensation to be found in the endless dark of the dungeon.
Sonic passed the hours in the dungeon, for the first time in a very long time, thinking through everything.
Thinking of her. Thinking of everything that could go wrong and every way that she might die. Thinking of what her triumph might feel like. Thinking of what they might do after it. Thinking of what he felt and how he might make a fool of himself trying to describe it to her. Thinking of how he wouldn't stop making a fool of himself until she knew - until she heard - exactly how much and how confoundingly he loved her.
With his head laid back on the wall and the tang of blood in his mouth, he sat and thought unflinchingly through every little piece of the puzzle, every corner of their story and every shadow it cast over their lives. He thought, and thought, and thought, and hummed his father's song over and over and over again.
It was exhausting to think through so much. There seemed to be endless sad thoughts that killed him to have to think through - her, bleeding out on the ground, for one. Shadow, with his sword buried in her stomach up to the hilt. Her, in his arms, chest heaving slower and slower until it stopped moving entirely.
He cried a few tears, alone in the dungeon. He was no longer too proud to admit that.
He turned the bottom of the castle into his own personal well of pre-grief. In case anything did happen - in case he had to let her go, or even go with her - he'd be ready to hold her hand and see her into the next world. One, he hoped, where he would see her again. Where he would learn to love her again.
Even scarier, he thought through the future where they survived. The one where they made it to the other side and had to sit down and look each other in the eyes and build something new and strong together. Something that could hold for eternity.
It was torture. Real, true torture.
But it did help, he thought. It did bring him comfort to be prepared. To do what she had asked him to do. To reckon with himself and his choices and the future.
At last, two pristine guards opened his cell door and saved him from the misery of endless thinking.
He looked up from the ground, already sure something was different by the new, ceremonial armor they wore that smelled overwhelmingly of polish.
"That time already, huh?" he asked with a cracked throat, his smile soft and bloody.
The guards didn't answer. They never did. And they never laughed at his jokes, either. They unhooked him from the shackles in the center of the room and hauled him up between them.
As they dragged him out of the dungeon and up the stairs towards light, Sonic's heart picked up pace.
"Wait, you're serious?" he asked no one in particular. "Today? Now?"
Funny how rotting in the dungeon had felt truly unending, and yet suddenly - because he knew he was moving towards her, would see her again - it was as if no time had passed at all. The darkness was behind him. If this was real, which he was beginning to suspect it was, he would see Amy again soon. Would see his friends and sunlight again soon. That put any memory of the dreaded darkness completely out of his mind in an instant.
He cracked jokes at his keepers all morning as they brought him up into the daylight and over to the tunnels underneath the battlefield.
They locked him in a room with a moldy meal, a dirty bucket of water, and a too-big blouse and pair of breeches.
He scrubbed, ate, and cleaned himself like they had given him a King's chamber and a feast. He hardly shuddered as the water went through his quills, and he tied the clothes on himself with pieces of rope cord probably meant for his wrists or neck.
Amy, he thought… He was going to see her again.
He felt like he would burst from his skin, he was so wildly anxious - ravenous - just to lay his eyes on her. He wouldn't take his gaze off her the whole day, he knew and had resolved himself to that thought. If this was the last day they would get together, blinking be damned. He would spend it basking in her.
Somewhat clean and somewhat full, he dozed off in a sunbeam, his stomach turning over and his cheeks burning with feverish, anxious heat.
"Sonic?"
The voice that woke him - he was sure it was not real. Still a part of a dream.
He blinked a few times, but it didn't help him wake up. The room appeared to be glowing with fuzzy, golden light refracting off a figure with a striking silhouette. He was blinded by the kind of haze that precluded a visit by some sort of deity.
He blinked again and put his hand up to shield his eyes.
Amy shone in the afternoon sunlight. Dazzling. Warm. Devastating.
"Amy?" he asked. His throat was so dry that her name was just a painful gasp.
"Oh," Amy said softly. She didn't mean to say it. It wasn't even really a word at all. It was just a sound. An uttered exclamation of tender, reverential wonder to see him again.
"Sonic," she said again, her voice a happy whisper.
She pushed into the room, and just as she fell forward to take to her knees before him, he surged onto his feet and barreled into her.
They tangled together in the warm sun with such brute force they almost fell over. But Amy held them up; kept them on their feet like she always had.
"Amy -"
Sonic only got part way through her name before he was cut off by her mouth pushed roughly against his and her fingers gripping the back of his head.
He shut his eyes and strained forward, pushing back against her with equal fervor. He clutched tight to her lower back, dizzy with the taste of her and the amount of strength it took to keep himself standing under the reality of everything that had happened to them.
She pulled away from him so fast he would have fallen forward had he not been held in place by her strong, steady hands.
"Sonic," she said. She held his head firmly in place using fistfuls of his quills to keep him still, forcing him to look straight into her eyes. "Are you alright?"
"Geez, it's only been a week, Ames," he said, his smile genuine and heart-stoppingly handsome. "With this kind of greeting you'd think we haven't-"
"Chaos, would you just shut up for once and let me fuss over you?" she said, almost laughing at how stupid and wonderful it was to hear him joke again.
"Well," he said, "I could be tempted to shut up. Maybe if you'd just -"
She did. She kissed him again and savored it until her lungs burned.
She pulled away and brushed a thumb along his neck instinctually.
"Really though," she said gently. "Are you alright?"
His insides melted. What a magnificent, deliciously real dream this was. Her determined, green-eyed stare, still so warm and caring and intense - oh, it was killing him to be this close to her. He was so happy, so ridiculously happy.
He gripped her arms back, hard enough to keep her close but not hard enough to scare her.
"Better," he said. "Better now. Is this… Are you -"
"I'm here," she said. She held his face tight in her hands and dipped her brow forward to touch his. "We're here. I can hardly believe it either."
"So then today really is…" he looked her up and down as best he could while they still held each other so close.
She was, indeed, resplendent in her armor. The golden visor crowned her, and the ruby red cape flowed behind her like a war banner. The day had to be here, because she looked like a Queen. She looked like his champion.
"It is, and I don't have much time," she said, suddenly shaken from her rosy stupor. "The guards were in such a state of shock at seeing me like this that they didn't protest much when I shoved past them - but I think by now they'll be rallying. Listen to me -"
"No," he protested, suddenly terrifyingly aware that this might be his last chance to speak to her. Ever. "No, you listen -because if this is it for us, you have to go out there knowing that I'm sorry, and that I'm stupid and that I lo-"
Amy crushed her mouth to his so hard that his nose bent.
"Hush," she said frantically. Her voice was not mean, but it was stern. Commanding; urgent.
Sonic's confidence flared indignantly in his chest, and this time he pulled her back. They were locked in each other's arms. Of course, if it was to be their final moments, neither could resist spending it like they had spent every night since their meeting - locked in a battle of wills.
"You can't say it," she whispered angrily, her breath hot on his lips.
He was ready, more than ready, to tell her finally. He couldn't let her go out there without hearing it. He knew she wanted to hear it, too, and yet-
"You're kidding, right?" he said, tipping his head to better match her stern stare.
She didn't answer him, and instead began twisting and pushing out of his grasp.
"Take this," she said before he could protest again.
She reached over her head and pull two rings on a chain off from around her neck.
"Hold onto them for me," she said. "When I win, I'll earn them back. And you'll tell me then, alright? You'll tell me whatever it is you have to say when you crown me Champion with these rings."
Sonic pushed her hands back toward her, fighting the moment. Fighting the finality of her words, the finality in her smile. He didn't want her to be acting like this - to be acting like it was the end.
He could've yelled at her to stop - to just hold him until he tricked himself into believing that they had more time again. But everything was too urgent, she was moving too fast for him to keep up, and she'd be gone soon.
"No, Amy, you need these -" he said, trying to keep her from slipping the chain over his head.
"No," she said, gently but firmly pulling his hands off her wrists. "I need -"
"Hold on," he said, his voice suddenly quieter than he would have liked. "Please, hold on. Because this might be the last time we ever get together and I've sat with this for a week and I need you to know, before it's all done, that I -"
"Don't say it, don't say it -" she whispered over and over again, pressing her forehead to his even as he pleaded on.
"Amy, please, I-"
"No," she commanded, louder. "After -"
"There might not be an after -" he said, his voice breaking over hers.
"There will be an after," she insisted. "And you will tell me then."
Her tone told him that it was an order. Damn her and how stubborn she was, he thought. Damn her, and damn him for considering listening to her, just to make her happy.
"I need something to fight for, Sonic," she said softly. "I need something that I can't have, that I can't let go, that I can't live without. I need something to make sure I'll fight so hard out there, that death is the only thing that could keep me from getting back up."
She looked at him, her eyes angry and serious.
"So don't say it," she said. "Don't let me have it. Not yet."
His heart sank in his stomach. 'I love you' was the world's heaviest burden, he thought. In the dungeon, thinking through everything, Sonic had realized he had been carrying it for her far longer than he had ever thought.
Speaking it out - saying the 'I love you' aloud - had been his last hope to ease the weight of regret, fear, and shame that came with bearing so much love when he didn't - and thought he never would - feel worthy of it.
And now, she was asking him to carry it longer. The heaviest words he had ever felt on his lips, and she was asking him to hold onto them, potentially forever.
"What if I don't get the chance to tell you again?" he whispered back, his eyes manic even as hers were soft and smiling and she held onto him firmly, without shaking.
Death did not scare Sonic. But her death… he was sure that he would never recover from it.
"You will," Amy said.
"But what if I don't?" he asked again.
"Sonic," she soothed. "You don't need to worry."
She kissed his forehead so softly as to be a blessing from the divine. There was only peace in her heart, only love in her body, only determination in her eyes as she looked at him.
"You don't need to worry because… I know, Sonic," she said. "Even if you don't get to say it today… I already know, and I have known. I have felt your love in the way you've worried over me. I felt it in your letter, in your touch, in the sacrifices you made, the ways you showed up for me. Even when you were avoiding me… I knew you were trying not to stare because when you did… I could feel it in your eyes."
She brushed her thumb along his cheek and ran fingers through his quills, clicking her tongue in annoyed adoration. He was so worried - and for what? For her? No, she'd be just fine. Because she had him, and she had his love.
"My tiresome, confounding, stupid man," she said, all tender smiles and love for him. "My love… You don't need to worry if you don't get to say it before I go because… I know. I know."
She kissed him again, slower but still just as heavy, lingering with her mouth against his and her hands cradling the nape of his neck.
When did it happen, she wondered as she kissed him again and again. When did she forgive him so utterly? When did all the heartbreak become worth it? When did she learn how to love someone like this? This deep? This encompassing? This eternal?
She laughed and shook her head, lips still pressed against his, and felt him squeeze her so tight that her armor plates crunched and shifted together like the plates of the earth.
"Be careful," he murmured against her, his heart beating so unbearably fast. "Promise me."
"I won't promise to be careful," Amy said with a chuckle. "I promise to win. You're not off the hook, you know - when this is over, you owe me a whole lot of explanations and even more apologies."
Sonic laughed - the regretful, heavy laugh of someone who knew it might be his last.
"If you win this," he said, "I'll owe you whatever you want. I'll apologize as many times as you want, however you want me to. If you get out of this alive, we'll spend the rest of our lives talking about feelings and how big of an idiot I am, if that's what you want."
"Now that's a promise," Amy said.
The door burst open behind them. Amy didn't flinch, and Sonic didn't release her from his embrace.
"Your - highness?" One of the guards gaped from the doorway.
"See you out there?" Amy whispered, her lips curved in an apologetic smile.
Sonic nodded.
"Show them. Show them all who you are," he said. "I won't take my eyes off of you, I promise."
She kissed him one last time, breathing in deep as she did. If this was to be the last time she did this, she would feel every second as vividly as she could, so she could return to the feeling when the light faded from her eyes and her mind fuzzed into darkness. If it ended today, it would end here for her. In this moment.
She tore herself from his grasp and turned to leave. He held her hand until the very last moment. Until her fingers slipped through his and he was reaching out for nothing.
Amy pushed through the guards, barreling into them with unchecked force. She didn't answer their stunned questions, she didn't look back. She disappeared in the matter of an instant, and for a second, Sonic thought it really had been a dream.
Then, the guards shackled his wrists together and pushed him into the tunnels, and he knew that it was time.
His heart beat fast as they walked toward the arena, faster than he had ever run, but still he smiled. He hadn't gotten to tell her he loved her, not with words, no. But seeing her had flipped something in him.
She promised she would fight for them. She had promised him. And he knew her - she was glorious, she was stubborn, she was passionate and righteous and brutal. She was a natural disaster, unstoppable and raw and devastating. She would never break a promise. She would sooner tear the arena to shreds before she let that happen.
And he, for one, couldn't wait to see it.
Amy stood, bouncing on her toes, waiting for the melee to be announced and opened by her father and the herald.
She had an expansive view of the field, standing on the threshold connecting the tunnels to the arena floor. Every other hopeful Champion was lined up on the other side of the field. She could see their small figures across the way, waiting in another covered tunnel to be announced for the Parade of Combatants.
She knew what was coming, she was dying for it to just start already.
"They'll announce the entrants one at a time for the parade," Knuckles prattled on, straight into her ear so she could hear him.
He and Tails stood behind her, flanking her on either side. Blaze had gone to retrieve Silver, who would be her excuse to wait on the sidelines with the other armorsmiths while the fighting happened.
"I know," she said. It was an awed whisper. She was barely listening to him, utterly lost in the pulse of the crowd roaring louder and louder.
"The King calls his Champions forth to parade before the Kingdom!" the herald decreed from the center of the battlefield. The echo of his booming voice ricocheted around the tunnels and sent a shiver down her spine.
A cheer went up in the crowd that sounded like thunder.
"Lord Thrust of Aqua Lake!" cried the herald.
Amy watched a sturdy-looking toad strut onto the field. His second held a greatsword across both his arms, and a small crew paraded around the perimeter of the field, blue banner waving proudly.
Above her, feet pounded the wooden stands so hard she thought the roof might collapse around her.
"Lord Jett, Duke of Babylon!"
Amy's eyes sparkled with angry fervor. The green hawk who marched out with his small crew of only two people looked even cockier than the last.
"When we go out there, be prepared for anything," Knuckles lectured on and on. "If we can just stake ourselves on the field, assert our presence -"
"Then the King can't remove us," Tails finished for him. "Let him know we're playing by the rules - that we respect his status and the Tournament's status. Then he can't make a move without risking the crowd turning against him."
"Sir Tumble of the Rose Kingdom!"
Lord after Lord paraded onto the field. Colorful banners from all across the Rose Kingdom's expansive lands spattered the field in color. Amy watched them all, sizing up the men and their temperaments just from the way they walked onto the battlefield.
"Pay special attention to the foreigner brawl," Knuckles said. He shoved her shoulder, and she tuned back into his lecture. "The wild card Tournament competitor that comes out if it could blindside us. They're always brutal on the field -"
"Lord Reginald of Highsong!"
Amy's ears flicked forward and she took a step toward the edge of the field.
"Highsong?" she asked no one. "Did you hear that?"
Reginald of Highsong was a porcupine of formidable stature. She had no idea if his armor was just bulky, or if he really was as big as it suggested. But he was tall and immaculately groomed. Her eyes narrowed as he walked and waved at the crowd, smiling a ridiculous grin.
She hated him, she decided. How had he ended up here? Was he related to Dylan? Did he know something was amiss?
She took stock of him, almost praying that they might meet on the field. If he was not as muscular as his armor implied, then the sheer weight of it all was just for show - more hindrance on the field than help. She shook her head. He gave her the distinct impression that he was nothing more than a fool.
"Amy, focus up -" Knuckles said, taking her wrist to pull her back into the shadows. "The brawl, the foreign entrant -"
"I'll pay attention to the melee Knuckles, I promise," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Every fiber of today counts," he said, his violet eyes so dark in shade that they seemed black. "Every second, every breath, every place your foot lands. It all matters. One wrong move - one wrong thought - and we'll find ourselves sliding down a very slippery slope."
"I hear you," Amy said seriously. "I know."
"Sir Shadow of the Rose Kingdom!"
All three of them fell silent.
They watched Shadow stride onto the field. He did not parade or peacock, because he did not need to. He simply commanded the very air of the arena.
The crowd screamed like they were dying, like they could cry loud enough to crown the winner of the day themselves.
Amy watched, stone faced, and felt her eyes sting with tears. She did not allow them to fall.
"You can beat him," Tails said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You can."
"Lord Scourge of Greenhill!"
Tails' hand went stiff on her shoulder.
The air left Amy's lungs like a punch in the gut.
"No way," Knuckles growled from behind her.
Scourge walked onto the field.
He walked onto the field and back into her mind with all the sickly inconsideration of a disease. When she least wanted it, when the timing was worst, he was here. He infected her confidence, crawled under her skin, turned her mouth dry and her tongue into stone in the matter of an instant.
"He can't do that!" Tails said, stepping just a hair in front of Amy. "Can he?"
"I… don't know," Knuckles said.
Amy blinked like he might go away - like he was just a green spot in her vision.
But he was not. His armor was bruised and out of fashion, but it gleamed black in the afternoon sun. He wasn't fully covered in plating. He wore a patchwork mix of leather across his chest, chain at his waist, and steel over his shoulders and knees.
He had cobbled together his suit of armor like he had cobbled together his kingdom of thieves. Amy knew deep in her bones that he was here to make good on his promise, just like she was here to make good on all of hers.
He was here to make sure that no matter how the day went, one of them would see that the other died on that field.
"Oh god," Amy breathed. She took one step back, her hands reaching up for her throat. Her undergarment was too tight, all of a sudden. She couldn't breathe -
"Amy," Knuckles snapped, "look at me!"
He shoved her back another step and took her by the shoulders, bending to stare down his nose and straight into her eyes.
"Knuckles, be gentle -" Tails started to protest.
"No," Knuckles barked, speaking over him. "Amy - eyes on mine."
She hadn't realized she had been glancing over his shoulder, gaze darting around the tunnel and the field, like Scourge could be there - could be anywhere. She focused on her fierce friend.
"He is not worth your panic, do you hear me?" Knuckles said.
Amy could say nothing. Her mouth hung open uselessly.
Knuckles shook her, his big hands squeezing her armor painfully into her skin.
"Do you hear me?" he asked again, louder so she could hear him over the roaring of the crowd.
Amy nodded.
"Say it," Knuckles said.
"Yes," she said. "I hear you."
As she spoke, her vocal cords relaxed. Her throat bobbed and moved - she wasn't choking. She could speak.
"Good," he pressed on. "He is here because he thinks that his presence alone is enough to scare you out of winning - it's not. Say it."
"He… is not enough to scare me," Amy repeated slowly, feeling her tongue shake off the ash and wet her lips.
"Good," Knuckles said, his eyes still on hers. "He is not like the beings in dark corners that our parents used to tell us about. He is not a monster or a lurking threat or anything more than what you see right in front of you. He is a man-" he cut himself off and shook his head.
"No, not even a man," he continued, "he's a bully and a coward. By showing up here, he's shown us his hand. He's shown us his true nature."
Knuckles finally lowered his voice and spoke kindly, straight to the fear creeping in her heart.
"He's just another cruel, gross Lord. Just another Lord Reginald or Lord Jett - a smug bastard who thinks he's better than you because you're a woman," he said. "Who thinks he deserves power just because he wants it."
Amy blinked and nodded slowly, finally really seeing Knuckles again.
That was true. Scourge was just another Lord… just another partygoer clambering for attention, for a dance, for her hand. He was… like every other nobleman she had ever known.
Pathetic. Grey. Small-minded.
"He's… just a Lord," she said quietly.
"That's right," Knuckles nodded, and took a deep breath. "He's just a Lord. But you? You're Amy Rose."
Amy nodded again, this time without hesitation.
"Lord Dylan of Highsong!"
She nearly jumped out of her skin. That was her. That was her name.
"Close your eyes," Knuckles said, gently steering her into position in front of him. "Listen. Find your center."
She did. She closed her eyes.
Darkness washed over her. Darkness, and the echo of the crowd in the tunnel.
She took a deep breath and thought only of them - the people in the stands. The people who needed her to fight, to win.
Their cheers melted into a song; hit her ears like the war cries of a heavenly army. Their syncopated stomping became an incessant beat - the beat of her heart, in her chest. It pounded so loudly it hurt. It pounded with them - for them. Her pulse kept the tempo for the entire Kingdom.
She opened her eyes.
"Chin up!" Knuckles barked. "Chest out, head high!"
She snapped to attention; pulled herself up as best as she could and stood at the apex of their small triangle, Scourge forgotten.
Tails and Knuckles drew themselves up on either side of her, proud and ready to march into battle with their queen.
"Champion," Knuckles declared from behind her. "Say it!"
Amy summoned her hammer, foisted it over her shoulder, and rolled out her neck.
"Champion," she echoed, and hoped the whole world had heard her.
"Now go!" Knuckles ordered.
She lifted her heavy chin high, put one golden foot forward, and together - with her brothers - stepped into the light.