Chapter Text
We can pretend this is love, if that makes this easier to stomach.
A bended knee, a bowed head, hands clasped over a sword hilt with tight, desperate knuckles. The blade was politely downcast and pierced the dirt with ferocious, righteous strength. Beneath the armour, there was skin, sweat, organs, and other such evidence of humanity. In the veins ran blood. A plume fluttered from the helmet in a delicate red as blood would from a bleeding heart. The crouch, the tension in the shoulders, the fuzzing of circulation in the bent knees - that was love, surely. Surely, because there was no other way to see it.
The knight loved xer ruler. Such flattery brought about a blush on Her Majesty’s face. She plucked a rose from her garden, a gorgeous, flourishing bud, and extended it down to her kneeling lover.
Nestor did not look up. Xer helmet groaned with slight displeasure as xe angled xer head further downwards. The grass was of far more interest, in its vibrant, well-watered green. The sun and the rain had looked after it despite its plain blades. It was more comforting than any ruffle of rose petals. Sweetness swirled in the soft rains that enveloped the kingdom. The smell of roses sullied that gentle air with a brash, pungent floral bruise.
The noxious romanticism of devotion never did sit well in Nestor’s stomach. But let’s pretend this is love. Just for a little longer.
Her Majesty recoiled slightly at xer wilt. “Did you not hear me?” she said. She wasn’t very used to not being heard; her beauty demanded it. Her long, flowing gown of only the finest pink dyes, her hair in quaint falling curls, her lips red and her face warm. If you want a description more specific, then you have my apology, for Nestor has never looked long enough to specify the little ins and outs of the supposed attractions on display. Xe saw good craftsmanship in her clothes, attention in her face, and little else.
Nestor’s helmet only revealed xer eyes. They gleamed like coal lit with a torch. Dapples of freckles warred with the scars littering xer nose. Xer flesh, flushed with exhaustion, was dimmed with the shadow of xer metallic chassis, only a sliver of light allowed through. The rain brought tears to xer eyes with its tiny, insistent pinpricks.
Xe didn’t hear her at all. Little sound could permeate xem when xe was focused on the burdens of xer labour.
“I’m sending you on a quest,” Her Majesty went on, her voice heavy and full like a too-full wine glass. “I chose you, dearest.” She cupped xer face with both hands, rose pressing against xer helmet and mirroring in convex; it looked as though the entire side of xer face was bludgeoned crimson.
“I am no-one’s dearest,” Nestor’s voice was softened by layers of metal. The rose reflection dripped in curves.
“Oh, you humble thing!” she cooed. “You’re my dearest. Does that mean nothing to you?”
It meant little. We’re breaking kayfabe: this is not love.
“Your Highness—”
“You agree, you agree!” she cheered. “Wonderful! As my dearest, you should be all too happy to brave this quest!”
Nestor’s sigh was lost to the pitter-patter of rain.
Stop me if you’ve heard this before:
There was a dragon. It sat at the top of the tallest tower, curling mist furiously encircling the stone base like hunting dogs, with a dead tree grove keeping a respectful distance from the walls of such a wretched place. The beast was as large as an inn, with skin as green as sickness and scales as sharp as arrows. Ferocious, with a hunting instinct only matched by its wrath.
Nestor only had to kill it.
“Kiss my hand before you go.” Her Majesty spoke in a swoon, her extended hand trembling in anticipation.
Nestor stood on pulsing, sore legs, and retreated.