Interlude: Of Fading Dreams

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Exhaling deeply, June put down the pen and looked at her finished drawing. An old woman in profile, looking out at the sea while absentmindedly rubbing an old engagement ring on her finger. That the ring was old or of the engagement variety was not plainly visible, it was simply the scenario in June’s head as she drew.

The old woman’s melancholic longing, however, shone clearly from every inch of the dark blue monochrome drawing. Longing for a life that could have been, had the sea not claimed her betrothed in their youth, or maybe what could have been had she not held out hope beyond reason for his miraculous return.

She set the drawing aside for the ink to dry. It had come out great, once again lending credence to the concept of the tortured artist. Like a number of her other ink works, it would doubtlessly have been a guaranteed success at a gallery or with her regular clients. Also like her other ink works, it would see neither in her lifetime.

Ink drawing was one of her favorite mediums, but also one she had set aside for personal use only. It was what she did to process her own feelings, and the events that led to them, and as such every drawing was intensely personal. So personal that they were for her own eyes only. Perhaps, if things had been different, they would have been for John’s eyes too, in time.

But things were not different, and thus the emotions that had led to this drawing. Granted, the future she had wished for and now found beyond her reach still lay in the future, not the past. Granted, it was beyond her reach not because of the caprice of the sea, but because the actions it would take to claim it would violate her conscience and thus ruin it all the same. But as far as the heart was concerned, those were all minor differences.

Sighing, she thought back on the day’s events and everything that led up to it. She had been looking forward to today for a long time. Half a year, claimed the calendar, since the discovery that led to formulating her plan. In truth, as her feelings well knew, the first sparks of this desire were longer in the making.

June had always believed that you could tell a lot about a person from their art. Even if they had neither artistic talent nor skill, as long as they had cared to put in effort, the person would shine through. From the first time he walked into her classroom, John’s work had spoken to her. Spoken of a young man who, beneath a surface veneer of listless apathy born of loss and social hardships, was kind and selfless and imaginative. Who believed in standing up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves, in leaving things better than he found them, and in a world that was full of beauty and inspiration if one only bothered to look.

His art had resonated with her, and done so more deeply than anything else ever had. On top of that, seeing him light up when he came to her class was like a sudden ray of sunshine on a darkly overcast day. Like he was letting her in particular peek past the walls he had erected to see the true John beyond.

It had been terrifying, realizing that she was developing feelings for a minor. Even though he was approaching majority and in some ways mature beyond his years, that was a line not lightly crossed.

At the time, she had thought the best way to navigate the situation was to ignore those feelings and instead lean into a simultaneous, parasocial crush she was having on the artist of a pornographic comic on the internet that she had recently stumbled upon.

In retrospect, there had been artistic similarities that she should have noticed. She did not, and by the time the comic artist’s signature turned up on one of John’s pieces, revealing to her that they were one and the same, there was nothing to be done. June wasn’t sure that she believed in destiny in general, but that day had felt like the Hand of Fate at work.

And so she had decided to bide her time until he turned 18, before inviting him for private lessons. On that occasion she would, well, she would still give him the lesson, but she would also use it as a pretext to make her move.

And now the day had come and went, and in most ways it had been everything she had hoped for and so much more. He had responded to her desires with eager passion, he had blended the artistic and the erotic as though it had always been his process, and their sexual chemistry had been fantastic.

Of the awkwardness and hesitation to be expected from inexperience, there had been only faint traces. He had slid smoothly into her preferred bedroom dynamic, and his every touch had been electrifying. He had even done what she had previously thought impossible and brought her to completion without touching her clit or nipples.

And the virile stamina, god, the virile stamina. Not only had he gone four rounds back to back with scarcely a second to get his erection back up between them, but afterwards all it had taken was a short nap and he was no worse for wear. Meanwhile, she was still sore in all the right places, and some of them would remain sore for at least another day or two.

The only way in which the day had fallen short of her wishes had been of her own making, done because of what had happened in the last week. The worry had first started when she heard of the fight with Frank that Wentworth had stopped. But it had truly hit home only when she saw John and Christie together the following day.

The way he looked at her. The way she hung on his every word. The way their attentions were wholly consumed by one another. Previously, when June had passed John in the hallways, he was already sneaking lustful glances her way when she spotted him. This time, she was confident he hadn’t even realized she was there. Nor had he the other two times during the week where she had intentionally snuck a look at them, as they headed to the roof for lunch.

They were the very image of teens in love. Nothing had happened between them yet, of that June was certain. Today would have gone very differently if it had. Most likely, they hadn’t realized the nature and depth of their feelings yet.

Nonetheless, the writing on the wall was abundantly clear. That they didn’t realize what they were feeling yet didn’t make those feelings any less real. Nor did it lessen the leaden pit in June’s stomach. In theory, she could probably still leverage John’s lust for her to smother his relationship with Christie in the proverbial crib, but even if she had had the lack of conscience to do such a thing in the first place, it would likely poison her own relationship with John in the long run as well.

Instead, she had decided that the only thing she could really do was to back off a bit. She was still going to make good on the lesson, she had decided, but it would just be a lesson. No “funny” business.

Of course that plan had died within moments of his arrival. Even before she had opened the surprise present, if she were to be honest with herself. Just having him there, in her home, had lit a fire in her core like she was a teen herself, alone with her crush for the first time. Only without all of the self doubt that had plagued most of her actual teenage years.

But she had persuaded him to accept a relationship status between the two of them that hopefully shouldn’t get more in his and Christie’s way than June’s self control failure already had. And she had resisted the urge to kiss him. She had even redirected him when he tried to kiss her, despite it being the hardest thing she had done in a long time. Perhaps the hardest thing ever.

Though if she were to be completely honest with herself, she probably got too carried away still. At least, she hoped that John would have the wisdom to opt for a gentler and less intense approach when he was first intimate with Christie, lest he overwhelm her in a bad way rather than a good one.

Thinking of John, Christie and sexual contexts at the same time brought an unbidden mental image. June and Christie knelt, naked side by side, presenting their mouths for John’s use.

Sighing, June shook her head, chasing away that bit of wishful thinking. Even setting aside that she didn’t actually know Christie except by reputation, it was exceedingly unlikely that even one of the teenagers, let alone both of them, were the type of person who could harbor romantic feelings towards more than one person at a time without the feelings for either being diminished. Though she had only learned this herself in college, June was well aware now that this characteristic of hers was a rare one.

And even if that extraordinary confluence of fortune was to have happened, what she knew of Christie did not suggest that the blind girl had the necessary self assurance to share a partner in a healthy way. And if that was somehow not an issue either, she was still an heiress, with the strings and expectations that came with that.

No, it was best not to get her hopes up, or she would end up ruining things for all three of them, and not just for herself.

Charlotta unbuckled her shield and used the reflective surface to make one last inspection of herself before entering the Order station. Naturally, she was in full gear, to make it clear how serious she was about this. It… hadn’t had the intended impact yet, but sooner or later it had to work!

Perhaps it would have been more effective if she had actually been able to get a full suit of plate armor, but her pay wasn’t enough for custom armor and nobody sold full suits of plate in gnomish sizes. The metalworking she had learned in her dad’s workshop had been enough to refit the arm and leg plates to her size. The helmet and breastplate, however, had been beyond her, and so she had restrapped the rest onto a fitted brigandine and made do without a helm for the time being.

All of that would change, of course. The Order took equipping their staff seriously, and had in-house craftsmen. Every combat knight had a personally tailored suit of armor, and if there was a dearth of training equipment that fit Charlotta, they might even have it made for her earlier than that.

In any case, everything was in order. The plates were clean, polished and properly strapped in place. Her pink hair was bound up in high tails that both kept it from obscuring her vision and prevented the risk of it getting caught in her pauldrons. The sheaths for her sword and dagger were properly secured, as was the hook for her shield and holster for her handgun sidearm. Lastly, the belt packs were properly kitted as well, with a small first aid kit, emergency MRE, basic omnitool and a few field utilities. And her application, of course.

With everything in order she returned her shield to its place on her back. She took a moment to put her expression into the proper folds of fierce determination with an optimistic undertone, then she entered the station and marched to the recruitment counter. It was, unfortunately, a familiar trip at this point.

Charlotta could feel several sets of eyes upon her as she did so, but paid them no mind. She tried to retain a dignified air as she went up on tip-toes to look over the counter and handed over the filled out form.

The order clerk looked it over quickly, albeit with a slight frown, and nodded. “Everything looks to be in order. Again. If you would wait for a moment, I will go get someone to, uh, discuss your future relationship with the Order.”

Charlotta inclined her head, holding the position for a moment to signal respectful gratitude, then marched a few steps away and waited at attention. Several hushed conversations started, but she pretended not to hear. A True Knight was above worrying about petty gossip.

She wasn’t sure how long she waited, as checking the time would not have done her patience any favors, but since standing still had only become a minor effort of will, it couldn’t have been that long.

Twin footsteps, one set familiar, heralded the return of the clerk. More important than the clerk, however, were the person accompanying them and the soft, metallic rustle of well maintained plate armor in motion.

’A Knight! Yes!!’ And not just the rank, but the role. The purpose. Charlotta understood why the rank of ‘knight’ was used across the Order’s non-combat personnel as well, but she disagreed with it. The support personnel, clerks, sages, artisans and so on were indeed important, vital even, to the Order’s ability to function. As they had repeatedly stressed when recommending that she apply for a position in the Stem or Root divisions instead, as though she didn’t know.

But it was different. Different in ways that these clerks couldn’t possibly understand in full. But the clink of plate meant a Thorn Knight. Mainline combat personnel. Finally, someone who would understand the fire in Charlotta’s blood, calling her to righteous combat. To face evil with a blade in hand.

Emerging from the door, the knight was revealed to be a comely woman with bright, blue eyes, a lustrous blonde braid and a commanding presence that would be right at home on the battlefield. Her armor was manaforged steel with gilt embellishments.

’High enough rank for some custom ornamentation. At least knight captain or knight exemplar, not sure how many petals. A leadership commendation, as well as combat and logistical ones. Not someone they might’ve held back for me, not even in peacetime. She must have been here on other business that wasn’t too pressing for a detour, but I still best not take up more time than necessary.’

The knight commander retrieved Charlotta’s application from the recruitment counter and approached the gnomish applicant.

“Hello Miss…” She glanced at the name field on the application and raised a brow, then flipped the first sheet over. The reason was obvious. While the form asked for the applicant’s full name, the accompanying field was not sized with consideration for gnome naming customs. Not that Charlotta could reasonably ask it to be, but she also couldn’t give less than her full name as that would be a minor form of insubordination. So she had appropriated a section on the back instead.

“Miss Tuknai.” She turned the sheet back to the front. “I’m Knight Commander Glenna Simons. I understand that you’ve been advised that the Order offers opportunities for other types of service besides combat duty.”

“Yes ma’am.” Charlotta nodded. Inwardly, she was making a celebratory fist pump. Commander Simons sounded like that was a purely perfunctory mention. Like she had no expectation in the world that those opportunities would interest Charlotta. She did understand.

“Okay. Since you have applied-” Commander Simons glanced at the form, probably at a note added by the clerk, and raised her brow again, “-17 times previously, I’m going to be blunt. You are not getting accepted into training for a combat role. Ever.”

Commander Simons paused briefly to let that sink in, while Charlotta’s face and thoughts froze. “The Order combat doctrine is based on squads. On teamwork and on relying on each other to cover weaknesses and blind spots. Making that work requires a whole lot of drilling, but it also requires everyone to meet certain standards of physical performance. Standards that gnomes can’t reach, no matter the training regimen.

“Putting someone on the field who doesn’t meet those requirements is a big risk. Not just to that person, but to the knights next to them too. And if a squad fails, that’s dangerous to the squad next to it, and to anything those squads are protecting. Putting you on a squad would make you a liability, and make the whole squad a liability. It would unnecessarily risk, at minimum, a dozen lives beyond your own. Understood?”

“... Yes, ma’am.” Charlotta’s tone was dull and flat, almost robotic, as she responded. Completely unlike the barely restrained excitement when she spoke those same words before. Fitting, as she felt less like a participant now and more like she was riding along in an automaton.

The commander’s expression softened a bit. “I do think your determination to fight the good fight is admirable, and I hope you find the right way to do that. But the battlefield is not it.”

Charlotta nodded mechanically and started turning towards the door. She wished she could go see her older brother Robert right now, he had always been supporting. But while they let anyone leave freely, getting back into the Kingdom where she grew up was not so easy and communication was tightly controlled. Halfway through the first step to start leaving, she half turned her head towards Commander Simons, stating hollowly,