Chapter 12: Glory or success?

Joan’s eyes opened slowly and she stared up at the ceiling. It was oddly familiar. Not familiar from her past lives, though, but from this one. Painted a simple off-white, it was the plain roof of the infirmary. She was laying on a cot, a cool breeze coming from the nearby window. She found herself struck by a strange memory, one of this life.

When she’d first arrived at this academy she’d seen the windows, made of glass and yet designed in two pieces, so one piece could slide aside to allow air in. It both allowed them to see out and in during the winter, while maintaining a much cooler environment during the summer. It had been the most amazing thing she’d ever seen in her young life.

She still had to admit it was pretty impressive, even the castle didn’t have any windows that could be opened in such a manner.

Joan focused on the window, trying to keep her mind on that and not on the fact she could all but feel Hardwin glaring at her. She took a deep breath before clearing her voice, getting ready to talk.

“You are not, by any definition of the word, fine,” Hardwin said firmly, cutting her off before she could even start.

Joan gave a sigh, pulling the covers over herself even tighter. “I was right, then?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. “Does this mean you believe me?”

“I believe that you, at the very least, know who the chosen are. It’s still a lot to take in, but until I find a better suggestion as to why you’re like this I have no choice.”

She gave a nod, a small smile on her lips. “How did he take it?”

“He hugged me and started crying.”

Joan sighed. She would have said something, but to be honest, after all the times she had broken down and started crying over things she felt should have been insignificant in comparison, she couldn’t help but find a new acceptance for that side of the boy. “So you’ll trust me from here on out?”

“I already agreed to help you,” Hardwin said.

“I want your trust, though,” Joan said before slowly turning her head towards him.

“Very well,” Hardwin said, finally relenting.

“Good, then let’s go. Right now I think Thalgren is--”

A hand was suddenly on her chest, holding her down before she could even attempt to rise. “No.”

“No?” she asked. “We need to--”

“You’ve only had a few hours sleep. Once this sickness is dealt with, you’ll be escorted, along with Searle, back to the castle. At which point you will reside with the queen until I return.”

“WHAT?!” Joan yelled and tried to push the hand off. However, even if she didn’t feel sick and weak, she doubted she could have even come close to moving him. “You can’t be serious. You need me to--”

“I need you, yes. You’re not wrong. I do need you. But I need you alive. I’m going to find Thalgren, deal with these underground monsters and then come back. Once I do, we’ll decide what to do from there. Maybe, if you’re well behaved, I’ll let you come with me for the fourth chosen,” Hardwin said before pulled his hand back.

“You can’t be serious,” Joan said again. He stood up and, to her annoyance, his could see he was already prepared to leave. His clothes looked fresh and cleaned, he’d even shaven. “You can’t leave me here alone. You can’t just push me aside. I’m not useless. I can fight!” she said, tears once more forming in her eyes.

“Yes, I am and I can. I’m not. No, you’re not. Yes, you can. But I don’t need you to fight. I need you to stay here and stay safe. The kingdom, no, the world needs you, Joan.”

“Yes, and--”

“What is more important. You gaining the glory of fighting by us or the world being saved?” Hardwin asked. “More than that, you’ll be here with another chosen. If anything happens, he’ll need you to be there to guide him and fight it.”

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

Joan opened her mouth to object, only to stop and feel her passion dim. She hated him for it, but he was right. How many times had she let things go terribly in the past life because she had focused on her own pride and glory over the results? She could barely move as it was, pushing herself even harder would just make things worse. She stared up at him before giving a small nod. “You’re right.”

“Good. Where is Thalgren?”

Joan closed her eyes and tried to remember where Thalgren would likely be at this very moment. Picking through the memories, though, felt even more difficult for her sick, tired mind. “Go to the capital of the dwarfs, Silvermist. Look for Thalgren the Golden. He’s...” She struggled to think of the right words. “You’ll see when you meet him. Don’t let him anger you too much. He may seem like a selfish, greedy jerk, but he’s got a good heart. He’s just also a selfish, greedy jerk,” she said with a chuckle. “He’ll charge you expenses for travel back to the capital. As well as a retainer fee.”

Hardwin stared at her, his lips curled in an annoyed frown. “You’re joking.”

“Not in the slightest. He has golden hair and a long, three pronged beard. Right now I think he operates a barely legal gambling ring.”

“He’s one of the chosen?” Hardwin asked again, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious.”

“You know, I said the same thing in most the lives when I met him. And you, old friend, always laughed and seemed to revel in my suffering. So I say this from the bottom of my heart. I am happy it’s you, not me, this time,” she said with a light laugh, which made her chest hurt and give a soft groan. She slowly closed her eyes and gave a sigh. “I don’t wanna be sick.”

“No one does, Joan. Just rest and take it easy, you’ll be back on your feet before you know it,” Hardwin said with a mildly amused smile.

She gave a rough grunt in response. “Heroes don’t get sick, you know.”

“Really? So in all those lives, not even once?”

“I have been impaled, poisoned, chopped, burned and pretty much anything and everything else under the sun. But I had never, not even once, been sick until I got this body.”

“Oh? And how often have you been sick since you got it?” Hardwin asked with a light chuckle.

Joan gave a soft whimper and rolled over onto her side, pulling herself up into a ball. That brought memories to the forefront that she really wished would just remain buried.

“Joan?” Hardin asked, the amusement fading from his voice.

“I used to get sick a lot,” Joan said softly. “When I was younger. There were a few times they thought I was going to die.” It felt so silly now. That wasn’t part of the agreement she made with fate. If she’d died before she had a chance to meet with the others then there would have never been any chance to fix anything. But she hadn’t known that then. All she could remember was being hot, alone and scared. It wasn’t the sickness, though, that bothered her the most.

Whenever she caught the flu, they would make her rest near the fire. She didn’t understand why at the time, but that always terrified her. It had been such a silly fear, one she had eventually been able to, while not fully ignore, at least push away enough that she could do it.

But when she was tired, sick and weak, it had been the scariest thing in the world to her. She’d imagine a spark coming out of the flames and hitting her, erupting into an unquenchable inferno. She’d imagine herself screaming for help, but nobody coming. She pulled the covers tighter, bundling herself up as much as she could, trying to shove those terrible nightmares away.

“Joan?” Hardwin asked before reaching out and gently shaking her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Joan gave a soft whimper before looking up at him. “Don’t let them light a fire in here,” she whispered.

“What?” Hardwin asked.

“I don’t want a fire. Not if I’m going to be sick. Please,” Joan pleaded.

“Fine, no fire. Joan, what’s wrong? You’re shaking.” She felt his hand on her forehead, only for him to pull it back a second later. “Your temperature is rising and you’re drenched. I’m getting you a healer. Don’t move.”

Joan nodded, though she had no intention of moving now. “No fire, you promised,” she whispered.

It hadn’t been the sparks she’d been afraid of, though. She knew that now. It had never been the tiny chance of a fire breaking out. It had been the Inferno God. Imagining its fire enveloping her. Melting her down. Now that those memories had been brought to the surface it was all she could think about. All she could remember was that pain, the agony of its touch encircling around her and slowly melting her body drip by drip. Her vision and hearing slowly fading away until all that was left was the pain. Was that what was going to happen to her now? She tried to push the memories away. They weren’t real. She was just sick, she was in an infirmary. None of it was real. None of it was happening. But the memories refused to be shaken now that she was at her most vulnerable, clawing their way through all of her defenses with ease.

“NO!” she yelled, shaking her head.

“Joan, please stay calm,” a voice called. She glanced up and saw an older woman towering over her, a cloth in her right hand. “It’s okay. I’m just going to dry you off. You’re covered in sweat.”

“Right,” Joan whispered, shaking her head while the nurse got to work. That wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. No matter how sick she got, even if she died, she wouldn’t feel those flames again. Never again. Even if they lost and the Inferno God came back, she’d kill herself before she’d let it get her again.

That thought was small comfort in the end, though.