Ep. 51- The Last Hope

ext. gatehouse night

The gatehouse on the outer ramparts of the Fortress of Swords. The gate, freshly raised, is flanked by guards bearing torches. The Old and Young Queens emerge from the gatehouse, having just descended from the walls.

Haggard refugees in scorched rags, faces blackened as though by exposure to detonated gunpowder file under the arches of the gatehouse in small, huddled groups.

The Young Queen cannot help but betray an apprehensive grimace on her face as the unfortunates pass her. The Old Queen sets a hand on her shoulder.

OLD QUEEN
Brave face, child. Others look to us.

As the procession passes within the glowing torchlight of the guards, their faces become more clear- these are humans touched by the Sun, their very souls scorched by its brilliance. Put less poetically- they are warzone refugees, displaced from the most recent campaign of the Sun’s ambition. They walk as those who do not expect the comfort of these ramparts to be anything more than a temporary shelter.

The Old Queen kneels to them as they pass. The surrounding knights and guards follow example. Lastly, the Young Queen, a look of bewilderment, joins the old queen, kneeling not in respect but to better reach the ear of her mentor.

YOUNG QUEEN
We bow before the defeated now?

OLD QUEEN
These people have suffered a great horror. That they reached us at all is a great act of courage worthy of recognition.

As the scorched refugees file past, a YOUNG CHILD, notably limping, passes the Queens. She is clutching an enormous tome bound in black leather in one arm, and props herself out with a cracked iron sword under the other arm. It is a precarious arrangement and after a few steps she loses her footing, falling face forward into the dirty.

The Young Queen rises- the Old Queen attempts to restrain her- but the Young Queen is too quick. She reaches the Child and lifts her back up. Notably, no other guards attempt to assist, their faces frozen with apprehension.

The Child immediately looks around, wildly, as though unaware of her surroundings, moved by a means beyond her comprehension. The Young Queen returns the book and sword to the Child, who clutches both with greedy, protecting arms.

The Young Queen regards the sword- a blackened shard of metal, dulled by heat and use.

YOUNG QUEEN
(impressed)
Did you use this?

The Child, still unseeing, still far off in her own thoughts, vacantly nods.

YOUNG QUEEN
Did you get anyone with it?

The Child gravely nods.

YOUNG QUEEN
Well fought. And…what about this book, is it yours?

At this the Child shrinks back from the Queen, shielding the book from her. A shadow passes over her- the Old Queen, who stands above the kneeling pair.

OLD QUEEN
Scorched skin and hair. Dumbstruck as though in a quiet awe. She has touched the Sun.

YOUNG QUEEN
(impressed once more)
And you lived to tell the tale. Brave.

OLD QUEEN
(wondering)
And how was her sword so blackened, I wonder…No matter. Run along child, back to your friends.

The Child does not comprehend this order.

YOUNG QUEEN
I…I don’t know that she’s with the others, exactly. I think she’s alone.

The Old Queen raises an eyebrow.

OLD QUEEN
Her plight has reached you.

YOUNG QUEEN
How could it not. Being alone in the world with naught choice but to defend yourself with whatever means you have. I see myself in this.

OLD QUEEN
And what would you propose?

YOUNG QUEEN
She comes to our fortress bearing a sword. Is it not our way to take in any willing to fight?

Old Queen motions the Young Queen to step aside for a moment. The Child is left dumbly staring into space.

OLD QUEEN
I took you in because you showed great potential. What do you think you see here?

YOUNG QUEEN
I…I don’t know, yet. But there’s something in this. Something I can’t ignore.

OLD QUEEN
I will be frank- these people will not be here long. Those struck by the Sun are prone to madness and violence at best. That we grant even a short sanctuary is a mercy.

YOUNG QUEEN
Then I’ll claim her as my Squire, just as you claimed me. It’s my right as a knight.

OLD QUEEN
(staring)
I…I cannot deny you this. But mark me- that child bears an ill star.

YOUNG QUEEN
She’ll be my responsibility.

OLD QUEEN
Every charge is the responsibility of the entire house. Bear that in mind. She will not just be your problem- she will be all of our problems.

The Old Queen motions to a guard.

OLD QUEEN
Take this child to the main castle. See to it she is cleaned up, fed…and watched.

The Guard salutes and takes the Child away. As she is led away, she casts a look over her shoulder at the Young Child. It is a baleful expression- hardly grateful- and perhaps, accusing. The Young Queen can’t help but be captivated by it.

OLD QUEEN
Every day I half expect the Sun to fail to set. I worry that its rays might not give way to the night sky. We rely on the night for so much- rest, respite, cover. Never had I thought I’d find darkness so comforting.

YOUNG QUEEN
(quietly)
Do we know how close their village was? How close the Sun’s armies have advanced?

OLD QUEEN
It is not something for you to worry over. Suffice to say they’re far off enough for us to maintain our illusions of safety for some time yet. See to the rest of the refugees- and when you have concluded, I expect you to turn your attention to the Tourney of the Successor.

YOUNG QUEEN
Always another trial…

OLD QUEEN
If you seek not trials, then set aside your ambitions. To be ambitious is to invite trial. Consider that as you weigh out where to commit your attentions…

The Old Queen says this and then walks off toward the castle, the darkness quietly enveloping her. The Young Queen is left to ponder this in the receding torch light.