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Once again, Anne wanders the halls like a ghost adrift.
The palace staff dare not question her choice of attire - a billowy dress, one reminiscent of mourning widows, colored in an awfully dark grey - though it is so unlike her. Like this, she is devoid of color, devoid of life, devoid of meaning.
No, they do not question it. Everyone knows the cause of Anne’s misery, and it is one far greater than anything she has experienced thus far.
And so, she wanders.
It is better for her to wander. For the first eighteen hours, she had sat pulled up between twin bedsides, helpless to do anything but sit there, brow knitted in worry and a grief that had reignited. It had been her mother who had pulled her away from there, as though she could possibly understand the way Anne feels now.
Her heart is still there, torn in two and sleeping with the ones who hold each half. Anne can hardly muster the energy to smile now.
She has never had to worry about this, before. Even when her Sword was off on missions, she’d always come back right as rain– and if there were any injuries to speak of, they’d be quickly treated not only by the palace physician but also by a magical remedy that her Shield was always so quick to procure. Her Shield, too, rarely found herself wounded, though her tendency to pass out from exhaustion had been a major concern of Anne’s in their teenage years. Still, this is just wholly unfamiliar, being so close and yet so, so far from the happy ending she’s sought.
By the third day of haunting the halls, Anne’s tired of it. She’s tired of mourning. She hates the feeling of sitting on her hands, twiddling her thumbs, unable to do a thing about the condition of the ones she loves the most. How is it that despite her status, despite her affections, despite all the power she holds in her hands… she can never quite manage to keep what should be rightfully hers?
“Oh Marcy, what should I do?” she laments, sitting at her beloved’s bedside once more. Three days, and yet there is no improvement; wisps of orange still curl off of her though her arms are no longer engulfed in it, and there are bags under her eyes though that is nothing new, and her skin is pale, too pale, as she slumbers and slumbers away. Her chest rises and falls, though, and that is all Anne needs to soothe her grievances a majority of the time.
“Your counsel was always the best for us, and it’s been so, so long since you’ve been able to advise me, no matter how much I’ve longed for it. I…” Anne trails off, and she takes one of Marcy’s hands in her own, holding it securely even as the touch almost burns. “I miss you. Please. Wake up.”
Sasha is even harder to look at. After all, Sasha’s injuries were only caused by Anne’s lack of action and in the name of protecting her. Sasha’s injuries had gone quietly unnoticed, because Anne had been so caught up in the euphoria of rescuing her Marcy that she had passed Sasha’s unconscious state off as exhaustion– especially considering the traces of pink staining her clothes. It had been easy to believe that the pink was from her powered-up ability; and it was, until the pink had been sharp, and Anne realized Sasha’s clothes were littered in tiny holes, and everything had gotten much, much worse.
The healers and the one measly mage they had that wasn’t Marcy had done their best to get out the pieces of shrapnel lodged in Sasha’s stomach and chest, but it was enough that she remains unconscious still. There would be no guarantee that she’d wake up, and over and over again Anne’s been told to prepare for the inevitable.
By the stars, she’s tired of preparing for an inevitable.
~~
“You disobeyed us.”
Anne sits on her knees before the throne, her head bowed as she defers to her parents in front of the entire council and court. She hadn’t wanted to have this fight here, but Newtopia’s internal affairs are in disarray and that means a scandal is being made out of her and her actions– she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t seen this coming, though she foolishly believed that at least she wouldn’t be alone for the fallout.
Her parents look regal as ever, perched in the throne. Her mother has frown lines visible to even those who don’t know her, while her father’s face is all smoothened out, carefully neutral.
“We received a missive from Newtopia,” her father says, unfolding the slip of paper delicately. “They write to inform us of a change of leadership, and we also received an invitation to the coronation of General Yunan, who has been elected the new queen. Coupled with the miraculous recovery of your advisor and the tragic injuries of your bodyguard, it is clear that you went against orders and directly impacted the politic affairs of another country. Is that true, Anne?”
Anne’s rehearsed this in her head millions of times. She raises her head just slightly, chin tilted upwards, and keeps her own expression carefully controlled. “I did not do anything that Newtopia hadn’t done first,” she says, cold and calculated. “They attacked, I retaliated. If they didn’t want our interference in their affairs, they shouldn’t have provoked us by stealing away my advisor, and you know it.”
“That is not your decision to make,” the queen snaps, and she inhales, clearing her own composure with a pinch to the skin between her eyes. “Anne. You know if we let you off the hook here, there will be questions. You cannot get away with everything–”
“But I didn’t!” Anne cries, and she stands now, tired of pleading and pleading to her own parents. “We didn’t get away with anything! I never even saw the Newtopian King, and besides, haven’t they paid enough? Isn’t it enough that both my advisor and my captain are still asleep, unlikely to wake up because of Newtopia’s actions? How can you tell me that I’ve gotten away with what I want when you know what I want–”
“-Anne Savisa Boonchuy!” Her mother snaps. The use of her full name is enough to stop Anne in her tracks, and she freezes in place, her entire body going cold. “That is enough. You are dismissed.”
For a moment - just one, just one long moment - Anne thinks she’s won the fight. Her parents won’t talk about her mistakes in front of everyone anymore, not when it risks damaging her own reputation, and they’ve said all that they need to say, and maybe now she can go right back to haunting the halls– but no, because her mom is shooting her a ferocious look, and her dad looks all resigned, and Anne’s gut sinks into her stomach.
Mercifully, they wait until the doors have closed behind them. Anne’s been escorted to an empty room, and she never though she’d be fighting with her parents behind a closed door but so much of her life has been a surprise to her, this one really shouldn’t be the worst of it.
Only once they are completely alone does her mom’s shoulders sag, and she’s pinching her brow again. “I know this entire situation has been… messy,” she starts, her voice much more calm now that they’re in a safer, more private environment. “But that doesn’t give you the right to act upon your own will, no matter who it’s for. Do you understand me?”
“You know why I did it though, you know– I had to, I don’t regret anything,” Anne argues back, but she softens up at the way her mom just looks at her. “I’m sorry this has reflected badly on you, I don’t want to hurt you either, but I couldn’t just stand there knowing what happened and not do anything about it. If we hadn’t stepped in, King Andrias would’ve used Marcy to commit terrible crimes against us and everyone else, but we stopped it before it happened!”
Anne’s mother just sighs very deeply, her hand still in her face as she releases the ragged inhale. “I just need you to slow down and think abo ut this, that’s all,” she says with a weariness that comes from years on the throne. “Are they doing okay?”
The question stings, because the answer is still no.
~~
When the dust settles, Anne finds herself sifting through Sasha’s belongings.
She doesn’t exactly remember what had driven her here, except that she had wanted to spruce up Sasha’s infirmary bed with her own things, even if she didn’t have much. Sasha had pretty much been living in Marcy’s room up until she had been stolen away from them, and she hadn’t left much behind in her bunk, and yet Anne goes through it quietly anyway.
There are ten years of memories in this drawer. An entire lifetime hidden away, and Anne unfolds each part of it bit by bit, delicately rummaging through casual clothes and small trinkets and everything else Sasha had stashed away.
She doesn’t know what she’s looking for. A stuffed animal? A good luck charm? Something of Sasha’s that could provide enough comfort to stir her from her slumber, should that old superstition hold up. Anne would feel guilty, but in the moment she’s just sad.
She doesn’t find anything useful to drawing Sasha out of her unconscious state, but she does uncover a box– a really nice box, hand-carved and intricate, one that Anne’s never seen before, so she opens it.
And she finds a pair of rings.
They’re gorgeous, matching silver and gold bands with a variety of sparkling colored gems, two halves of a heart split between both rings. Anne brushes her fingers over each band, shivers at the cool metal.
She doesn’t know when Sasha had gotten these, but she can only imagine their use and why they might be here, hidden in a box. Anne grits her teeth, and she closes the box, determination flaring inside of her.
They’re going to wake up, she’s sure of it. They have to wake up, because Anne’s bit her own tongue for too long now and everything she’s ever held back - the emotions, the bursts of warmth, the passion, the heartwrenching longing - threatens to flood right out of her, and she’ll be damned if she isn’t at their side when they wake.
~~
Sasha wakes in a cloud.
It’s a dreamy haze, the cloud that she wakes in. Everything feels floaty and far away, even as she blinks her eyes open, drinks in the light that dances across the room she’s laying in. Everything feels syrupy slow, the way she wiggles her own fingers, snickering at the tingling that goes down her spine with each movement.
Where is she?
She’s still blinking at the ceiling slowly when warmth engulfs her hand, and she can’t help the startled little noise that escapes her, struggling to move her head in that general direction. She’s greeted with dark curls and a dazzling smile and though her vision blurs with each small movement, Sasha just feels safe.
Of course she feels safe.
She’s Home.
“Hey Sash,” Anne coos, and she’s gently rubbing Sasha’s fingers in her own. “How are you feeling?”
“Blurry,” Sasha answers, and she grimaces at how sore her voice is, the word cracking. “Real blurry.”
“The healers gave you something for the pain, I’m sure that’s what you’re feeling,” Anne nods, and as she brings Sasha’s hand to her lips, flashes of the last time Sasha had been on her feet flicker behind her eyes.
She had been… she’d been fighting…
“Marcy,” she croaks, and she pushes against the syrup, against the clouds, straining to lift her head up off the pillow. “Anne… Marcy…?”
“-she’s here,” Anne interrupts when it’s clear Sasha won’t get the words out of her chest. “You did so well, Sash, we got her back, it’s okay.”
“Good,” Sasha breathes, and she flops back against her pillow bonelessly, sighing in relief. “Good, she’s… home, she’s home?”
“She’s home,” Anne promises, and she’s still smiling, fond and dazzling and sweet. “You should rest a little bit longer, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”
Sasha wants to protest, but the clouds pull her backwards and backwards, her eyes fluttering close to compensate. She fumbles for Anne’s hand, but Anne pulls away, brushing at her forehead, and the touch is so warm and so soothing that it has Sasha leaning into it, falling and falling until sleep holds her in an embrace once more.
~~
The next time she wakes, she’s much more coherent.
Sasha groans at the stinging in her chest as she stirs, placing one hand over the flutter of her own heart; she can feel the rough texture of bandages underneath the thin shirt she’s wearing, and for one moment, she doesn’t remember how she got to be here, though she recognizes the palace infirmary immediately.
She thinks she can hear singing. It’s soft and faint, but the tune is recognizable, and when she drags herself upwards with another groan, she sees Anne sitting next to another bedside, quietly singing one of the street songs that Sasha had taught her years ago. Anne seems worried, frail in a way she hasn’t been for as long as Sasha’s known her, her shoulders hunched and the fight she’s carried for months now drained right out of her.
Sasha squints at the bedside, and then she spies dark, messy hair, and a scarred hand in Anne’s own that she’s caressing, and it all comes rushing back to her.
Oh, right. I got hit with pieces of my own sword. Sasha presses her fingers against her abdomen and winces as the pressure sends spikes of pain fire-hot. I don’t even know what happened with Marcy. So much for being the heron knight.
Anne, for her credit, doesn’t seem to notice Sasha’s alertness, not immediately. She keeps singing, and she has one of Marcy’s hands pressed against her cheek, her head bowed. Like this, she seems the patron saint of grief, a mourning angel, and Sasha longs to comfort her but when she tries to get out of bed, her body screams and she yelps in pain.
This, if nothing else, draws Anne’s attention at the very least, and Anne turns her head, her eyes going from distraught to delighted in an instant. “You’re awake again!” she exclaims, and she gently drops Marcy’s hand so she can stand from her bedside and rush over.
“Aren’t you eager to see me,” Sasha teases, but the pain spikes in her stomach again, and she groans, flopping back against the pillows. “Ugh. I feel like I got stampeded on by an entire stable full of horses.”
“You scared the shit out of me,” Anne scolds, and she gently presses on Sasha’s shoulder to ease her back against the bed, adjusting her pillows and blankets accordingly. “I didn’t realize what had happened to you until we got back here to the palace and it was almost too late. You gotta take it easy for a bit; we’re still not sure if we got all the shards out, and the only magician skilled enough to inform us is still unconscious.”
There’s the smallest bit of grief in Anne’s words, and Sasha frowns, her own worry consuming her. “Marcy hasn’t woken up at all?”
“No,” Anne sighs, and she sits at Sasha’s side now, fretting her hands together. “You started stirring more and more frequently a couple days ago, so I knew you were gonna be fine, but Marmar… she hasn’t even moved. The healers, they’ve done everything they could think of, they say she’s fighting off the last dredges of the magical infection, but…”
“...it’s scary and you blame yourself,” Sasha finishes, and she watches as Anne’s shoulders slump in response: clearly, that had been exactly what she had been thinking. “Anne, you can’t blame yourself, it isn’t your fault.”
“If it isn’t my fault, then why do I feel so useless?” Anne sniffs, and she’s trembling, shaking like a leaf in the autumn winds. “There’s so much… I want so much, and yet everything keeps disappearing and I have to think it’s because…”
Sasha reaches for her hands, grasps them as tightly as she can manage. “It isn’t you,” she promises fervently, “you know it isn’t you, Anne–”
She is interrupted by a loud gasp of air, and then they both turn immediately towards the only other occupant in the room just in time to watch as Marcy’s eyes flutter, and then open, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling.
“Marcy!” Anne exclaims, and Sasha lets her hands go so that she can rush right back over to the other bed; she can’t blame Anne for it either, not with how long it’s been since they’ve both had Marcy, the real Marcy, with them. “Stars, you’re actually awake, how are you feeling?”
“Anne?” Marcy mumbles, her voice raspy and hoarse but her own, not that awful voice that the Weapon had used when controlling her. “Wh… I don’t remember this dream…”
“It’s not a dream Marmar, you’re here, you’re safe, and I am never letting you go ever again, okay?” Anne might be crying now, and Sasha winces as she drags herself first upright and then out of her own bed, dragging herself across the room to sit at Marcy’s bedside instead. Her entire body aches and protests, but that isn’t important now; the only thing that’s important is that their Marcy has finally come home.
Marcy, to her credit, just blinks up at them, squinting– she doesn’t have her glasses on.
“We’re here for you,” Sasha adds, and she takes one of Marcy’s hands. Marcy’s hands have never been callused and she so rarely gets them dirty even with her experiments, but now they’re rough, stained a deep orange, like she had stuck them inside of a raging inferno. “We have you now, we have you.”
“You’re never gonna get to leave us again, and that’s a promise,” Anne sniffs, and she reaches one hand down to gently caress Marcy’s cheek, brushing stray hairs out of her face. “Because we love you so much, you know?”
“Never wanted to leave in the first place,” Marcy mumbles, and she seems a bit more herself now, slowly but surely waking up. “I… I’m sorry. For staying behind, for not coming back, for giving in. It feels like such a stupid thing to do now–”
“-you were trying to protect me,” Anne whispers, and her voice comes out choked and raw as she takes the other one of Marcy’s hands, cups it between her own. “You were only trying to protect me, just like you swore you’d do when you became my advisor. I can’t fault you for that, I just… I missed you so bad, you know?”
“Did you?” Marcy blinks at Anne, something wondrous in her eyes.
“Every single day,” Anne promises. “Every day, I wished you were here with me. Even when we thought you were dead, I wanted you to take your rightful place at my side. Even when the council and my parents and everyone else told me I shouldn’t, I missed you. I never wanted to lose you, Marmar, you’re too important to me.”
Sasha’s chest aches, and she longs to get a word in edgewise, but for now all she can do is sit and watch as Marcy’s eyes grow starry and adoring, and Anne’s voice is cracking as she spills and spills, clutching onto Marcy’s hand like a lifeline.
“I don’t wanna lose you either,” Marcy rasps, and she’s still blinking rapidly, her gaze shifting between Anne and Sasha even though it’s obvious - to Sasha, at least - that she isn’t really seeing either of them. “Annie, please don’t cry– I don’t… I don’t understand…”
“We read your journal,” Sasha blurts, and she presses Marcy’s hand into her chest, her eyes burning. The pain from the battle has mostly subsided now, replaced by something else she can’t name. “I… we know how much you were hiding from us, and we…”
Helplessly, Sasha looks at Anne, and finds her still smiling at Marcy with that fond, hopelessly in love look she’s had on her face this entire time.
“We love you too,” Anne finishes. “ I love you too, and I can’t… I don’t want you to leave me ever again, do you hear me?”
Marcy stares at Anne, and she nods slowly as the words seem to sink in, but she’s so obviously out of it just like Sasha herself had been the first time she had woken up, and Sasha sighs. “Anne,” she tries, “we should let Marmar rest, look at her–”
“-marry me.”
The words stop Sasha in her tracks, and judging from the way Marcy’s eyes go wide again, she clearly feels the effects too, still staring at Anne as she clutches at Marcy’s hand and says… and says…
“You’ve loved me for so long now, and I’ve loved you equally as long, and… and this entire situation has made me realize that I just…” Anne groans, and then she’s surging forwards, using her grip on Marcy’s hand to pull her up and kissing her.
Sasha can only watch.
Anne kisses Marcy, and Marcy even though her stupor seems to come to some sort of awareness and kisses her back, and Anne’s been obviously in love with Marcy since she had first disappeared, and Sasha’s accepted that, she really has, she knows that Anne loves her too and that Marcy loves her and yet something protests at the way Marcy melts against Anne, at the way Anne holds Marcy closer as they kiss.
When Anne pulls away, she’s still holding Marcy close, and she presses their foreheads together, her head bowed. “I want you here, by my side, for forever,” she whispers, the words strangled. “So marry me. Be my wife, my consort. It’s all I will ever ask of you again.”
“Anne…” Marcy whispers, and she tears her gaze away from Anne to stare over at Sasha, and Sasha inhales at the intensity of the longing in her gaze.
“Hey, Marce, it’s okay,” Sasha says, and she offers a measly grin. “you’re just fine, Anne loves you, and–”
“-Sasha,” Anne says feebly, and when Sasha tears her gaze away from Marcy, she finds Anne looking at her now too. “It’s… I want you to marry me too.”
“Marriage?” Sasha squeaks. “But we… we never even courted! I never got to take you on… on scandalizing dates, or anything-”
“-I feel like this war has been scandalizing enough, don’t you think?” Anne snorts, and she tugs Marcy into her arms fully; Marcy goes willingly, but Sasha’s still holding her free hand, joining them together. “I just can’t keep living like this, like I don’t want you both at my side, or in my arms, and I certainly can’t be on the sidelines watching you two have the life that I want. I’m sorry, I should’ve said something earlier, I’m realizing that now, but… if you’ll have me…”
“...are you kidding?” Sasha squeezes Marcy’s hand, and she scoots onto the bed further so that she can set her own free hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Anne, I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember ever wanting something, and I think Marcy’s the same way, going off her letter. We… gods, we’ve been stupid about it for awhile, haven’t we?”
“You never even realized I liked you,” Marcy whispers, and they all laugh.
It isn’t perfect. Marcy’s still out of it, and who knows what she had gone through while the magic had held her hostage, and Sasha still has a burning ache in her chest, and they have issues that haven’t been fully resolved, but as they hold each other, Sasha knows for the first time in her life that they’re going to be just fine in the end, no matter what else their life might throw at them.