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It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
If Warriors repeated it enough, he could trick his mind into thinking it was true. The signs were all there: a young, bright eyed soldier, all heart with little common sense. A seasoned commander determined to break the kid’s heart until she was strong enough to face any obstacle. A second in command unwilling to fight for her soldier, turning a blind eye to keep the peace.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Reagan wasn’t supposed to be a knight. She was abandoned as a child, tossed between foster home after foster home. By all rights, she should have been a jaded, bitter teenager by the time she joined the army.
Yet, against all odds, she’d kept her heart.
Yes, she’d shielded it, but only as much as necessary.
Each new potential ally, potential friend, they had to wait a little longer to get into her heart.
But she presented a friendly front to anyone who approached. She smiled and waved when appropriate, offered a shoulder to cry on when needed, showed fierce determination and courage to protect those who needed her most.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Warriors wiped his blade, wincing at the blood, still hot with life that dripped, dripped, dripped onto too white snow. It wouldn’t do to leave it unclean, yet to cleanse his sword meant to erase his sins, erase the presence of what should have been a brilliant knight.
Her commander had pushed her hard, harder than usual. The man was determined to shatter her optimism, her hope, her ‘naivete’ as he put it, until he could mold her into the perfect soldier.
His second in command had stood by, watching the man berate Reagan’s every move even when she hadn’t made an error. She didn’t step in, didn’t intervene when the man corrected a perfect form, when the man told her she would never be good enough. She watched, in silence, wiping away tears of guilt as she turned the other cheek. It was just how he trained. And he’d trained many a good knight before Reagan.
Warriors had seen Reagan. He’d witnessed her from a distance, admired her form, her joy, her ability to shift from soldier to friend of the people at the drop of a hat.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
When he saw her light begin to dim, he’d wondered. He began to watch closer, concerned at the differences between the young kid he’d seen in training to the young knight she’d become. He’d tried to intervene. He offered extra training sessions, one on one, in hopes of gaining her trust so that she could tell him what had caused her light to dim.
Mask and Tune had noticed, too. While they weren’t knights, they were kind hearted and observant, more than willing to join in these sessions and offer what aid they could.
Warriors grimaced as he sheathed his sword, wincing as his side twinged where Reagan had gotten in a lucky strike. No, it hadn’t been lucky. It had been a combination of skill and Warriors’ reluctance to injure her.
No matter how often Warriors visited Reagan, he couldn’t convince her to open up. Mask had managed some success, as had Tune. They told him of her commander and second in command, of the cruel training methods that had produced amazing knight after amazing knight.
Warriors wrote to the princess, to Impa, asking about the man. He needed to know if his methods were allowed, or if he could overrule the man and prevent Reagan’s light from being snuffed out.
The letters arrived too late.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Warriors knelt in the snow, felt the wetness on his knees as it melted in his body heat. He looked down at the young woman he’d grown to respect and admire, the woman who’s skill was only matched by her earnest heart.
He wiped a hand over her eyes and closed them, shivering not from the cold.
Mask and Tune would tell him he’d done his best. Nothing he’d done could have prevented the outcome. Trust in others had been beaten out of her. What emerged on the other side had been a woman unable to tell friend from foe in the heat of battle.
When she’d turned her blade on him, it wasn’t hatred he’d seen in her eyes, but fear. Fear of retaliation. Fear of failure. Fear of vulnerability.
It wasn’t Warriors she had seen when she’d attacked.
And he’d not been able to lift the blindfold in time to save her.
“It wasn’t supposed to end like this,” Warriors whispered, tears choking his words until they were nigh indecipherable. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
Bitterness and hatred wrapped themselves around his heart, threatening to snuff out his light the same as hers. He leaned over and pressed his forehead against hers, tears falling freely from his cheeks. They landed on hers, creating the illusion that it was she, not he, from whence they originated.
“It wasn’t supposed to end like this,” Warriors repeated. “I will not let you die in vain. I swear, on your light, your life, and mine, that I will not let this happen again.”
He drew in a shuddering breath.
“Please, forgive me.”