My Last Amen

[Meraki]

You need to take a deep breath.

Easier said than done when the world was singlehandedly resting all of its weight on her chest. The Duke was dead, Calliope loathed her, she assumed by Amadeus' appearance that they had won but at what cost — she did not know. They would not survive another attack by Peter, she couldn't breathe, everything hurt, Amadeus was bleeding…how was she supposed to figure out how to take a deep breath in all of that? Without the ability to articulate her thoughts, they stewed in her head, raced until it was maddening.

She had thought it the worst thing in the world to have to hide from Peter, the anxiety had bubbled up so extreme that Fira had held onto Amadeus with a vice grip that day. But this? This was so much worse. It was the harsh, gritty reality of their situation. This was no romanticized version of a hero story, they were caked in blood, broken down and tired. How was she supposed to pull out of this one? How did she use this to make her stronger?

And then wish and slipped in hers, the slick blood pressed between them and she found the strength in herself to try. It hurt, worse than anything she had ever felt, but Fira tried her damnedest to get that breath, a deep on that burned but gave reprieve to her pounding headache. She nodded her head as she reassured her and she knew him too well. The blood on his coat had stained almost black, but she knew that he wasn't stupid. He would take care of himself, but only after everyone else was taken care of.

That's just who Amadeus was.

She managed the breath, painful as it was, and she tried for one, two more before she fell back into shorter, more staccato breaths. It was enough to ease her anxiety down, to keep her mind at peace — or as much peace as she could manage. There was no reason to worry about Calliope now.

They needed to heal. They needed to regroup. They needed to decide what this meant — because without the Duke, the paperwork they had drawn up left the army to her. They were still fighting for the future Queen, but would they remain? What would Calliope think when she realized that a great deal of his assets had been used to support the cause? They could run for a month, maybe two, but they could not stay here. Peter would be sending men immediately.

"At le-east," Fira breathed out, "We're…alive."

That had to be their consolation. At least they were breathing. At least they were together.

 

[Nav]

"At least you're alive," he corrected her gently, watching as she struggled to swallow down air into her lungs but she looked as though it was the most impossible task. The world would not miss Amadeus or Bo. Maybe Fira would have, maybe even Calliope would have too, but they were pawns in a larger game. Often, Fira tried to convince him that he was more than just that, but there was no queen without people to serve her. This was her story to live, her story on the rise to power. Sometimes pawns survived the game, sometimes they did not. That didn't mean he didn't value his life, or the life of his horse. He did, desperately, but there were things that were bigger than him in the world, like an entire kingdom ripe and ready for revolution... In desperate need of a revolution.

He held her hand tight and let her continue to try. Eventually, she got down two deeper breaths before slipping back into the shallow pants. He could be happy with that for now and his smile relaxed into a calm smile. "Good, that's good. Just keep trying to do that, alright?"

Now sitting, he began to let the gravity of their situation blossom over them. With the duke dead, it meant Fira had her army... Though it was currently ribboned into a million pieces. They couldn't stay at the estate, they needed organisation, and Amadeus knew it would fall to him to wrangle Calliope. He knew she wouldn't want to leave, he knew she would resent any action made by Fira. What he needed to do was to convince her not to let her blind hatred become so violent that she went to Peter out of spite. The thought sucked Amadeus' air from his chest and he felt hypocritical telling Fira to breathe when he could barely do so himself. There were too many 'what ifs' for Amadeus to feel comfortable, though he figured at least for the next day or two, he'd have to act as the liaison between Calliope, Roth, and Firs. The peacekeeper, as it were... The one job Amadeus was never wire sure how to play well.

Exhaling a shaky breath through his nostrils, Amadeus sat back deeper into his seat and let his shoulders relax forcibly. The motion caused a jolt of pain to hit him rather suddenly in a place there had not been pain before. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head with frustration, trying to shake it off. It faded, but he wondered for how long. He wondered how bad the assessment of his health would be.

"We will need to leave soon, all of us," he mentioned, "I'd suggest issuing some kind of warning to the townspeople here. Informing them of the Duke's passing and the danger they are in. They must be scared," he glanced to the darkened window, just able to make out the orange lights of the town sitting below the estate.

 

[Meraki]

Fira heard his correction, but did not outwardly acknowledge it. She just did not have the words or the capability to speak the words she so desperately wanted to say. Fira was angry, she was hurting and angry and a bundle of emotions caught up behind her emerald eyes. Peter had slain her father, slain the Duke and so many others — he threatened homes, he threatened families, and the idea of so many people losing so much because of her made her sick to her stomach. Peter knew just the way to get a rise out of her, but she could not let it out. She could not let herself live in the pure frustration and anger she felt, nor could she change the fact that Peter would kill anyone affiliated with her.

It was a constant balancing act of knowing they had to endure for the future and wondering if she was really worthy of being the face of this rebellion. What did she ever do to them except cost them what they loved most? Calliope was a perfect example. The woman had lost everything because of Fira and while Calliope did not seem genuinely distressed by her husband's passing as much as she was about Fira's involvement, Fira still felt bad that she had to endure it.

It seemed more often than not that lives would be better off without her. If she had never existed, if the world had seen Morgan more fit to live than her, what kind of world would they be living in? But she could ask what if questions all she wanted and never truly know the answer.

If Fira was alive, it was for a reason.

She nodded at his words, their hands entangled as she glanced at him. The deep breaths hurt but they helped and she kept trying to ease herself through them. They needed to leave, certainly, but she was in no place yet and she had no idea how they would ever manage Calliope — not they, Amadeus. Fira knew that going near Calliope would probably be the end of her life, but she also feared that Calliope would go to Peter. If she did, that was it.

Fira was a dead woman walking.

All she needed was to get her bearings. Once she felt like she was healing, she could start issuing warnings and doing what a Queen was supposed to do. Her voice was tired now, but it had started to come back before he left for the battlefront. Any healing was good, any at all. A small yawn passed her lips, burning in her chest but entirely involuntary. "S-Soon," she managed, "T-tomorrow…I…will." She managed with a deep breath, wincing all the while but managing it. Good, three word sentences. Tomorrow? Tomorrow it would be full sentences.

Tomorrow she would be able to draft a coherent warning, even if she could not leave bed (not that she couldn't but she assumed she would not be allowed). Her first priority was getting the people out safe, the she could worry about the inevitable showdown she had with a man who held no regard for human life.

 

[Nav]

"Get some rest," he agreed, glancing over to her once more as she managed to get out the words. "You get some sleep, I have to go deal with some things." And by 'some things' he really meant 'a hell of a lot of things.' Bo needed to be found—dead or alive, he needed his own wounds looked at, he needed to try and get through to Calliope, and he needed to help Roth begin to reorganize. He wasn't even sure where to begin or which to do first. Everything felt such high priority he wasn't sure what one to start with. How could he put one of those items on his 'to-do' list last? How could he say one was more important?

His hand gave Fira's a gentle squeeze before resting it back down at her side and arching up to his feet, knowing it was better to get started earlier than later. He'd work through the night again if he had to. "Rest well, I'll come find you in the morning," he assured her, sweeping some hair back away from her forehead before tipping forward and placing a tender kiss against the hot skin there.

Ultimately, he decided seeing Calliope first was the priority as the health and safety of Fira, and her rebellion, had currently fallen into the woman's hands. He quietly dismissed himself from Fira's chambers and slipped his hands down his chest, testing the pain with pressure in his hands as he strolled slowly. A bubble of blood oozed between his fingers at the compression, meaning the wound wasn't stopping the bleeding well on its own. It had slowed, certainly, and was no longer a steady stream so much as a trickle, but he decided getting treatment would be second. Then finding Bo? No… helping Roth… but Bo… he frowned, knocking gently at Calliope's door.

A sniff could be heard within. "I'm not in the mood for visitors," the distinct voice called from the opposite side of the door.

"I know," Amadeus answered, "But I thought you'd maybe make an exception for me."

Then, nothing.

It went completely silent for a moment. Calliope didn't reply, he couldn't hear her moving… he feared she was ignoring him until a beat later he heard the bolt slide in the lock and through the small crack in the door peeked out Calliope's eyes. She looked distressed and childish—like a young girl crying over her first heartbreak. Her fingers curled around the thick wood and she looked out at him.

"I know what you're thinking," she sniffed and angrily swatted away at the tears glittering the corners of her eyes. She was a beautiful crier, all told. The tears were thick, pearly tears that ran down her cheek in a way Amadeus had once believed only a painter could paint. She didn't wail, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes became a devastating shade of blue with the moisture. "You've come to talk to me because you're afraid I'm going to go to Peter."

"Partially, yes," Amadeus admitted, leaning against the door frame as the blood seeping from his wound began to drain him of energy and pulse with distant pain, "But I'm also worried about you. You lost your-"

"Yes, I know what I have lost, Amadeus," she bit back but immediately softened, as if to apologise for her outburst at him. "And you can put your fears to rest. I will not go to Peter. Like it or not, my husband chose to trust that woman. I do not believe in her and I do not like her, but as a wife, I owe it to my belated husband to carry out his wishes… even in death."

Amadeus was surprised, considering she had never done anything for her husband before, but he supposed a death changed a person… traumatized them to reality.

"And he wished to support her, so shall I. She may carry the weight of my husband's military, but I am still his inheritor. If she wishes to continue with my husband's army, she shall do so with me at her side."

"I think that's a great idea, Cal," he answered, even if it was a little bit of a lie. At this point, Amadeus was willing to say anything to keep her from going to Peter, "You are very smart and very useful. You may not like Fira, you don't have to, but I know you're smart enough to understand that Peter will do nothing good to you or your husband's estate for harboring the Queen."

"Yes, I'm quite aware," Fira replied simply, "Fira is someone I detest, but King Peter will kill me if he gets ahold of me for what my husband has done. Now," she cleared her throat, "Commander Roth told me Bo is missing. May I help you look? I would like… I would like to get out of the house for a while."

"It's gruesome out there," he warned her, but she had already taken up his arm and shook her head in a way that said 'I don't care.'

 

[Meraki]

Fira woke the next morning with a big more elasticity in her lungs. The first breath she took was labored but not nearly as painful. It seemed that twenty-four hours of rest was a great way to kickstart the healing after the toxins flushed from her system. It was early, almost dawn, and Fira sat up on her own. Her fever was still there, burning against her flesh, but she felt more coherent than she had since the attempt. She was more or less alone when she woke, except for a guard standing by her door on the inside, just in case someone were to come in. Amadeus said he would be back in the morning, but she hardly expected him to spend his time fawning over her when there was so much to do.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," the guard bowed his head, "Are you well?"

"Better," she managed, the burn a little less intense than it had been. She certainly would not be able to speak too much, but just enough. "Thank you. C-Could…" Nope, close though. "Paper? Quill?"

"Of course, Your Majesty, I will send someone immediately." he nodded and poked his head out the door but did not leave himself, so it seemed they had managed to figure out their ranks. There was a guard inside and outside of her room, and she hoped that in the last few hours people had regrouped and come together. Fira would have to figure out what to do about the army, how to speak with Calliope even though that woman loathed her. Fira thought about leaving it all to Amadeus, but if she was a Queen — it was time she started to act like a Queen.

"Would you like some breakfast, Your Majesty?" the guard asked and Fira winced at the very idea of food. She shook her head no, propping herself up against the pillows enough that she felt like she was sitting up. She had more energy and while her fever still burned, so long as she was coherent, that was all she needed. The paper and quill came quickly and when the guard brought it in, she pointed to a hard backed book she could write on.

The least she could do was draft a warning. Something for the people.

Then she would rest, and maybe think about water — because the dehydration probably was not helping the fever either, but the idea of it made her cringe.

By order of Queen Fira of Rhielith…

Queen Fira of Rhielith. She had to stop for a moment. Was that really her? The same Princess who had looked wide-eyed and confused up at Amadeus when he spoke of the world outside. She could only hope that they had come so far and that meant they still had so far to go, together.

 

[Nav]

"Master Osmont," the small, Beagle-faced man sighed as he squatted down next to the chair Amadeus had been sat in, "You need to stop squirming around like a bloody fool."

He couldn't help it though. He was tired—his eyes reddened and rimmed with dark circles. As he sat, he felt the weight of his shoulders begin to slump closer to the ground, fighting gravity but he was determined to stay awake. He sighed painfully, straightening up again as the medical used a blade to slice away the fabric of his coat and undershirt. It was morning—crisp and clear. He had spent a good portion of the evening and night trying to calm Calliope while they searched for Bo. She stayed for a while and her mood had improved, though she continued to refuse to speak with Fira, despite Amadeus pleading.

By ten, she had retired back to her chambers and Amadeus resumed his search for his horse on his own. Bo eventually cropped up around two in the morning, trotting through the wreckage of the far village with his saddle and bridle still intact. He was injured and blood dappled his grey coat, but he merrily nickered in greeting and trotted up to Amadeus as if to say 'what took you so long, dad?'

Caring for Bo and ensuring the gash on his left shoulder was properly treated ate away most of the rest of the night and bled into the following morning, at which time Amadeus finally resigned himself to seeing the medic. And there he sat, trying not to slouch and fall asleep in a moment, but feeling like he was losing the battle.

Pain finally crept over him and throbbed in his guts, deep and warm, but not in a nice way. With the shirt pulled away, revealing the gash below, the pain only grew worse. The mud and grit became enmeshed with the raw, pink flesh and it was spotted with blood, still pearled with a few drops of fresh blood.

"Not a traditional stab wound," the medic commented idly. It wasn't a piercing wound, or a puncture, but instead a long, jagged gash that seemed to follow the length of his breastbone about half of a foot. It was dangerously deep, but it seemed his ribs had done their job in protecting the vital organs below. "An axe, I presume," he concluded, "Seems you were lucky. The man swinging the axe must not have been very strong, else he would have shattered every bone in your ribcage."

Amadeus crinkled his nose, not liking the image as the medic pressed down on each rib and bone, just to ensure they were all intact. Once he was confident there wasn't anything more serious below the surface, he worked quickly to seal the wound with a thick sap and wrap it tightly in bandages. "For the next four days, change your bandage twice daily. After that, once daily. Apply this evergreen sap to help. Anything else?"

Amadeus was littered in scraps, cuts, and bruises. The knuckles on both hands had been ripped apart and were bloody and busted, there was a nasty cut on his upper left arm, a scrape across his cheek, and terrible bruising on his back from where a dead soldier had fallen off his horse nearly on top of him. Slowly, he just shook his head. All those would heal on their own and he hadn't forgotten his promise to visit Fira. He was already running late.

"Thank you," he smiled, having to force himself out of his seat. He walked slowly across the estate (that had been mostly cleaned and reassembled) and stopped briefly at Fira's door, giving it a knock. He stopped at his chambers only briefly to fetch one of his own clean shirts and slid it on before departing once more.

"Your majesty?"

 

[Meraki]

Fira penned the warning to the people and after a careful editing, she managed to gather it up and send it off to one of the guards to bring to the town messenger. They were not safe here, so many of them had not felt safe for a long time with Peter's rule expanding over the outer towns. There were not many saving graces to their situation – only that the men they saw in the woods were ill trained and had lame materials to work with, but his actual fighting army was overwhelming. Fira had not seen them first hand, but from the casualties and how injured Amadeus was, she could only imagine it was a bloodbath. Commander Roth had come to see her as she was drafting the document and he informed her that they had won by a margin, though she did not believe it.

They could not stay here, they needed to regroup, reset and resettle. That also begged the question of how safe traveling was when she was still very ill and the men were still suffering great wounds from the battle. But right now they were sitting ducks. It took three days' time to ride from here to Rhielith, which means they had a few days to figure out a best course of action before Peter sent orders.

There was no hiding it anymore. Fira was alive and Peter was going to kill her if it was the last thing he ever did. It seemed that they were too powerful to occupy the same space, one having to die for the other to prosper. What a wicked game of chess that was. She was unable to sleep after being woken that morning and though her stomach grumbled for food she would not eat. She did not dare to think of how painful that would be nor did she trust her fever to be particularly kind. Instead, she thought.

About Amadeus. About the war. About what the future was going to hold.

Calliope would never trust her, she would never accept Fira as her Queen and Fira, too, accepted that. In many ways, Fira did not even accept herself as Queen yet, but she realized quickly that all she could do was fight hard, stand steadfast and be the best she could be. There was no one to teach her how to be Queen, no one to hold her hand through it, and so she ripped it off like a bandage. Any discomfort or pain was a small price she ahd to pay for the chance to do something for the people of this Kingdom. They deserved more and she was going to try her damnedest to be what they needed.

"Come in," she managed when there was a knock on the door. Her voice was still exhausted and rasped terribly, but some energy had returned and with the poison cycling through her system she found herself able to heal just a bit. Despite the fever, she was feeling better and she was certain it would just happen to be on the up and up for the next day or two.

The sight of Amadeus caused her to smile gently, a genuine beautiful thing, but she also saw how exhausted he was. He never broke his word if he could help it and she knew he would be there to see her, but upon further reflection Fira wished he had just gone to bed and rested himself. She was the one with a whole legion of guard outside of her room, he did not need to worry about her. Though, she understood why he did. She worried about him near constantly, always in the back of her mind. "Hi," she breathed out, slowly but surely, "How are…" she managed, "you feeling? Did you see a medic?"

 

[Nav]

"I'm feeling fine," he replied truthfully. It was a bit blunt in his response, but there was no point in turning how he felt into some kind of over-flowered response. He was feeling fine—tired, a bit achy, but fine. All in all, he could have been mucb worse off, but to Fira's smile, he didn't really reciprocate. He didn't have much to be smiling about and the battle was still settling heavily in his mind. He was no longer in any kind of uniform, just a pair of his own tunic and breeches, but he remained stiff and uncomfortable, as if he had never truly known Fira at all.

And he knew he hadn't, at least not this Fira. He had known the interlude of Fira who had come to light between being a young woman and being a Queen. He wasn't entirely sure those two women could saddle inside the same body, but he also knew he was not the same Amadeus she had come to know over the previous months. He didn't feel particularly warm or joyful; there was nothing in him that wished to joke or tease any longer, he was tired, wounded, and damaged—physically, spiritually, and mentally.

Yet that was such a small price to pay, seeing as many young men had paid with their lives, though he couldn't decide what was better. To die or to have to live with the guilt of knowing what his own hands had done. It wasn't easy to wrestle with, but it was a necessary role he felt compelled to take. As he and Fira drifted farther apart, he was grappling with the idea that she didn't need Lancelot at her side, but in the battlefield.

"I saw a medic, yes," he answered, "Everything is fine. It's pretty minor, really," he shrugged a bit, though regretted the motion when the wound tugged. Minor, perhaps, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt something fierce. The corner of his lip twitched in annoyance at the pang of discomfort that undulated all the way through him, from the center of his chest travelling down to the tips of his toes and fingers. "Anyways, I just wanted to come and see how you were doing. You seem to be feeling better, at least?"

At least she was able to speak in complete coherent sentences, even if they were a bit jarred. Even a day ago, she had been barely able to make out one or two words. To hear her asking him questions brought him some relief. "I will leave you to rest, I just wanted to be sure you were on the mend. Is there anything I can bring for you?"

 

[Meraki]

"I—"

What was wrong with him?

Fira hated this damn war. It was like she could not win. Either she was the Queen the people needed or she was Fira and the way Amadeus stood made her uncomfortable. It tugged at her heart strings and brought an uncomfortable pressure behind her eyes. He looked at her like he did not even know her. She hadn't expected the cold response after how they left one another the day before, and after nearly dying it felt like the harshest response she had experienced. She would have rather spent an eternity with Calliope than see the way Amadeus was looking at her right now.

"Ama—" she shook her head, tilting it ever so slightly as if to look at him in confusion. Even if she was capable of the words, she could not find them. The chill in the room was insurmountable. Somehow in the mess of it all, she felt like she lost him and it broke her heart. She did not know what she did, only remembered the gentle caress of his hand against her skin the previous day. Warm, loving, and even though he was injured both physically and mentally, he was there with her. But there? In that moment? She felt alone.

"I'm fine," she replied, unsure of what to even say. After the events of the last few days, she just wanted to scream and cry and let out all the balled up tension out of her gut but she could not. She shifted at the uncomfortable wince that rippled through him, like she wanted to stand and help, but he did not seem interested in her help. She did not need him to bring her anything, she needed him. God, what if it never went back to the way it was? Had he given up on her too? Did he believe this was all her fault? The insecurity bubbled up quickly and viciously.

"You should rest," she concluded, her voice small and a bit hurt. She was never very capable of hiding herself from Amadeus, not in the same way she was capable of it with the people or other dignitaries. At her own words, the worry set deeply in her own chest and she felt herself shift to slowly slide her feet over the edge of the bed until her bare feet hit the cold floor. Fira steadied herself against the end table, and used the bed as a railing as she slowly tried to make her way towards Amadeus. Everything was pretty weak, but some strength had returned in the last day. She made it a step or two away from him and incredibly slowly, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck.

It was slow and so impossibly gentle. "I love you," she whispered, just loud enough for the two of them. She did not expect anything to fix it, but no matter what he was feeling – whether he hated her or felt differently towards her – she needed him to know what she felt. She wanted to be everything for him, but she wondered for a moment if it wasn't enough – if her love was not enough. It would not deter her from loving him any less fiercely, but she could see the trauma in his eyes.

She never wanted that for him, never in her life would she wish that upon him.

 

[Nav]

To love God.

That's what Amadeus meant in old Latin—his mother used to remind him of it every day. Every night, just as he was tucking into bed, barely four feet tall and not having started to shave, his mother would sit down at the edge of his bunk and tuck the wool blanket in tight against his scrawny form. Back in those days, his curls were even more wild and aggressive, so they always splayed out across the pillow in black ringlets, gleaming from the sweat and sun of the day before. He had grown up extremely religious, like most families did, and every Sunday he went to church. He and his family prayed before meals and before bed, and every night, his mother reminded him of the importance of his name.

As long as you love God, he will not abandon you.

Except, Amadeus had stopped loving God. As he became an adult and became aware of the true situation in which he and people like him existed, he stopped believing. He had no choice—what kind of God, who was supposed to love, would allow those who loved him arguably more thn anyone else meet such horrible conditions? And then there was Fira, gently calling his name, Ama.

To love. Not to love God, not to love anything… just to love. That's all it meant—Ama.

His eyes lifted and his brow furrowed as she swung out of the bed. "Fira-" his tone almost scolding as her toes hit the marble and pattered gently against the cold stone. He didn't move to stop her though and instead remained exactly where he was, watching with caution. She struggled for a few steps but unsure of what she was trying to do, he remained deathly still, up to the point that her arms found and curled around his neck. On instinct, his arm curled around her waist to help steady her, to help keep her weakened state standing upright. Gently, his thumb began to stroke a small section on her lower back where his hand rested. Love, it always came back to love… all his life, and maybe that's when everything started going wrong. Right about the same time he stopped believing love and war could saddle in the same period of time.

"I love you too," he answered, "But we can't. We either both lose this war and we die, or we win, and you become Queen." His chin rested on the top of her head. He would do whatever it took to ensure that Fira survived the war and came out the otherside. It wasn't bound to be easy for either of them, but it was all he had left to offer her.

"I am confident that, above all else, you will make for a wonderful Queen." Maybe she wouldn't be a Queen everyone loved—Calliope had already proven that much—but she would be the Queen the kingdom needed in that time, of that he was certain. Even Calliope saw her worth to Rhielith, regardless of her deep-seated hatred for the woman.

 

[Meraki]

"I understand," she breathed out.

But she didn't. God, she was so angry. Her heart shattered into a million pieces in her chest at the words, the pain so much worse than anything she endured at the hand of assassins or Peter. She would have taken the poison a thousand times over, a hundred more arrows, if it meant never having to hear Amadeus say those words. We can't. No matter what, she knew she would. She would love him until the day she died because there was one thing in this world she was certain about. Not her claim to the throne, not the will and strength of people and certainly not herself – but she realized one night that Amadeus Osmont was it for her. She would never love again the way she loved him.

And she didn't know much in this world, but she knew that nothing in the world would ever compare. There was nothing left to offer one another in the darkness of that moment except the promise that they would be there. Maybe at the end of the road, they would not be able to stay together, but she was not leaving him now. She would ensure that he lived, that he finally saw a day where his own dreams and aspirations could be realized. He had told her time and time again how much he would love to train royal horses and she would see it done. And she would accept it when his heart inevitably found love again, and she would congratulate him. She would smile when she saw his children running about in the stables or when his wife brought him something for lunch. No matter how it shattered the last bits of her heart, she would do it because he deserved happiness.

But for now? For now, she would be selfish. Maybe there was not a hope in the world for them, but it did not change the fact that they were two souls occupying the same space. A Queen and a soldier, Fira and Amadeus, just two kids lost in a game they were never prepared to play. Fira would be everything they needed because she had to be, but she had nearly died and her only thoughts were of Amadeus.

"I never wanted this," she breathed out, the sound shaky, "I never – never wanted you to end up here."

God, she loathed it with ever fiber of her being. Amadeus was good, steadfast, and loyal to a damn fault. He never backed down, never thought of himself, and she was just a kid when she left the kingdom. Nineteen years of age and not a damn lick of sense in her about how to survive. He had saved her time and time again, nurtured her skills and eased her burden. He had no reason to, nothing to owe her. She had let him go at the castle because she understood what he was asking of her.

She was here because of her own damn actions, but she could not change it now. If she suffered at the hand of Peter, fine. If she had to fight for her life, so be it. This was the world she was born into, this was the title she had been promised at birth, and Amadeus was here because of her decisions. Fira did not mean to love, it meant fiery, passionate – and her red hair an omen, or so Peter would preach. Fire and brimstone, destruction, was that what her legacy was to be?

Her hands tightened in the fabric of his shirt and her face buried in the crook of his neck. All the power in the realm and she was powerless to stop the world around her.

 

[Nav]

"What you want or don't want for me is irrelevant when it comes to this," he replied, his arm tightening around her as she nuzzled deeper into his chest, her face finding the crook of his neck and his chin tilting upward just enough to allow her to nestle into him. "Because regardless of whether or not you wanted this for me, I would still be here. I made the decisions I did and I do not regret them. You didn't make me be here. You did not command it, and maybe you didn't even wish it, but I chose to be so." The Queen as she might have been, Amadeus knew damn well that she had nothing to do with whether or not he had come with her all this way.

She had given him more than ample opportunities to escape or get out, but he had made his decisions, he had made his bed, and he did not regret that he had to lie in it.

He would describe the heartache as like the music of a great band of minstrels. At times, it was quiet and allowed him to function, at other times the violins and violas would play and he would be sad, than at other times it would rise to a crescendo and the anger would burst from his chest in a vicious shout of anguish. Right then, there was a flute laying and he was able to remember his love for her with fondness, and he enjoyed the moment. For the last few hours, after the battle as Fira was on the mend, he tried to come up with some other conclusion to their story. A way it could end happily, but no matter how twisted around the story became, all he could find was an ending in darkness. Their titles dictated that they'd never be able to be together: not in life, and certainly not in death. Fira would die a Queen, whether it was in battle or on the throne in another forty years, and Amadeus would die a nameless pauper like his father, grandfather, and great grandfather before him.

He never wanted more before. All his life, he had accepted his lot in life and was happy with it. He felt no need or desire to be written in to the history books as something of greatness. Aside from what he needed for himself and his village to survive, he had never once asked for more, but he wanted more in that moment. He had never wanted anything in his life more desperately than he wanted Fira—her love, her affection, her companionship—but it was the one thing he could never have.

The nausea swirled unrestrained in his empty, tired stomach. His head swam with half-formed regrets and the memories of the battle still fresh and gruesome right behind his eyes. His heart felt as if his blood had become tar and it struggled to keep a steady beat. His melancholy mood hung over him like a black cloud, raining his personal sorrow down on him wherever he went. Even the colors of the fall day were drab to him now and the birdsong like so much noise on a child's wooden glockenspiel, grating his nerves.

"Commander Roth has expressed his desires that I abandon my post here and take up work as a leader of your cavalry," he finally expressed. The thought had been rolling around in his head for a number of hours. "I'm not sure how he does it—Commander Roth. Today, I helped a woman bury a fourteen-year-old boy, hadn't even begun shaving yet. He was her son and I—I am not sure how he makes it out of this so unscathed."

 

[Meraki]

"And you call me stubborn," Fira let a small laugh out, a shaky but warm sound. Nothing was particularly funny about their reality, but he always made it a point to inform her that she was just above a mule when it came to her zest and stubbornness. Fira never backed down, she never folded to the whims of anyone, but Amadeus never listened to her either but she loved it. She loved him, his passion, his love, his unbelievably large heart that always seemed to have room for anyone.

His words settled into her mind, each one swirling around as she gave it thought. "He doesn't," she breathed out, "No one does, n-not really."

"When you first brought me to Inverness, I—" she took a deep breath, no matter how it hurt because this was a conversation they needed to have, "I did not understand how you did it. Your family, Ro—Rosalie. All the death, the sorrow, and when I brought the food from d-dry storage that morning, all of the families were so kind. So loving. I did not understand…how. How anyone lived under the baron but…"

"When you are faced with that kind of hardship, y-you have two choices," she explained, "You accept it and keep fighting, or you deny it and it consumes you. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, not darkness."

Fira knew all too well what that felt like. She remembered having her wound cauterized and begging for death silently in her mind. She remembered how out of place she felt in Inverness and how powerless she felt without her title. Fira did not give herself credit very often, but there were not many royals who could have endured what Fira endured and come out on the other side. The world was still bleak and there was much darkness to wade through, but she had accepted a long time ago that this hardship was something she had to endure. Each death weighed on her, but she had to believe that what they were doing was something powerful.

"As for the job—" she breathed out, happy for Amadeus' strong arms keeping her upright and giving her the ability to focus on her breathing and words, "I will always choose for you to stay by my side, but this is not my choice. I think you would be a remarkable leader for the…the cavalry, and I am better with you at my side. The choice is yours, I am proud of you regardless."

If she could be selfish, she would command him to stay, but that was not her place. Amadeus wrote his own story and she was lucky enough to be a part of it. Whatever made him feel most useful, she would support no matter what. "And Ama?" she flickered her green eyes up to him, pulling her head back just enough that she could see him, "Perhaps I am not your happy ending, who knows, but what I do know right now is that you are the only thing in this damn war that makes me happy."

"And I think I make you happy, too," she added, her words a bit wheezier from the conversation, but arm nonetheless, "If we let the anticipation of an end snuff out happiness, then what is life for?"

 

[Nav]

"You are stubborn," he pointed out in response, snorting a little with amusement at her comment. Amadeus had never seen himself as particularly stubborn, though he did suppose his mother called him a 'willful child' all through his adolescence. He supposed he was more stubborn than he had previous realized. Perhaps he needed to be stubborn when growing up otherwise he never would have survived. He had been stubborn about dying, stubborn about making sure everyone in Inverness got what they needed, stubborn about making sure Fira saw what was going on in her kingdom. After all, she had been blissfully ignorant until he forced her head in the right direction. Of course, he knew that was not a choice of Fira's own as she had been coddled by parents and brothers and advisors her entire life, but Amadeus had been stubborn about making sure she saw it.

And he had been stubborn about making sure she made it through it, too.

He wouldn't have been able to live with himself had he opened the Pandora's Box and left her to her own devices. It's why he had come with her all this way. Well, at least it's why he had started on this journey with her. Those reasons eventually morphed into others—love, affection, admiration, companionship, but she was right. He was stubborn, but for the first time, he was stuck at a crossroads and he didn't know what to do.

All his life, Amadeus had been the decisive one. He had been the solid rock, the ever flowing stream people looked to when they were uncertain. The wisdom in him was well beyond his years and he could usually guide himself or others through sticky situations, but this choice? This decision… he wasn't sure what to do. Every part of his heart and soul ached to stay next to Fira because he loved her and he was as selfish as any man ought to be, but she had guards and servants and sentries—what more could he do that they couldn't? He didn't know the right answer. He had no solution, no guess, no gut instinct.

"I don't know what the right thing to do is," he admitted, "I think I'm just too tired to think." His brain was zapping like hot water bubbling over the top of an iron pot—causing the fire below to sizzle and sending up splashing of scalding water in every direction. He knew better than to make decisions when so exhausted as they were mildly irrational, but he knew their time at the Duke's estate was quietly and quickly coming to end and he'd need to make a decision soon. Whatever path he took, he'd have to decide before they departed the estate, but first he needed to rest… even for just a few minutes.

"Hm?" he peeled his attention away from his own mind and glanced down to Fira, catching the light grass green eyes with his own dark brown ones. Her words sunk into him like water on moist soil, causing him to exhale a deep sigh. It wasn't a sigh of annoyance or relief; it just was a deep breath of air that felt good getting out of his lungs. "You do make me happy," he smiled, softening his expression for the first time since he had come to see her, "But what would make me really happy right now is if you laid down and got some more rest. You're clearly not back up to being your usual self just yet." He said, pressing a kiss against the top of her head before gently coaxing her towards the edge of her bed.

"You're sounding winded again."

 

[Meraki]

It wasn't about protecting her.

Fira had guards, she had sentries and servants and people now who knew who she was and would not let harm come to her. That was not what she needed, as she had it in abundance. What Amadeus did was protect her. He was her humanity in all of this, her reminder that as much as they hardened and changed through the difficult times, she was still Fira. There was still a part of her that was that Princess who snuck him behind the waterfall and out towards the town. She was still the woman who climbed trees with him and fought by his side against the Baron. She was still the quick and sharp minded woman who managed to survive hell and back. Amadeus was her reminder of that, of her humanity and of why she did this in the first place, and she did not value his physical protection. No, that was not what made him invaluable to her. It was his ability to constantly reveal her blind spots, his counsel and his companionship made Fira a better person, a better woman, a better leader.

That was not something generals or servants or sentries could give her.

But as she said, it was his decision and he looked too exhausted to even fathom a decision and that was alright. They had a few days before they would even catch slight wind of Peter's forces again and by then she hoped they would be long gone from this place. "Then don't," she said softly, noting the exhaustion on his features when he admitted he couldn't think. "You deserve to stop thinking for once." It was rich coming from her, considering Fira was the Queen of overthinking, but Amadeus was always so steady and solid that she was not surprised when he needed a moment to be anything but.

He was only human. They all were.

She nodded at his request and let him lead her towards the bed. She made it, with his help of course, and settled down against the pillows. She tugged the blankets up and she looked up at him, not expecting anything but not letting her hand slip through his. "Will you sit with me a moment?" she asked quietly, trying not to talk too much as Amadeus was right. She was feeling winded. She scooted over a bit, unsure if he would even take her offer, but she could not blame him if he did not. He was exhausted down to the very marrow of his bones and he needed rest.

He needed it far more than she did in that moment, even if he would never admit it.

"You need rest too," she breathed out, her tired eyes finding his affectionately. Part of her wished that he would just stop thinking entirely and crawl into that bed beside her with not an ounce of shame between them. No one dared enter her room without expressed invitation anyway, so they were safe for a while, unless Calliope saw to it to come slit her throat in her sleep.

Not likely, but still very much a possibility.

 

[Nav]

Fira found the edge of the bed and quickly and promptly, without argument, snuggled up against the pillows and pulled the blanket up over herself. She didn't let go of his hand though, and he truthfully hadn't been expecting her to. Instead, he let his hands remain peacefully tangled up in hers. It was a lot of grapple with when it came to the matters of the war: need and want, desire and obligation. Of course he preferred the romantic idea of staying at her side and doing whatever it was she needed him to do, but he wrestled with it fervently in his own head. Even when she reminded him that she needed rest, that he didn't have to think or make a decision, his brain never stopped working.

What was the right answer? He feared there wasn't one. He feared that no matter what he chose, it would be wrong.

He was a good soldier and he knew without a shadow of a doubt he could serve Roth, and the cavalry well. He would bring talent and strength to Fira's forces, but what if something happened to her? He knew immediately he'd never be able to forgive himself if something happened to her and he wasn't nearby to at least make an attempt to help… yet the Duke have provided all sorts of physical safety blankets… around and around these thoughts swirled in his head, creating a confusing tangle and mess.

With a nod, he stepped over gracefully and took a seat next to her on the side of her bed. Their hands rested between them, fingers tangled up together. "Yes," he said with a hint of a smile creeping into his eye as he caught her gaze, "I need to rest." The wound on his chest had transformed from a dull ache in to a proper pounding pain. It caused his chest to feel like it was rattling and everything was loose and jostling around. A silly thought, he knew, but he couldn't help it. He was tired and his brain was feeling primitive, the pain increasing in tempo as exhaustion continued to grp his bones like a cold, dead hand that refused to let go.

"It's hard to sleep when I feel like there is always something to do," he explained. There always was something to do. Whenever he tried to lay down, his brain reminded him that he was better off doing something else than trying to rest. They had a great deal to prepare for in the coming hours, considering they had to regroup quickly and depart for… somewhere. He doubted even a plan had been formulated for where that 'somewhere' was. Naturally, he knew the importance of getting rest, but it was hard. It was a constant internal battle with himself, especially considering the Queen was on bedrest for at least another day or two. Her strength was still very weak, and Amadeus felt a personal responsibility to pick up what she had to put down to recoup.

"I really ought to be helping the villagers pack up their lives. They must move everything… move to new cities, new villages. They don't have much to pack, but it must be hard folding up their entire lives and starting over somewhere new. Some are refusing to leave," he explained sullenly, realizing where his brain was going and he gave his head a brisk shake. "But not now, you need to rest and ensure you're ready to travel soon."

 

[Meraki]

Fira nodded as he spoke, as his words rambled on in a steady stream of consciousness. She knew the burden well, the inability to sleep because your brain was running a million miles a second. She could not even imagine the insurmountable pressure on his shoulders but she listened to him, gave him her full attention even if she could not give him her voice for a short while. There was much to do, so much to see to, and she felt entirely useless in this bed but she had come to the realization on her own that she was no good to the people if she did not take care of herself because they needed her at her healthiest, her sharpest. If one or two days of rest meant she had the strength to lead, she could stomach that, and Amadeus had to realize the same thing.

It was impossible to rest, yes, but he had to. For himself, for her, for everyone involved in this sick and twisted game. They were their only hope – and they owed it to the people to be strong, to take the time to recoup and come back even stronger.

As he fell back into ramblings, Fira slipped her hand up from his hand to his arm, careful not to jostle his injuries. She just hummed in agreement as she pulled him down to the bed this time instead of nestling herself deep into his chest, she pulled him into her arms and pressed a gentle, simple kiss to his head. His curls were wild perfect little ringlets and they tickled her nose and brought the slightest smile to her lips. The last time she was able to hold him like this was when Rosalie died and the world seemed to crumble beneath his feet. It was all she could offer him while she was incapacitated, but he needed to rest and she could shoulder the burden for a little while so he could get a bit of rest, even if it was only an hour or two.

"You can't help anyone if you don't help yourself," Fira said gently, "I think I learned that from some imposter prince once upon a time."

Amadeus had taught her that when they first met and it always stayed with her – through the death of her father, the loss of her kingdom, assassination attempts and arrow wounds, she always made sure that she was steady enough to move. There was nothing wrong with needing a moment, with breathing, especially when they had a moment to. Peter was not right outside their door, he had this moment to breathe.

To rest. To sleep. To be as weak or as strong or as nothing as he wanted to be.

After he had a moment of rest, she would listen to whatever needed to be done and they would find a way to get it done. They always did. But they were no help to anyone like this – healing from poison and with an ax wound to the chest.

 

[Nav]

"Imposter prince?" Amadeus mumbled back in response. She had coaxed him from sitting to lying down with ease that only Fira could possess and he didn't fight her, even though he considered it for a moment. He considered arguing with her that there was more he could do still, that he would push himself as far and as hard as he had to to ensure everything would get done, but at what cost? He sighed softly as his head fell against the pillows and her arms curled around him. Her lips met the top of his head and again he sighed, deeper this time than before as his body lulled into a state suspended somewhere between being asleep and awake.

"You shouldn't listen to imposters, Fira," he mumbled quietly, his lips brushing up against her neck as she spoke, "They're imposters—making truths on lies."

His arm snaked around her waist as if in promise to her that he wouldn't go anywhere—that he would rest just like she asked, only because she asked. There wasn't anything left in him to argue once he unfurled the tension in his chest and allowed himself to relax. His body melted into the plush surface of the mattress and his nose lovingly tucked against the pulse point of Fira's neck as her fingers worked to soothe all his ruffled feathers. Within moment, he had dozed off into a deep, wholesome sleep. He didn't so much as stir or flinch for a few hours and had there not been the gentle, steady rise and fall of his chest, he might have very well appeared dead.

It was a wonderful few hours, but Amadeus shook awake eventually. His mind was too busy not to, and in a startled sense of confusion, he blinked a few times and gave a pained exhalation as his chest immediately began to throb and clench. He shifted to try and get into a more comfortable position, but nothing seemed to help.

"What time is it?" his voice was throaty and hoarse, sounding winded and tired as he just ended up nuzzling his nose back into the crook of Fira's neck, too burdened by the weight of his own body to glance back and look at the window. It felt as though he had been asleep for only minutes and days at the same time, though he felt no less tired than he did when he had first fallen asleep. Instead, he felt even worse than before. The pain coursed through him completely unrestrained by adrenaline and all the aches in his joints were becoming more pronounced. His lack of sleepy weighed heavily on him.

The idea of getting up had been completely stripped from his mind almost entirely and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the only thing he wanted to do from then until forever was sleep there. Unfortunately, he knew he probably ought to be getting up sooner than later.

 

[Meraki]

It was impossible not to drift off with Amadeus there, curled up against her and hovering over the pulse point on her neck. His breath was gentle and warm, a soothing caress that lulled her into security and allowed her tired eyes to flutter closed. It was a good, restful sleep – one that she so desperately needed and could never seem to get without Amadeus there, but that did not surprise her. Long before Amadeus, she always had issues sleeping. Whether it was her mind racing or her body feeling anxious, she just could never seem to get herself to sleep as well as she could. The palace physician had tried a thousand remedies but she was always that way. Even as a baby, she would wail and toss and turn into the night. Her father loathed it, but it was something she seemed unable to change.

Sleep just evaded her. It was just the way the world worked.

But Amadeus always managed to bring her relaxation and soothe her ruffled feathers, ease her burden and remind her that closing her eyes meant something, too. She would not stop him from going with the cavalry if that was what he wanted, but she knew that everything would be different. She didn't know if she remembered how to be alone again, because she had not been for quite some time, but she would endure it for him – for his happiness. He had given up so much for her and she was willing to support him through anything, even if it was not what she wanted.

She stirred when the sun was down, darkness sweeping over the room, and she was glad for the lack of intrusion. The guards must have taken her adamant denial of breakfast this morning to heart and when she did not answer the knocks on her door, they assumed she was sleeping. Thank god, her mind was too muddled to deal with much of anyone right now except for the curly haired man in her arms. He was so handsome like this, illuminated in just a sliver of moonlight, his breathing so even she had to check to ensure that he still was. She just laid there, holding him and trying to memorize the moment just in case.

The rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath, the gentle hold of his arm across her center. These were the moments she fought for, the moments where she felt such joy that it seemed unfair in a time of war. It was always what got her through, the thought of him, and while she did not believe herself strong enough to live on memories, she would try if that's what he wanted.

It all came down to him, it always did.

When he stirred in her arms, she pressed a kiss to his curls, not moving an inch so that he could shift and find his comfort. He was in a lot of pain, she could see it pinched in his features, but she tried her best to soothe his aches as best as she could. She was no magical healer, just a woman. That's all. Take away the title and that's all she would ever be.

Just a woman.

"Late," she breathed out gently, "We…seem to have slept through the day. How are you feeling?"

 

[Nav]

It took him several moments of articulating his fingers and toes to come to the conclusion that he was awake, though he wasn't sure he wanted to be. A sigh passed through him as he shifted one more time before settling back down into the warmth of Fira's embrace. There was no words spoken between them immediately, instead, he just rested below the kiss she placed against the top of his head. Once, his lips found the pulse point in her neck, a small gesture of affection before he pulled his head back so he could catch a glimpse of her. She was haloed in cool, silver moonlight. Her features were obscured by darkness but she was unmistakably Fira.

"I'm feeling alright," he answered, bringing his hand up to his face and pulling sleep from the corners of his eyes. "Hurting, honestly, and still tired. A bit hungry." He hadn't gotten much sleep, and he hadn't eaten much in the passing few days. Finally, with the adrenaline purged from his system, he was beginning to feel the crunch of hunger burning through him once more. A sigh escaped him resting his weight up on his elbows so he could look down at her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, noting that she was again making complete sentences without a trace of a verbal fumble. She seemed to be in better health than she had been, with her eyes brighter than before and more alert. That was the Fira he had missed. It had scared him—just how close she had come to death, and while he'd never admit his fear as he knew she had enough fear to shoulder of her own, he couldn't help the swirling discomfort in his chest. He had talked before about the cavalry, and about knowing he'd be of value to them… but those were lies. He knew then, with a clearer mind, that if he went off with the cavalry, he'd be useless. He'd spend all of his time and days worrying how Fira was doing, he'd never be focused enough to lead himself, let alone a battalion of any kind.

He could have never left Fira. He might have argued with himself for a while, but he had known the answer all along.

"I should probably go help around the village," he mumbled, though he seemed unwilling to get up as his shoulders slumped and his head found its previous resting spot right where her neck met her shoulder. He was tired still—beyond tired, even—but he couldn't justify sleeping any longer. There was just too much to do, too much to help with, too much to prepare. He considered telling her she should consider thinking about her plans—consider sitting down and discussing matters with Roth, consider thinking about what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go… but he caught himself.

Instead, he lifted his head, caught her chin with his fingertips, and silenced himself with a searing kiss against her lips. He knew she knew, and she didn't need him badgering her about it even though he felt compelled to do so.