Her Two Loves
content warnings: general references to ptsd
“you're a real self-serving arsehole, you know that, bajsaljen?”
“aemilia—”
“a memorial ceremony three years after the fact? fuck your mother.”
the resistance leader turned general of the nascent bozjan army was impassive. it was much harder than that to get the imposing hrothgar riled up, which further empowered aemilia to dump her long pent up emotions on him…whether it was fair or not.
“i'll ignore all that because you've every right to be upset. i have a personal effect of isolde’s to pass on to you, since she doesn't have any next of kin. and you were —”
“and fuck yourself.”
“—close,” he concluded. “here it is.” he handed her a small box, just under the size of her palm. “thank you for coming, aemilia. and i’m so—”
she had taken the box in hand and wordlessly turned away from him before he could finish whatever apology he was offering, leaving him and the remaining blades’ bereaved at the new memorial outside of delebrum reginae. it took two long, excruciating years of lobbying by the families of the blades, and another to get the memorial built, but the new government of bozja had finally acknowledged the fate of gunnhildr’s blades. it was an embarrassing episode that they would have sooner swept under the rug, save for a concerted letter campaign that aemilia furiously helped write for. the episode filled her with such bitterness as she'd never known.
as she settled into the small airship to transport her back to gangos, she looked at the precious cargo she was carrying. all that was left of isolde. she had largely worked through the severe depressive episode that followed the year after returning from bozja; she'd gained a new mentor, found old and new friends, and rekindled her flame with naago. but this was still so difficult. her hands were shaking as she began to slide open the box.
its sole contents were a bright green stone with a harp etched into it. isolde’s soul crystal. aemilia began to weep as she clutched it to her breast.
some moons later…
it was an overcast day in rhalgr's reach. under the provisional ala mhigan government, the reach largely had the same function as military training grounds for the newly independent nation of ala mhigo, albeit a much less secretive one.
“straighten your back, woman, you can't just use your big, comforting arms to shoot it.” naago’s signature light teasing. aemilia adored that. she straightened her back, breathed in and let loose the arrow. she hit the outer ring of the target.
“pretty good, love,” she encouraged. “keep at it and you'll have your bow singing along with your pretty songs in no time.” the miqo'te woman was wearing her new gazelleskin uniform, designed for the standing army by general aldynn himself. aemilia thought she looked rather dashing in ala mhigan white and purple. naago looked up and grinned at her partner.
“thanks naago,” aemilia said, glowing under the praise. for reasons she couldn't comprehend, while isolde's soul crystal had infused her with the ability to better inspire others with song, none of the memories of bards past contained within could help her shoot a bloody bow…hence the remedial archery lessons. soul crystals sure seem fickle, she thought.
she nocked another arrow as she hummed a tune from a dalmascan folk song. in this moment, it was not lost on her that she was here because of her two loves: isolde, taken far too soon, and naago, the light of her life. she loosed the arrow — just off from bull’s eye. aemilia smiled her crooked smile.
