The frail princess
Title: The frail princess
Author: E.M. Windsor
Fandom: Persona 4
Characters: Amagi Yukiko, Hanamura Yosuke, Seta Souji
Prompt: 033 - Too Much
Words: 695
Rating: PG-13
Summary of Fic: Everybody freezes sometime.
.
She can’t.
Once upon a time, three black knights were out one evening and came upon the Holy Grail of humans, a Wild Card and his three boon companions - a princess, a warrior, and a rogue. Believing that the Wild Card and his compatriots were inexperienced in traveling and unknowledgeable in mystic arts, they charged the band. A grave injury befell the bravest but foolish of the band, the young rogue, before the knights were summarily dispatched.
Her hands are covered in blood so hot it chars her skin, so red it makes hers look white, and it isn’t stopping.
Since returning from a stay in a faraway castle, where she played Lady of Shalott to the Tokyo Lancelot, the princess had been faced with many tasks. In preparation for the Wild Card’s quest into a hot spring’s house, the princess donned a battlefield nurse’s attire for the first time - comfortable shoes for the long walks in the land of Shadows, and a sweater she didn’t mind getting dirty. Yet, despite the many things the princess had been trained in, the healing arts had not been among them.
Everyone’s telling her she needs to do something, do something now Yukiko, before he bleeds to death. Call your Persona and have her heal him, just do it now, do it right now.
She can hear the words and knows what each one means, but put together it’s a string of nonsense, and all she does it stare at his ghastly face and the narrowed, hateful look he gives her.
In the young princess’s arms lay the foolish rogue, who took a javelin through the chest to defend that Tokyo Lancelot she herself swore to defend, gray as the callow bones of death, teeth gnashed and telling her to invoke the name of her goddess to save him. Their commander, exhausted of all his great strength, could only turn and ask for aide from one he had promised to protect.
But she couldn’t.
The princess cradled the rogue’s auburn head, listens to the ratta-tat-tat of the music he played, assuring him that her goddess was coming to heal him, that she could and would prove herself worthy of the Wild Card and his companions.
But she couldn’t.
She doesn’t know how, doesn’t know if she’d be able to do it right, and then what? She’ll have killed him.
She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have to be responsible for another human’s life, but if she doesn’t do something right now than he’s going to be dead and she’ll have killed him.
They shouldn’t be here and she holds her head and cries, cries, cries, because she doesn’t know where she is or why she’s here or what any of them are doing and this isn’t a game, and she never should have thought it was.
Summoning what remained of his strength, the Wild Card called forth one of his many other selves - a sprite of indeterminable origin - and sealed the rogue’s garish injury. At once, the blood returned to his body from both the rogue’s and princess’s hands, and the hole in his side mended. All that remained, even to this day, was a white scar from armpit to hip.
The Wild Card then turned to his three boon companions, who had lost their lust for questing, and decided that it was best to return to their sanctuaries and sleep away this unpleasant experience. In the long walk through the land of the Shadows, the rogue, still limping and clutching at his wound, gave to the princess some kind words. He related to her a story, of when the Wild Card and he first ventured to save her from her royal prison, when only he could cobble together a healing spell or two. When the situation arose that such spells were needed, in a situation far from fatal, the rogue had fainted from the stress.
So you don’t need to worry about freaking about this time, okay?
The princess smiled, and the next occasion where her healing spells were needed - in their pitch battle against the great master of the bathhouse - she did so, and no man died.
.
Author: E.M. Windsor
Fandom: Persona 4
Characters: Amagi Yukiko, Hanamura Yosuke, Seta Souji
Prompt: 033 - Too Much
Words: 695
Rating: PG-13
Summary of Fic: Everybody freezes sometime.
.
She can’t.
Once upon a time, three black knights were out one evening and came upon the Holy Grail of humans, a Wild Card and his three boon companions - a princess, a warrior, and a rogue. Believing that the Wild Card and his compatriots were inexperienced in traveling and unknowledgeable in mystic arts, they charged the band. A grave injury befell the bravest but foolish of the band, the young rogue, before the knights were summarily dispatched.
Her hands are covered in blood so hot it chars her skin, so red it makes hers look white, and it isn’t stopping.
Since returning from a stay in a faraway castle, where she played Lady of Shalott to the Tokyo Lancelot, the princess had been faced with many tasks. In preparation for the Wild Card’s quest into a hot spring’s house, the princess donned a battlefield nurse’s attire for the first time - comfortable shoes for the long walks in the land of Shadows, and a sweater she didn’t mind getting dirty. Yet, despite the many things the princess had been trained in, the healing arts had not been among them.
Everyone’s telling her she needs to do something, do something now Yukiko, before he bleeds to death. Call your Persona and have her heal him, just do it now, do it right now.
She can hear the words and knows what each one means, but put together it’s a string of nonsense, and all she does it stare at his ghastly face and the narrowed, hateful look he gives her.
In the young princess’s arms lay the foolish rogue, who took a javelin through the chest to defend that Tokyo Lancelot she herself swore to defend, gray as the callow bones of death, teeth gnashed and telling her to invoke the name of her goddess to save him. Their commander, exhausted of all his great strength, could only turn and ask for aide from one he had promised to protect.
But she couldn’t.
The princess cradled the rogue’s auburn head, listens to the ratta-tat-tat of the music he played, assuring him that her goddess was coming to heal him, that she could and would prove herself worthy of the Wild Card and his companions.
But she couldn’t.
She doesn’t know how, doesn’t know if she’d be able to do it right, and then what? She’ll have killed him.
She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have to be responsible for another human’s life, but if she doesn’t do something right now than he’s going to be dead and she’ll have killed him.
They shouldn’t be here and she holds her head and cries, cries, cries, because she doesn’t know where she is or why she’s here or what any of them are doing and this isn’t a game, and she never should have thought it was.
Summoning what remained of his strength, the Wild Card called forth one of his many other selves - a sprite of indeterminable origin - and sealed the rogue’s garish injury. At once, the blood returned to his body from both the rogue’s and princess’s hands, and the hole in his side mended. All that remained, even to this day, was a white scar from armpit to hip.
The Wild Card then turned to his three boon companions, who had lost their lust for questing, and decided that it was best to return to their sanctuaries and sleep away this unpleasant experience. In the long walk through the land of the Shadows, the rogue, still limping and clutching at his wound, gave to the princess some kind words. He related to her a story, of when the Wild Card and he first ventured to save her from her royal prison, when only he could cobble together a healing spell or two. When the situation arose that such spells were needed, in a situation far from fatal, the rogue had fainted from the stress.
So you don’t need to worry about freaking about this time, okay?
The princess smiled, and the next occasion where her healing spells were needed - in their pitch battle against the great master of the bathhouse - she did so, and no man died.
.