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On the very first day, we were both roaming the grounds aimlessly -- she didn't know her way around, and I was lost in the quagmire that my own senses had become. We stumbled across each other, and onto each other. She apologized profusely as I staggered back onto my feet. I held my hand out to her. She hesitated, but took it. I tried to pull her up, but I crashed back down, too drained even to lift someone of Katarina's weight and stature.
I was about to apologize, but she couldn't help breaking into a fit of carefree giggling. Before I knew it, I was taken in, laughing in concert. That time, she silently forgave me.
On the next day, I wasn't quite so dizzy, and we ran into each other again -- this time, not in the literal sense. She had grown curious about me. She was but a perfect stranger, but somehow, she seemed to disarm me; looking into those attentive eyes that yearned to learn more, I let myself go, numb to any hint of inhibition or danger.
I told her all that readily came to mind; that I had failed to make the kingdom's strict tests for knighthood a year ago, and for that reason, I'd been training without rest for that year's attempt. She opened up about herself, in turn. She'd been hoping to land a position handling logistics, but those all seemed to require battlefield experience, which she claimed to be loathe to acquire.
" I hear that this year, the knight try-outs are supposed to form pairs as they go through the tests. I thought I might find someone willing to handle the fighting while I handle the planning... But no one in their right mind would want a partner who can't fight. Unless... No, you wouldn't, of course."
But, of course, I would. After all, who would choose a partner with a record of falling short of the mark? She might have thought that I forgave her for being unprepared to stand in the frontline, but that wasn't what happened. Instead, for my previous failure, she silently forgave me.
On a different day, a sweltering heat wave took to Altea. Milord decreed that the people be given a holiday, relieving them from labor under a sun that burned harsher than it has usually been known to. In the barracks, most people enjoyed rest without any fuss. However, there was a small group of old dogs of war who couldn't seem to sit still. In their minds, heat would be no excuse to shirk from battle in the event of a war; the only way to prepare for such a day was to keep on training, no matter the circumstances.
Naturally, I was no more inclined to take that day off. And as I was of no mind to be convinced otherwise, I snuck off to join those veterans. They'd never expected a foolish trainee to have even heard of their unofficial exercise, let alone to be willing to join them; they regarded me as one of their own. And they held nothing back.
By the time they'd realized the matter and sent me away, it was too late. I had to return to the 7th Platoon's quarters with half my skin broken red, and the other swollen purple. I laid in bed as Wrys got to work, in whispers about what a naughty child I was, and Katarina fretted, scrambling to provide anything I might have needed for my injuries. But never once did she reprimand me for sneaking off, always speaking in the same soft tones as always. Neither did she ever speak of it after the ordeal was done.
Yet again, she silently forgave me.
"By now, I estimate that Luke has hit on every single girl out of the trainees... Well, except for me." And me, but at that point, none of us knew that I counted.
"I believe he doesn't notice me much because of my plain looks and boyish hair." I gathered all of my strength in an effort not to tell her that Luke must be blind, that her beauty was at once the calm, clear waters of Altea's lakes and the sublime, rolling waves that strike the shore.
"Of course, I'm glad he doesn't say any of those things to me. If he did... I don't know exactly how I'd explain to him that I don't feel anything for boys." And that was what made the aforementioned strength necessary, although it faltered on me as I wished, more ardently than ever, that I hadn't been a boy.
That wish would be granted further down the line, but at that time, it came down to this: I bit my tongue and stopped the words from coming out, but they surreptitiously leaked away through my face. I pursed my lips and blushed, staring at Katarina's face. And she looked back to mine, inquisitive as always, but never giving voice to all that she could plainly see.
"Anyways, Kris, I seem to have found a certain amount of trainees, of various genders, who admire you. If there's anyone you fancy, I could pull some strings..." And by changing the subject, she silently forgave me.
I swung my sword until I could no longer lift it, and at that point, I kept swinging. By the time Katarina snuck a peek into the secluded spot I'd taken to training in, I was on the verge of losing the ability to stand, but I kept swinging. She offered to walk me back to the quarters and sing me a lullaby to dispel the restlessness; I hesitated, tempted to listen to her sing, but as best as I understood, this was no time for pleasure, and so I declined.
That was the day when I led the platoon astray and into a vicious bandit raid. I was haunted by visions of that masked axeman hacking through one of my friends. A failure that could lead to such a scene was not to be left to stand. Milord decided against punishing me, seeing it as a well-intentioned initiative that deserved reward -- so I ended up taking the matter of punishment into my own hands.
Training well past the point of exhaustion, unbeknowst to myself at that point, was a habit that I'd indulge as way of punishing myself. After all, my grandfather had responded to my first failure at knighthood with a stricter training routine, forbidding me activities that I used to enjoy, so that I'd focus single-mindedly on becoming stronger, whatever it would cost. He taught me to train away my sins.
Katarina must have figured out this mechanism to some extent -- she always had questions about my life, and I could never refuse her. When she realized what I was up to, she held my shoulders and told me I was the strongest, bravest person she had ever known. And that I had done nothing wrong. And that I had much to be proud for, and anyone in my family would have to see it the same way.
I dropped the sword and broke down crying as she silently forgave me.
By now, I'm sure your retainers and knights have all voiced similar thoughts: that it's an unthinkable idiocy to gamble with a king's life, least of all against the one who once attempted to take it, against the one who once made fools of us all.
But you wanted to know where I stand on this matter. I won't lie to you, milord: I want to see her again. I want her to see me again, to see how far I've come as a woman and a warrior. But the reason why I forgive her now is not because I want to. And it's not because I'd think of it as the wrong or right thing to do.
I forgive her now because of all the days when she silently forgave me.