Work Text:
She thought it would be different this time. Different people around her, different goals in mind. Eretria even felt different, like pieces of her had finally shifted into place.
The world wasn’t apparently that kind enough though, to let her change, to let her become someone different on this mission to save their world.
She had killed someone, just like she killed people when she was serving Cephelo. It seems she had freed herself of one blood-thirsty master just to serve another: fate.
Amberle finally spoke after minutes of heavy silence. “You okay?”
“Fine, princess.”
“Eretria. Stop.”
Hands came to rest over her own twisting ones. She jerked her head up, surprised that Amberle had noticed her restless fingers when even she herself hadn’t.
“You’ll get blood on yourself,” she muttered, jerking away.
“You washed your hands three times. There’s no blood left on them, trust me.”
Eretria glanced down, seeing a faint rust-red smear over her knuckles. “You’re wrong.”
“Stop,” Amberle insisted, forcing her to sit when she tried to rise to go wash again. “That was from my hands.”
Then slowly she held up her palm, and Eretria’s glance flicked from the almost-dried blood spattered there to the princess’s soft gaze.
“See?” Amberle said quietly. “There is blood on my hands, too.”
Then she smiled weakly, as if a little intimidated by her own words and by her own actions. Eretria felt the knot in her own stomach loosen, realizing she was not the only one fate was being unkind to.
“Would you look at that,” she responded in turn with a wry twist of her lips. “One more thing we have in common.”
Amberle made an assenting noise, lowering her hand to rest on Eretria’s. She squeezed, in solidarity, in understanding, in forgiveness.
Eretria squeezed back.