Invincible

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It made no sense. It had never made any sense, from the very beginning. It was stupid and foolish and never had the slightest shred of evidence or plausibility backing it up – but she had believed it anyway.

Logic railed against the very idea. Common sense, rationality, everything had screamed at her that it was stupid, stupid, stupid – but she had believed it anyway.

And, hell, even if she wanted to get such an idiotic idea into her head, she could have easily chosen someone else. There was General Duessel, greatest of Grado's generals, the legendary Obsidian. Or Ephraim, commander of the army, crown prince of Renais and it's greatest star. Princess Eirika, Prince Innes, the wizard Saleh…

But no.

She had, childishly, foolishly, believed that the young knight that had saved her and brought her into the fold, the young knight with the soft smile and kindest, gentlest eyes she had ever seen, the young knight who'd saved her from impossible, hopeless situations, again and again, was somehow, somehow, invincible.

Until now.

She knew she should move, go to him, run for help, scream for attention, do something, but she doesn't, she simply stares, eyes wide with fright and shock, at the limp, twisted figure before her. A distant part of her mind wonders how a single human body could possibly have held so much blood.

And then she realizes she is moving, running forward, stumbling over the rocks and soil, because she simply can't tear her eyes away from him, from the tortured, cracked breastplate, from the blood-soaked tunic, from the-

She rubs angrily at her eyes, trying to banish the tears, and she falls over his body, screaming and crying and weeping all at the same time, trying to get him to sit up, to look at her, to tell her that everything was going to be okay.

"Amelia…" His voice is fail, painfully frail. And that single word brings back all the times he had said it to her before, tenderly, gently, with warmth and light and love, and her hold on him tightens. He is gone, too far gone to feel pain any more, too far gone for anyone to do anything to help him and so she holds on to him, grasping him with all the strength she can bear as if by doing so she can pin him down, slow his inevitable descent into eternity.

"I'm sorry…" He says no more – he can't, he doesn't have the strength to – but those words carry with them everything that needs to be said, about how he couldn't protect her, couldn't be with her for the rest of her journey, about the pure, unending, unadulterated, heartrending grief that now surges through her, about everything.

And she wants to open her mouth, to tell him that it's okay, that he's already done more for her than she had any right to expect, that he fought well, so very well, that there were simply too many of them, and they overwhelmed him, that she should be the one apologizing, for being too weak, for being too useless, and that she can't let him go.

But there's no time, no time for any of that, and so she simply buries her head in his shoulder, holding him close and letting the warm tears flow, not moving, not thinking, just staying, being there, holding on to him until that moment where he goes still, too still, and she knows that he is dead.

Still she doesn't move, she doesn't react, she just closes her eyes, and she stays there. Soon, there comes the sound of voices, cries of surprise and alarm sounding across the field of battle.

And as her allies approach she stands, taking one weary step away from the corpse. Strong arms bear his body up, to carry it away and to bury it properly, or perhaps to throw it onto a pile somewhere and burn it. She doesn't know.

She stands there for a long while, blinking back tears, choking back the horror, and then she turns.

And she walks away.

It's all she can do.

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