VICTORIA NG

Eirika still wakes at night, bolting upright in bed with her chest heaving and her mouth gasping for breath. It is almost a routine by now, as is the response that Seth gives, sitting up and putting an arm around her waist. She turns into his hold then, her eyes closing, tears slowly trailing over her cheeks as faces again parade past her eyelids.

 

When does it end?

 

She doesn’t realise that she’s spoken aloud until her knight answers her, his breath rippling over the top of her head. “That answer is different for everyone, my lady.”

 

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that,” she manages, her breath catching in her throat.

 

A chuckle is the response she receives, along with lips lightly pressing into her crown. “Very well…Eirika.”

 

She lets out a shuddery breath, pulling away to look up at him in the gloom. “Is it always like this?”

 

All this time, and she is still so naïve. It is this thought that consumes Seth as he pulls her back in. “No, my love, but I cannot tell you when it will get better, only that it will one day.”

​

A sob this time. “Seth-“ and then, like most other nights that she wakes, she is crying, soft noises of distress evolving into great hiccupping tears. Seth knows she cries for the dead that she could not save: For her father, King Fado, killed during Grado’s invasion; Orson’s wife Monica, who sent Orson into his obsessive madness; even Orson himself, traitor that he was; Glen, killed for his honour and integrity; Ismaire, Queen of White Dunes; her beloved friend Lyon, prince of Grado…

​

The costs of war were – and still are – a heavy burden for one such as innocent and naïve as she, but she carries them anyway. Seth had seen her in public, had watched how her gracious interaction banished her demons temporarily. He’d stood next to her as she spoke with Ephraim, providing the new king with her quiet loyalty and support. He’d seen her hold her head high as she oversaw the repairs to Renais Castle.

​

It was only here and now, during midnight hours, alone with him that she cried – and he knows that she has not had time nor space to grieve. How could she, when she is the light and hope of her slowly recovering kingdom?

 

And so he puts his arms around her and shushes her, pressing his lips to the top of her head and rocking her like one might do a child – and in this case, she very much is. She continues to cry, and he continues to hold her, her knight against every demon she’s faced and continues to face.

Seth does not bother to count the hours she cries. It comes and goes, her tears – she’ll quieten in her arms, breathe for a few minutes, and then she’ll start again. It has changed though – he remembers still the first night, when she woke in hysterics, Lyon’s name still on her lips. He can still hear her begging for him to stop this to wake up, please-

​

A soft complaint reaches his ears and Seth realises that he’s accidentally tightened his hold on the woman in his arms. He murmurs a quiet apology, relaxing his grip, listening to her exhale shakily. Maybe she doesn’t know it, but he’s seen how each of her nights have changed from long periods of hysteria to this prolonged, deep crying. He knows that, day by day, she’ll cry less and less, until one night she will have no tears to shed while lying awake and seeing those same faces parade about in her dreams. And then, one day, she’ll have her first unbroken night’s sleep, and wake in the morning feeling guilty, or relieved – and if she’s lucky, maybe it will be both. After that? Well, she will wake, feeling more rested day by day, slowly coming to the realisation that the wounds are no longer raw, the scars quietly fading but ever present on her heart.

​

Seth knows this because he’s lived it too. He too wakes some nights, his heart racing, the names of his friends and comrades echoing from his lips. Those nights his princess is the one to wake suddenly, and wrap her arms around him. Those nights she holds him close, saying nothing and he too grieves for those he lost and those he couldn’t save. The Silver Knight, after all, isn’t as invincible as commoners might believe - just as his Princess, his Eirika, wasn’t as bright as she made herself out to be.

 

And perhaps it is only in these moments that they can let go of their emotions, show their cracks and flaws and vulnerabilities, and hold each other together.

 

“Seth.” A soft whisper, his princess’ voice wrapping around him as delicately as her arms. Her hair, silk under his lips. Her form, shaking from the sobs that have taken her beyond his reach. He rages against the helplessness, just as he rages against the costs of war, costs that have and will continue to make her cry. He rages silently, but he knows she sees it anyway – and she shows it by stretching up in his arms to kiss him. His rage stills, held by the wonder that is her gentle spirit, so generous and selfless, even in her time of need.

 

How?

​

It is he, this time, that does not realise he’s spoken aloud – and she answers, her eyes luminous with unshed tears. “How what?”

 

He shakes his head then, lowering his lips to hers. “It will get better, Eirika,” he promises her, every bone in his body daring something to take this away from them.

 

She lets out one shuddery sob, nodding and snuggling closer “It will get better, Seth,” she tells him in return, her voice clear despite the grief clogging their throats and filling up the room.

 

“I know,” he replies, pulling her closer without hesitation. “That’s my princess.”

 

“Seth.”

​

A chuckle as he holds her close, his warmth finally banishing the grief – at least for tonight. “Alright then, Eirika.”