The underground buried tenderness just as darkness swallowed light. As war raged and soldiers aged, hearts grew bitter as they were caged. For under the rule of kings detached and queens zealous, common humanity fell to naught. Joanesque Vernier knew this well, even given her allegiance to the Queen above. Her strength and valor which many did covet, did not suit a soul tired of conflict. A body of steel, a shield plated in gold, and yet her heart grew to despise coldness. Offer a prayer she did, to every soul which departed. Nation, Empire, it mattered not. She begged for mercy and forgiveness unknown to this land, pleading to the Lord to understand. Now she knelt, her helmet raised, before the body of a fellow vanguard razed. One so noble—to dedicate himself to protection, even if it was purple he bore, albeit stained in crimson. A prayer she gave, to the man laid low:
“Rest now, ye of such devotion true. For a kindness otherworldly awaits for you.”
Closing his eyes for the final time, Joan looked up to see a pistol primed. One remained across from her; a living soul missed amid the carnage. One of the enemy—or so she was often commanded—now ready to make her end demanded. She reached not for her knife, nor for her gun, instead accepting that she had been won. No small part of the soldier wished for an end to the death and cries. Such was all in the war, wondering if they were alive; or if instead they controlled husk, having already died. Yet when her eyes opened, she saw not gates of light, but instead a woman who had lost all fight. She did not stand, looking her in the eyes—finding the most beautiful blue inside.
When asked what halted her hand, the woman could give no reply. In truth, she did not wish to see one so kind die, even if she were on the enemy side. Thus Joan asked for her name; to the woman with a heart so tame.
“I am Megan,” said she. “And I must inquire, why pray for those who bid you naught but ire?”
Was that what she felt? Were those her beliefs? Did she not think hearts beat within the Empire beneath? Joan asked such of her, in a tone wounded.
Megan paused, her will unsure. For all of Nation said the Empire’s morals to be void and inure. Yet now here sat one, offering a prayer to the divine—a kindness sublime in these trying times. But peace would not last, at footsteps soon fell. Soldiers bearing gold were set to arrive. Megan, swift still on her feet, saw the light and fled, disappearing into caverns ahead.
Weeks would fly, and the two would meet again, set lines apart as a truce was placed to count the dead. Mourn all did, for those who had fallen. Joan ventured to the soldiers across, asking any if they desired a blessing from the Cross. When asked for intention, she gave but one reply: she wished that none had died, and desired to give peace of mind. Later she and Megan would again meet, sitting aside in the dark caves, asking what each wished for, if not the graves.
Megan spoke first of her life before, wherein she held a desire to perform. Wished, said she, to be a star upon a stage—before the world above was razed.
A smile faint, Joan asked the woman to acquaint; to sing a song of her choosing.
Hesitate for long, Megan did, but soon the soldier performed as Joan had bid. Her voice soft, gentler than light, rung out into the endless night. She sang of losses, of pain and sorrow. Of friends fallen to leaders shallow. Long did she sing, the vanguard content to listen, for the woman’s cry made her eyes glisten. So too did Megan’s, stopping in her song as she broke down in frisson.
“What wished you, then?” She whispered beneath her tears. “Held you held any delusion destiny like I did?”
Joan confessed desires plain; friends, peace, and a lover to hold. Were such wishes truly so bold?
Strange it was, they both considered, to hold a dream so common in days long past; but now one unachievable en mass. Many had fallen, many has passed, never knowing love or companionship in the underground vast. The war had stolen such and more from every man and woman. The sky, the sun, hopes for the future—all traded because two kinds could not live together. Taught to hate without reason, shown to fire at will. All because the whims of people neither would ever meet.
The Nation soldier’s hand found the vanguard’s, placing her glove aside. The contact was intoxicating, a fruit forbidden to both women. Inside their camps respective, flesh could easily be asked from the collective. But of soulful connection? Such was uncommon. And mayhap it was not the same, but Megan nonetheless promised to hold the dame.
And they would, in the light of lantern and lamp, stay beside one another until forced back to camp.
A month, two, maybe more would fly; those in the underground had little to track time. Both women knew only longing since the truce, wondering each rest if they would again be introduced. Megan, for her part, lost much courage—too afraid to perish, now that she had a purpose. More than that, she now understood; not all in the Empire fell short of good. No longer wishing to slay, yet still inclined to stay, she volunteered as one to deliver terms to a camp of the Empire. While her comrades read encouragements to surrender, she snuck off with one particular defender. The pair found rest, outside the wall west, holding one another chest-to-chest.
Know, they both did, that surrender was unlikely—the Empire would fight until it could no more. Either one of the women could die that night, in a battle neither wished to fight. They thus sought to make their time cherished. The one of Nation would sing so gently, before her cobalt eyes focused intently. Not wishing to perish discontented, she found her determination and made her will represented:
“You said once among your desires was a partner to adore. If it is not too forward, may your heart I implore?”
Immediately Joan consented, allowing Megan’s lips to meet hers uncontested. The pair held each other dear, afraid to allow the night to pass without getting all off their chests. Every burden they knew came before the other, before being set aside so they could enjoy the moment. Hands grasped, melodies cast, the pair professed their love fast. The war, every expectation, it all faded in those short hours; all which mattered to them was each other.
What became of the lovers as they went their separate ways? Few know, and even fewer will say. Certainly, these two were once real. Though whether both continue to draw breath is not to be revealed. Perhaps they split from their side arbitrary to live in peaceful solidary. Mayhap they joined the Coalition, finding solace despite the conditions. Whatever the case may be, their tale proves true: Empire and Nation can learn to love, if understanding they knew.
Yuri.
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