Joan wasn’t the most religious of people. Of course, she honored the gods. She knew they were real, though she wasn’t on the best speaking terms with most of them. She was grateful to them for the help they offered. Well, she thought they offered. Maybe. She didn’t know. That was her biggest issue with them, honestly. They were always so vague it was hard to know if they actually did anything to help or if it was all just something they took credit for.
But she still paid attention to the teachings somewhat. When she had been younger, back in the orphanage, there had been one story she’d loved to hear about. The Feast of the Boar. It was often said that those who were under the Boar’s gaze would be greeted by a grand feast, a celebration worthy of only the god of gluttony. One shared by all of those who they had shown kindness to, a celebration that would never end until they felt they were ready to be reborn. She’d never put much faith in it, but when she was eating the somewhat bland food of their orphanage, she and some of the other kids would sometimes talk about such feasts.
Okay, the other kids would talk about them, she would tell them to stop wasting their time on what they’d never have and instead she would walk off to practice with a stick or something else. But even then she’d longed to see such a feast, to taste such food. Fruit so juicy the juice would dribble down your chin, meat so tender it practically melted on your tongue, vegetables so… well. The important thing was that it made some of their meals even worse to think about.
As Joan took another bite of the small pie she’d been given, she wondered if it came from the Boar’s own table. Vivian’s pies were always delicious. But this? This was beyond anything she’d had before. She glared at her grandmother. “That’s playing dirty.”
“I have no idea what you could possibly mean,” Vivian said nonchalantly.
“Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” Joan said. “How?”
“As much as I would love to take all of the credit,” Vivian said with a knowing smile. “I actually did have some help. One of the guards with the prince, Oriik. He helped me make these and gave some advice for future experiments.”
Joan blinked a few times before glancing down the table. “Oriik?” she asked. It didn’t take her long for her to find him. Sitting at the prince’s right hand, he looked fairly mundane. Young, a bit short even. Short blond hair, brown eyes. He looked entirely mundane.
“You’re too kind, Lady Vivian,” Oriik said with a small chuckle. “I merely offered a small bit of advice my mother taught me. It was your talents that made these so incredible. May I have another?”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Vivian asked. “You have a long ride ahead of you.”
Joan paused and looked at her own plate. She was about to start her third. Memories of the last time she’d overeaten and had to ride after filled her mind before she slowly pushed them away. Still, she had learned from THAT adventure. “Grandmother? May I take some with me?” she asked, looking up at her with a slight pout.
Vivian cringed, a hand lifting over her heart. “Oh, dear. Now THAT is playing dirty.”
“Does it work?” Joan asked.
“Alas, yes,” Vivian said before reaching over and giving her a tight hug, making her squeak. “Just please, return to me. You will take care of her, won’t you?”
“I will not allow any harm to befall the daughter of the Chosen,” Garbert said firmly. “Of that you have my word.”
Joan narrowed her eyes on him, but didn’t say a word. That might mean more if he actually believed she was the daughter of the Chosen. Still, he didn’t seem quite as hostile this morning. So perhaps that was a good sign.
Vivian released her before glancing down the table towards Francis. “Is something wrong? You’ve barely touched yours.”
“Sorry, they’re delicious,” Francis said, his eyes locked on his own. He’d only had a small bite of it, while Ifrit was already starting on her second. “My master once told me to always eat lightly before a long ride or I’d be filled with regret.”
“I see,” Vivian said. “I’ll ensure there are plenty for the trip, then. I wouldn’t want any of you to go hungry. It’ll certainly be better than travel rations, at least.
“Not exactly a hard feat to match,” Joan said with a snicker. Still, at least it would be something to look forward to once she came back home.
It still struck her as a bit silly, how happy that word made her. Home. She really did have a home now. One she prayed she’d never lose.
------
Regrets were had by many. Joan, at least, was spared such suffering. While she was slightly uncomfortable from the two she had eaten, some of the guards had eaten three or even four of the pastries. Their misery would be long and painful. She even noticed the prince was a little squirmy in his saddle. The only ones who didn’t seem to be quite so affected were her, Francis, Ifrit and Oriik. She suspected Francis and Ifrit had learned the hard way, like she had, the dangers of overeating before a long ride. Perhaps Oriik had as well, but she suspected there was a different reason.
She was fairly certain he was actually Chase.
Joan would have been annoyed by it, except if he was it was a mostly harmless bit of fun. She could hardly disparage the changeling from playing a prank now and again. Stars knew if she had that ability she would do the same. She’d suspected it was him or Aaron, the other male guard, but the latter had only had one pie at breakfast so unless he’d been stuffing his face beforehand she doubted it.
Francis had barely eaten anything all morning. It was starting to make her a bit uncomfortable. He just kept staring at her. Even now he was traveling in the back near her, while Ifrit was further up and talking with the prince and some of the guards.
“You okay?” Joan asked. “Are your wounds acting up?”
“No,” Francis said. “Are yours?”
“Nah, but I had good healers,” Joan said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Francis said.
“You know, I say that all the time even when it’s not true,” Joan said. “You should be careful about that, it’ll make Ifrit worry.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Francis asked.
“Probably not, I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise,” Joan said. “The good idea would be you staying here, being safe, while I go and deal with this. But if you’re anything like I suspect you are, you wouldn’t agree to that. Or worse, I get to the end and it turns out you’ve both been captured and now I need to rush off to save both of you and just, ugh.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“That happen often?” Francis asked.
“More times than I care to admit,” Joan said. “I blame the fates.”
“Are you really the Hero?” Francis asked.
Joan went still. Fortunately, her horse kept going or she would have just stood there like an idiot. Even as it was, she locked up entirely before letting out a low groan. “Prince Garbert, you’re the worst!” she yelled. “You told him?”
“What?” Garbert asked, glaring back at her. “Told who what?”
“Who I am,” Joan said. “Seriously?”
“Who you claim to be?” Garbert asked. “I merely felt that Francis deserved to know exactly the kind of child he’s putting his trust in.”
“Anyone else you told?” Joan asked.
“Our escort knows, if that’s what you’re concerned with,” Garbert said bitterly. “Alas, none of them seem to share my awareness of the folly of your fable.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m the world’s biggest liar and all that,” Joan said dismissively. Great. She glanced back to Francis, who just looked confused. “Sorry. Yeah, I was. And in case you’re wondering, the fact I am an average-sized girl--”
The fact even Francis snorted at that made her eyes narrow.
“Fine. The fact I am a small girl now stands as a testament to how effective I was as the Hero,” Joan said.
“Is that why you helped us?” Francis asked softly.
Joan gave a light sigh. Oh, a part of her wanted to tell him that, no, it wasn’t. That every time they’d ever met in the past he’d been trying to kill her and that he’d done nothing but be a pain in her ass. That he’d tried to replace her as the Hero. That he usually got himself killed like an idiot. That she kept having to break his stupid sword before finally killing him because he refused to see reason. That he always seemed to pop up when she was already in one of the worst states and lost so many people she cared about, just to make matters worse. That he had managed to take a knife and stab it into the pain she already felt and then twist.
But that was who he was then, not who he was now.
“No,” Joan said. “Admittedly, you and I never really met until much, much later. Years from now. You were practically an entirely different person then. The reason I helped you before was because you were outnumbered, it was an unfair fight and, frankly, I don’t like seeing people get hurt. It’s kind of hard for me to ignore someone who needs help.”
“But you did know who I was?” Francis asked, the excitement clear in his voice.
“Kind of,” Joan said sheepishly, her cheeks starting to glow red. She could see that idol worship of his starting to take hold. It REALLY made her feel uncomfortable seeing him of all people idolize her and the Chosen.
“So, uhhhh, can I ask you something?” Francis asked softly, his voice going a lot lower.
“Y-yes?” Joan asked, her stomach tying into knots.
Francis glanced ahead, but it looked like the prince wasn’t listening to them anymore. Instead, he was talking with Ifrit about something. “You said we didn’t meet until the future, right? So… you know how this turned out?”
“Kind of,” Joan said. “I mean, you didn’t exactly give me your life story. We more met in passing, I was just aware of you.”
“Did I… protect Ifrit?” Francis asked softly. For the first time she’d ever talked to him, she could hear the fear in his voice.
Joan looked at him and felt her heart twist into knots. She knew that look. That fear. That worry. That terror that she’d failed. That the people who depended on her had chosen poorly. That she’d failed to rescue them, despite all her efforts and struggled. That she’d betrayed all of their hopes and dreams. That they were dead because she wasn’t good enough. She shifted uncomfortably in her saddle for a moment, taking a slow, calming breath. “You never mentioned her.”
“I… I see,” Francis said softly, with all the enthusiasm of a kicked puppy.
“It doesn’t mean you failed,” Joan said. “But even if you did, that doesn’t mean you, we, will now. That’s why I’m here. To try and fix all those things that went wrong. The Hero failed to save a lot of people, you know.”
“Impossible,” Francis said firmly. “The Hero never fails. He--”
“Oh, don’t even start that,” Joan said with a vitriol to her voice that even startled her horse. She reached out and lightly stroked its mane. “Easy girl. Boy. I’m not sure,” she said before glancing back to him. “The Hero failed ALL the time. I should know. In fact, he failed a lot more often than he realized. I’ve spent the last year trying to pick up all the pieces of everything he missed to cobble together something resembling success. I think I’ve done a pretty good job of it, too. The world isn’t dead, after all. But he failed. He let people down. He… he let himself down.”
“But the legends say--”
“The legends were wrong,” Joan said firmly. “They did NOTHING but follow me around and make me miserable. Make me turn into an arrogant jerk who thought he had to handle everything alone. Refuse to acknowledge that I REALLY needed a lot of help. Made me run head first into danger that, frankly, even I should have hesitated to fight. They cost me the lives of my friends, my family, everyone I cared about. The Hero wasn’t infallible. Neither was the Champion or the Guide. It was just a whole big mess with giant saddle sores on the butts of history to cause me a great headache. So hopefully I stabbed it enough that it’s better now. But this is NOT the Hero helping you. This is Joan. Just Joan. I may have some talents and knowledge from the Hero but I am no longer the Hero. Got it?”
Francis just stared at her for a few moments before his eyes lowered to her saddle. “Saddle sores on the butts of history?”
“I’m not the best at naming things, okay?” Joan said, heat flooding her cheeks again. “Just… get that out of your head. The Hero wasn’t able to do everything. The legends, more often than not, were wrong about me. Him. Us. Whatever,” she said, spurring her horse on a little faster.
Unfortunately, he did the same and kept up. “What about the Chosen? Are the legends about them false?”
“Nah,” Joan said. “They’re awesome. I’ll sing their praises all day.”
“But not the Hero?” Francis asked.
“When you’ve spent as much time as I have letting everyone you love down, it’s a lot harder to listen to everyone talk about how great you were,” Joan said, her eyes lowered. “I’m not the Hero anymore. You’re not getting the help of the Hero. If you want to go back, if you want to wait until the Chosen are able to help you in who knows how long, go ahead. I can deal with this on my own.”
“Didn’t you just say that you needed help?” Francis asked.
Joan gave a soft groan. “To save the world, yes. Not to deal with a couple of cultists or whatever they were. Ugh. Prince Garbert you suck!”
“Will you stop yelling that?” Garbert yelled back at her. “Do try to keep a civil tongue about you.”
“Then stop sucking!” Joan yelled at him.
The prince gave a frustrated grumble at her and she could hear him muttering to the others about her.
“I don’t think most people would yell that about the crown prince,” Francis said.
“The Hero wouldn’t have either,” Joan said. “But I’m just… done with that part of worrying. I spent way too long trying to be what I never could be. Now? Now I’m just Joan. For all that entails. So get whatever silly notions you have out of your head, Francis. Because I know you have a lot of them. I really am sorry. I don’t know what happened to Ifrit. I can’t even say for certain if you met Ifrit in the past. Some things are the same, some things changed. That’s just the effect that removing the Hero from the world has had. All I can say is that, right here, right now? We can fix this. We’re going to fix this.”
“Do you think the bards will sing a song about us?” Francis asked.
Joan gave another soft groan and wondered how important it was for him to survive this journey. Perhaps if the song of Hardwin’s daughter slaughtering the fool who kept annoying her spread enough, people would stop doing it. Probably not.
A small part of her considered telling him the truth. That they met not as friends or allies. But as enemies. That he had been trying to take her place. That she was beginning to suspect that whatever happened to Ifrit hadn’t been good. That he had expected the Hero and the Chosen to save them.
That he had been like so many others. That they had slipped through the cracks when they needed the Hero most.
That was then, this was now. She’d saved the world, she could save his world too. Who knew? It might be nice to not have Francis trying to kill her in a decade or so.