Ep. 61- Dying Embers
int. chambers night
The Young Knight of Swords remains upright in her bed, the Young Queen sitting at its foot. The Queen’s face remains fixed in an uncomfortable vex, this confessional deeply abnormal for her. The Young Knight has drawn her knees to her chest, hugging her arms around them. The self-soothing security and refusal of vulnerability draws a direct contrast to the Queen’s practiced posture of attempted seriousness.
YOUNG KNIGHT
The war is coming here, then?
YOUNG QUEEN
The Sun’s delegation will arrive tomorrow. I intend to issue a challenge- our right to autonomy weighed against my own life.
YOUNG KNIGHT
You’ll die, you know?
YOUNG QUEEN
My hand is not yet drawn.
YOUNG KNIGHT
(the words spilling from her like a torrent)
If the Sun or any other Major Arcana faces you, you’ll die. It is the way of things. You are strong, but are a minor arcana (we think). You cannot challenge our betters- living gods, even- and hope to win.
YOUNG QUEEN
(eying the tome which lies on the bed near the Knight)
And is that what your books say?
YOUNG KNIGHT
What difference would that make? You can hardly read.
A cruel observation which lands heavy on the Queen’s conscience. She cannot help but crack a grimace at this.
YOUNG QUEEN
Reading, like the sword, is a skill that can be improved upon. Anyone can develop that skill, given the right time and teachers.
YOUNG KNIGHT
Except you, apparently.
YOUNG QUEEN
Such development was not a choice I could be afforded.
YOUNG KNIGHT
You had a choice every time you picked up the blade over a book.
YOUNG QUEEN
(sighs, already exhausted)
This is not how I meant for this conversation to go.
YOUNG KNIGHT
Then what did you want, beyond burdening me with the knowledge that you’ll choose suicide tomorrow?
YOUNG QUEEN
I hoped for your support- or at least your faith.
YOUNG KNIGHT
Then you’ll be disappointed on both counts.
YOUNG QUEEN
(gritting her teeth)
I never imagined this…lonely feeling. My queen does not support me, nor does my own squire. But perhaps more surprising is…this lack of respect.
YOUNG KNIGHT
And what’s respectable about someone who actively seeks their own death and recklessly endangers those who would save themselves? Have a view worthy of respect and perhaps some might stand with you. If I were queen-
A pause. The two share a look- this is the first time the Knight has verbalized such a phrase- such a turn of thinking- and it is not unnoticed by the Young Queen. The Knight continues.
YOUNG KNIGHT
…If I were queen, I would have the sense to dismiss a fool who would get us all killed for nothing.
YOUNG QUEEN
Is our oath nothing?
YOUNG KNIGHT
They’re words. Proud, pious, foolish words that only carry meaning when nothing is asked of them. Look at me, Successor- I’m a child, barely able to carry a sword. I have an entire life ahead of me, and you would ask me to give it up for words backed by worthless pomp. That’s no cause.
YOUNG QUEEN
This “cause” is what gave you your life back when you had nothing.
YOUNG KNIGHT
Had I known the cost, I’d have stayed face down in the dirt of my village and waited for the marauders to finish me.
The Young Queen rises at this- an impasse insurmountable. The Knight’s will to capitulate matches her own to liberate- and this is a difference that cannot be solved in words.
YOUNG QUEEN
At least grant me your luck?
YOUNG KNIGHT
Even the Fool’s luck could not save you. Or, perhaps, us.
With this the Young Queen can only turn and quickly exit, the chamber door softly shutting behind her.
The Young Knight stares into the quiet darkness of the chamber, her eyes unblinking yet welling with moisture. She lifts a hand in front of her, regarding it for a moment.
YOUNG KNIGHT
(thickly)
Fajro.
At this command her entire hand is ablaze. The fire reflects her eyes, the dancing flames embodying her own discounted rage.
