Each One's Fight (1)
Deep within the forest, shrouded in a veil so impenetrable that even humans ignorant of magic could scarcely find their way there, lay the Kingdom of Eramenia. The kingdom's buildings harmonized seamlessly with the woods, yet they were far from primitive. Its soldiers rarely ventured into battle, but their weapons were honed to lethal sharpness. At the heart of it all stood the palace of the Elf King, home to King Richard and his queen, Angelica.
The Eramenian palace, constructed almost entirely through masterful stonework with scarcely any timber used, resembled a perfectly baked cake drizzled with golden fondue. In truth, it was a massive dome of thickly carved white marble, poured over with hundreds of kilograms of molten gold and left to harden—a crystallization of wealth and extravagance. Yet Eramenia was no kingdom groaning under poverty, nor one where such luxury was deemed sinful. The only things that could truly terrify them were destroyers possessed of absolute malice. The very sort of destroyers that Margaret had been relentlessly cutting down in recent times.
Having successfully led the subjugation of the Lich Lord and returned to her homeland after so long, Margaret bypassed the comforts of her granted fief to rest. Instead, she headed straight for the palace to request an audience with the king. King Richard granted it. As a father to his only daughter before being a monarch of a nation, he had no reason to refuse.
But the audience chamber, glittering with all manner of gold and jewels, grew as frigid as an ice palace. Margaret's proposal had clearly offended the king's sensibilities. No—she had done so intentionally.
"So, my daughter Margaret. You're telling me that I must provide no fewer than eight thousand troops for the human empire?"
Richard, his short golden hair symbolizing royal authority framing his face as he donned green silk robes, had lived well over a thousand years, yet his apparent age differed little from Margaret's. He gripped the armrests of the platinum throne with a dissatisfied expression, his hands trembling slightly.
Margaret's mother, Angelica, anxiously rolled her eyes between her husband and daughter. Though kneeling on one knee before the king's authority, Margaret held her head high with unwavering defiance.
"No fewer than eight thousand, Your Majesty. If you can spare more, I would be even more grateful."
"That's the equivalent of three legions! I've already dispatched two at your request to Emperor Audrich. They haven't even returned, and we don't know where they are or what they're doing—yet you ask me to send three more for their sake?"
"The First Legion has raised Eramenia's banners at Fort Pritaeon and is stationed there. The Second Legion serves directly under Walter H. Hellhound as reserves, awaiting orders in the capital."
"I'm not truly asking about their status! We've already shed enough blood for the human alliance. I don't know what pretext that hero used to make such a request of you, but having taken that much long-lived blood, they should be satisfied!"
"Of the five thousand elves dispatched, a total of fifty have died. It's tragic blood, but not so much compared to the blood humans are spilling now."
"Having spent time on the battlefield, do you now value your kin's blood lighter than humans'?"
"No. I could never."
Margaret rose gravely from her position. Though she gazed up at him from far below, Richard felt as if she loomed like a giant.
"I've merely come to feel the human blood as thick and heavy as ever before. And Your Majesty, I must formally request an apology for your recent words."
"For what words?"
"Walter H. Hellhound is a peerless hero, but I, Margaret, am no less. For Your Majesty—my father and sovereign—to imply that I, your daughter and heir, have come begging for aid at his command is not only an insult to me but a mockery of yourself. Apologize to me, and to yourself, Father."
Richard was momentarily speechless, his mouth agape. But seeing no flicker of doubt in Margaret's upward gaze, he finally nodded, his expression conceding defeat in spirit.
"I understand your will on that point. I apologize. But I cannot grant your request."
"Is it because Your Majesty believes we would be safe even if Audrich falls?"
"You're overreacting. The human empire has risen and fallen countless times over the past centuries. I've witnessed it all with these eyes. Even if another empire crumbles now, Eramenia's banners will not fall."
"Your Majesty has lived long years. You possess wisdom equal to those years."
Margaret paused for breath.
"But precisely because of that, those years have hardened your keen mind. Father! Crises within crises take entirely different forms, and not all threats resemble those of the past. To doubt now, at this moment, that humans and elves share a community of fate and interests—that Audrich and Eramenia rise together or fall together—is folly."
"That's the line you often use in your speeches advocating alliance between our nations. Even here, I hear it."
"I'm glad Your Majesty takes interest in my work."
Margaret said. Richard grimaced and sighed.
"Do you think I could truly be indifferent? To what you do, to every battle you fight?"
"Your Majesty does not step forth to fight. You even refuse to send more troops to protect the precious soldiers already dispatched. How could I believe we see the same horizon? Unless you fear I'm calling you a coward hiding from battle—at least you're not that!"
"Margaret, enough."
Queen Angelica, who had watched silently, hurriedly interjected. Richard clutched his forehead, tilting his head aside as if to calm his flushing rage. Margaret remained composed. She bowed once to her mother, signaling compliance, but showed no intent to retract or apologize for her words to her father.
"Humans share no community of fate with us! Anyone hearing you might think you unaware of their greed. As if you haven't seen their cruelty, slaughtering even their own kin!"
"Has elven history no such events? Have we never turned blades on our own, never set forests ablaze to kill better?"
"Those are all in the past, consigned to history. We've overcome that era of endless strife!"
"Then why are you so certain humans cannot? You've seen fairies who warred with spears and swords for a millennium unite—why not believe humans, who have fought similarly for comparable spans, might learn something too?"
"There are noble humans. Ones worthy of friendship, who grasp true beauty and value. But they are short-lived. No matter how fine, they crumble after a century. How can I believe they'll continue toward a better path?"
Margaret bowed her head in acknowledgment, seemingly at a loss. She too felt the sting of humanity's brevity in her own way.
"Your Majesty, I know I cannot sway that conviction. But please, do not think your daughter fights for nothing. If we truly share the same view—if our visions of justice align—trust me. I need your permission, Father. The world needs your aid."
"I see why you make a name as an orator. You bully your opponent into submission."
"That was not my intent. My apologies."
"But I cannot send more of my legions for humans."
Margaret's face fell in despair. As she sighed shallowly and prepared to bow farewell, Richard halted her.
"Aren't you already an elven lord yourself, Margaret? I'll transfer two capable legions from mine to your command. Have them guard your fief, build your palace—do as you will. It's time you led over ten thousand troops."
Margaret's despair softened into a faint smile. She bowed crisply to the king in salute.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
"Withdraw. The legions will be sent to your fief once prepared."
Richard inwardly hoped his only daughter would linger in Eramenia longer, planning to use this as pretext to keep her for weeks. Preparing legions for dispatch to human lands would indeed take time. With no urgent reason to leave her homeland, Margaret accepted.
As Margaret exited the golden palace, her mother Angelica followed and caught her arm. Angelica too was an aged fairy beauty whose nine centuries left no trace on her face.
"Margaret. You were too harsh today. Apologize to your father privately."
"I know, Mother."
Margaret gave a wry smile. She too wished to avoid accusing family of cowardice or breaching royal decorum. But moments arose where she couldn't contain her emotions—whether after four centuries or a millennium, it was the same for elves. They had overcome the tragedy of kin-slaying, but not mastered transcendent emotional control.
"Still... though I've lived less than half Father's years, I've seen corpses aplenty—perhaps more in these three years than Father has in his lifetime."
"That's what frightens me. It seems to be changing you. I'm proud of your talent for slaying demons. Grateful that Eramenia's laurels symbolize hope in Audrich thanks to you. But... understand your father isn't stubborn compared to his vast experience. If he truly lived only by his whims, I wouldn't stand idly by."
"I know, Mother. I know how much he endures. How he questions and judges himself after every word. I know it all."
Margaret gazed at the surrounding forest and drew a deep breath. Crisp air, free of battlefield blood's tang, filled the elf princess's lungs.
"We seem a race that quarrels with differing opinions even in utter despair, as long as two remain. Ourselves, and our kin the humans. Is that wrong? No—the true terror is when no one clashes, when none can verify or affirm their beliefs."
"You've certainly changed."
Angelica said. The Margaret she remembered was more stubborn, more childish. As a mother, she suspected not just 'something' called war, but a 'someone' with strong presence had influenced her daughter.
"Was there an impressive human? Even briefly, someone impactful enough to shape you now?"
"Of course, Mother."
Margaret laughed. At the question, several faces flashed in her mind.
"There's a greenhorn striving against impossible ideals, viewing them as inevitable future. A woman who smiles brightly, embracing all while leaving futures unknown. An idiot risking life to protect a world he barely knows, just because it feels right. Yes, such idiots exist."
"That idiot you emphasized twice isn't the protagonist, is he?"
Margaret flushed slightly and turned away, evading. Of course, her mother knew her daughter's trait of blurting truth when cornered.
"Anyway, even when battles pause, they're fighting their own fights from their posts. Mine was with Father. I'm sure they're all fulfilling their duties properly."
As Margaret said, at that very hour, Walter H. Hellhound was entangled in yet another debate at the imperial council. Unlike Margaret, alas, he could expect no familial mercy in the fray's midst.