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It began in blood. Foolish of him to think it wasn’t going to end in it as well.
Red spills across the stone floor here as often as it does in his nightmares. The pain means this is real, though Richard wonders if that matters when it weighs on him the same. The air is syrup in his lungs and burns when he tries to pull more in against the wound at his flank. It spills in protest, hot and sticky and all too familiar even through the sheen of his gloves.
Richard knows better than anyone the feeling of blood on his hands. Even his own.
He should have expected it; knows Barona Castle better than to let his guard down so easily. He knows the loneliness that echoes through its passages and stains the walls too deeply to ever wash out. The vaulted ceilings fill themselves with the icy weight of it until even the vastest of its corners are suffocating. He knows the knights who stand a silent vigil, their only distinction from the statues being the tension that takes their shoulders at the sight of him, and their propensity to betray their king.
The shadow of a blade casts over him in the throne room's light. Richard doesn’t recognize the face of the guard that has betrayed him, but he should. They are someone who had lost at Richard’s hand, no doubt. Was it a friend? A lover? Had he heartlessly cut through their family in his mad pursuit of a world free from the very suffering he’d carved onto this stranger’s face? It seems likely, even if Richard will never know more of an answer than the swing of their blade down upon his head and wonder for a fleeting moment if he deserves it.
Don’t give up!
Richard rolls to the side in time for the sword to dig into the floor where he had been a second earlier. Richard forces himself back from the ensuing swing and doubles over in pain. A handful of days is not long enough to see wounds from his battle in the Ghardia Shaft healed or the words spoken to him there forgotten. It gave him strength there, it weighs on him now.
Asbel made it sound easy, so painfully obvious that the answer was to keep believing. How is he supposed to face it all? He has hurt others, betrayed them. Whether it was his own friends or a complete stranger, he had turned on them all and deserves their resentment. It makes his own blade heavy, drags down his limbs until he cannot stand. His grip tightens upon the hilt, slick with the red that dyes his gloves a deeper obsidian. He wants to keep living, he wants to move forward.
But how is he supposed to do that?
“Richard!”
The shadow over him is no longer just an enemy blade and the sound of metal clashing fills his ears. He knows that voice, and the flood of footsteps tells him that Asbel is not alone.
“Richard, you’re hurt.” Sophie’s worry fills his periphery and drowns out the more distant sounds of the retreating battle. Her hands hover over him and the hesitation in that action spears through him sharper than any of his injuries.
“I’ve got him. Sophie, you go help Asbel.” Cheria’s voice is less familiar, but he knows it all the same. Violet pigtails sway in affirmation and then there is only one presence next to him. “Can you move?”
Cheria braces him as Richard finds his feet. He tries to bear his weight but his side seizes and she is all that keeps him upright. It’s only a few steps to the throne but it's long enough for his every injury to rip open again. The throne is ice and unyielding beneath him but it's better than getting more blood on Cheria’s dress.
“Now, let’s see where you’re hurt.” Cheria’s hands search as easily as her tones and Richard curls away from both. He doesn’t deserve her care; he tried to kill her not three days ago.
“I’ll be alright.” Richard weakly shakes his head. “Asbel and Sophie might need your help. You should go to them.”
“They’ll be fine. They can look after themselves, and they’re not the ones bleeding all over the place.”
“No. Really, Cheria–” Richard winces when she finds the gash at his side. “You don’t need to help me. Asbel must still be hurt from everything–he needs you far more.”
“Ugh, you boys are so stubborn! Asbel kept saying the exact same thing when we got back to Lhant. Help Sophie, help Pascal–as if he doesn’t need it just as much.” Cheria moves with the same powerful current as her tones but her touch is no less gentle as she unwinds old bandages. Her fingers brush back his hair and her eleth pours down over him, warm and encompassing as a spring rain. “Besides, why wouldn’t I help you? We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“You… consider me your friend?” The notion halts Richard in his tracks. “But I hurt you! I tried to kill you and those you care about.” It seems impossible, even though he has heard the same thing from Asbel. He can’t fathom it; that level of forgiveness. Had she done to him all that he had done to her, he does not think he could move forward with such grace.
“Look, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still angry at the things that you did.” Cheria’s pace is measured, tending each wound in turn with fresh bandages from her satchel. “You hurt Sophie really badly, and when we almost lost her, I… I didn’t think I would ever be able to forgive you. But then I realized… how long you’ve spent alone. I know how hard that is, and how painful it can be. What you did wasn’t okay, but staying mad at you won’t solve anything. I can tell that you’re trying to do better. So, of course I’m going to help you.”
“I… want to try and make amends. I know that… I caused you and everyone no small amount of suffering, and I know that apologizing isn’t enough to make up for it. I want to move forward but I–”
Richard pauses, the confession slipping out in the space between breaths.
“I’m afraid.”
“Richard?”
“When I acted before, I was so certain I knew what I needed to do, and I had resolved myself to do it. I was so desperate to create a world where no one had to suffer but in reality… I was only running from my own pain. Instead I caused it to others. I surrendered so easily to despair, to madness, and by the time I realized it, it was already far too late to turn back. What happens if I make the same mistakes again?”
Cheria lets out a sigh, but fondness paints her smile. “That’s just silly, the answer is easy, isn't it?”
“You have us to help you, Richard.”
“Sophie–”
“She’s right you know,” Asbel comes up next to Cheria. “You have us to rely on, and other people around you that care about you.”
“Asbel–you’re both alright.”
“Don’t worry; that knight didn't seem too eager to fight us. We caught up to him and handed him over to the guard. He shouldn’t cause you any more trouble.”
“That’s a relief.” Richard sags against the throne.
“Richard, why didn’t you call for help?” Asbel’s question pins him. His lips part, but he can’t lie to Asbel and nothing comes. “We were talking to the guards at the bottom of the stairs and no one knew you were in trouble. You could have been really hurt, fighting all by yourself!”
“I–” It catches in his throat and Richard draws in a slow breath to untangle it. “When I call for help, the one who answers usually doesn’t come to assist me. It’s always been safer… to simply fight them off on my own.”
“Richard…” It falls into place like a building collapsing, a realization that gives way to the horror in Asbel’s eyes. Richard could never have told him, not after how hard everyone had fought. That killing Cedric hadn’t truly solved any of it; the corruption had rooted itself far deeper. The castle he dreads, that weighs so heavily upon him, hasn’t changed in the slightest.
Even after everything, he’s still alone in this place.
He can’t even trust that his own knights don’t want him dead.
Asbel draws his sword, his white coat flaring as he lowers himself onto one knee. Excalibur catches the morning sun trickling in through the windows, glimmering an iridescent host of colours from Asbel’s hands. He holds it up to Richard.
“Asbel, what are you doing?”
Richard knows the answer, even if he cannot comprehend it. He has watched these moments before; watched aspiring knights kneel before his father and offer oaths they would one day break. The castle is filled with them: men who have made promises to his father, to the crown and the kingdom. Perhaps that is why the breath is stolen from his lungs and time suspends in the space between them. To kneel before Richard, Asbel is the first.
“I know that I’m a Lord, and so I can never truly become one of your knights.” Asbel’s voice fills the throne room and chases the cold out of its darkest corners. “I know that I can’t stay here in Barona and fight every battle with you, even though I want to. But even so—! I told you once, that I am your sword and even after everything that hasn’t changed.”
Richard pulls himself up against the stiff set of his flank until he finds his feet; bandages crease but Cheria’s mending holds. It’s a struggle against the ache, but he will not surrender this moment.
“When we were kids, you told me about your dream. How you wanted to build a world where no one had to suffer. It was amazing to hear, and more than anything I wanted to see that dream come true. Not just for all the people it would help, but because… I could see in your eyes how important it was to you. We’re older now, and I know that it isn’t going to be as easy as cutting down all your enemies, but I still want to help you make that dream a reality and I’ll do whatever it takes to see it happen. No matter what, you will always have my blade, you will always be my friend. When you can’t trust anything else; you can trust in that.”
It is no small thing, to make an oath, just as Richard knows it is no small thing to accept it. Asbel says it easily, without the faintest trace of doubt. How… can he so easily look past it? All that Richard has said and done to him- How does he still have the strength to keep believing when they are surrounded by the mess Richard had made of that very dream?
Richard reaches for the sword but his fingers halt inches from the blade. There is no knight more worthy, no friend more cherished, but it is for that very reason that he cannot close the last of the distance. His hands are still wet with blood. How can he accept Asbel’s sword?
“Richard, is something wrong?” Sophie’s head tilts.
“I… don’t know that I’m worthy of accepting it. You offered me your sword before, and all I did was betray you. You were trying to warn me of the mistakes I was making, but I closed my ears and refused to listen. I speak of building a world without suffering, but the struggles people face each day are my own doing. I may very well end up hurting you all again.”
“You won’t.” Sophie says it with such certainty. “You didn’t want to hurt us, just like I didn’t really want to hurt you. It’s okay to make mistakes sometimes. When I do something wrong, Asbel and Cheria always help me fix it afterwards. They can help you too. I know it.”
“You don’t need to be perfect, Richard,” Asbel assures. “We’ve all made mistakes, I know I’ve made plenty. When things are hard, that’s when you have your friends to support you. You’re not alone, Richard. It’s not going to be like before. We’re here for you. No matter what.”
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Richard. I’ll help too.” Sophie reaches out and places her hand over Richard’s. Her grip is warm and soft and empty of the spearing pain their contact had wrought when Lambda dwelt within him. It’s such a simple thing, but it catches the breath in his throat.
Alone he is weak. He and Lambda sought shelter from their suffering in all the wrong places, power in all the wrong ways. He feels now, under the reassurance of Cheria’s gaze, the sturdiness of Sophie’s grip, and the radiance of Asbel’s sword; Richard feels an inkling of what true strength must be, and it is enough for him to reach out and take Excalibur in his hand.
For the first time in memory… the castle does not feel empty.
“Asbel Lhant. Time and again have you offered me your sword, and I have not always cherished it as I should.” Excalibur lowers over Asbel’s shoulder; a ceremony with only Cheria and Sophie as witnesses. “Yet your loyalty has never wavered, your heart remains true. In exchange for your oath, I promise I will become the kind of king you can be proud to serve.”
Richard spins the blade and offers Asbel the hilt.
“I will always be proud.” Asbel takes both his sword and Richard’s hand. Sophie places hers on top and Cheria adds her own. “To call you my king. And call you my friend.”
“That goes for all of us,” Cheria agrees.
“Do you feel better now?” Sophie asks.
Richard draws her question in and lets it fill his lungs. He still aches from his injuries, still feels the weight of his guilt and the reality of all he has wrought. He knows he is not yet worthy of Asbel’s oath, of Sophie’s support or Cheria’s care, but he wants to be. He wants to see the castle filled with the same warmth their hands brought to his. To see the fear chased from the corners and the deep seeded stains fade against its brilliance. For the first time, that thought, that dream, like many others, didn’t feel so far beyond his reach.
“I do. Thank you, all of you.”
He had friends by his side, unfaltering and unwavering. With them he could face anything.
Richard was not alone.
“I’m grateful to have such wonderful friends as you.”