Bridget strode away from Harry’s tent and went to make good on her promise to get him some food and treat him back to full health. There were several things Bridget needed to do before the day was done, and she needed to do them all before her courage faded and her common sense returned. First was first, and she wound her way to Aranelle, the cook in the camp. She was slender and stately with soft golden hair that flowed down to her shoulders and voice as gentle as any mother’s; she was old enough to be her mother too, even if her features barely showed her age. She was so much the exact opposite of Howard, that it made Bridget feel uncomfortable asking her for favors, like she should do anything possible to please the woman. It was foolishness, of course, but Bridget never did like disappointing anyone.

“Mistress Aranelle,” Bridget began with a curtsy, “Harry is finally awake and will be needing a meal soon.”

“Your highness,” Aranelle said, her voice as smooth as her silk dress, “I thought I told you to just call me Aranelle. Titles don’t mean anything here.”

“Only if you can stop calling me ‘your highness.’”

“Point taken, child.” Aranelle said, the corners of her mouth quirked up in a wry smile. “Will the boy be needing his meal now or later when dinner is to be served.”

“I don’t know. I know he needs to sleep, but he also really should eat.” Bridget frowned, “I’m… not used to taking care of someone like this.”

Aranelle’s smile grew and her tone became even more motherly and gentle. “You’re doing just fine, child. You can hardly blame yourself for not knowing how to tend to war casualties; few of us do.” She placed a reassuring hand on Bridget’s shoulder, “I’ll have a special meal made for him after dinner. Let the boy rest for now.”

Tears threatened to come streaming down Bridget’s cheeks, in spite of her resolve to not cry anymore. She shoved them back and forced herself to look into Aranelle’s eyes. Finally allowing herself to smile, she took her in an embrace. After all, she should be happy; Harry was alive and they were safe for now. She could be happy about that, couldn’t she?

With a quick “thank you” and “goodbye,” Bridget wandered off to go looking for Geneviene. The camp was a bustle of activity and Bridget collided with multiple people as walked. It amazed Bridget that most of the people in the camp were women, even the soldiers, but she supposed it only made sense; most of the men would have been captured or killed out right when Sirene had been attacked. These brave women fought to avenge their husbands and sons they had lost that night, and Bridget couldn’t help but want to join them.

She walked past the main marshaling yard where spear and sword drills were in full swing. Brigadier-General Paulson led the instructions himself with Geneviene assisting. By all rights, he should have been referred to as simply General Paulson, him being the highest ranking soldier to survive that night, but he refused to accept the promotion and let Geneviene take charge instead; Bridget could only guess why.

Bridget decided to wait to approach Geneviene until she finished instructing the soldiers. She made due with watching their forms and seeing the elegant motions of her sword technique. Sitting herself down, she watched, waited, and learned as best she could. Shame broiled in her, making her grip her skirts tight across her knees. I need to protect him. I can’t let him die. Shame gave way to anger and passion, and she could feel the power inside of her stir. It had been a week since her encounter with Meridia, and fear had kept her from touching the power more than a handful of times. Bridget could feel it swell, a dam ready to be unleashed, and just like a dam, would sweep her away as easily as anyone else in its path.

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Luckily, the power felt much weaker when away from large sources of water, and she had even been able to transform back into her normal self after reaching the beaches of Ramua. What might they have thought if they had seen her like that? If they didn’t kill her on the spot, they surely would have driven her back into the sea, princess or not. She needed to find out more about this power before she dared to touch it again, and that was simply that.

Her resolve set once more, Bridget brought her attention back to the drills and found the soldiers were setting off on a run around the camp. She pushed herself to her feet and ran off looking for Geneviene before she could change her mind. Paulson and Geneviene were in the middle of the yard talking in hushed tones, but both looked towards her as she approached. She fiddled with her braid as she tried to muster the courage to speak. The military man was hard with a stout chin and a wide face. He stood almost a whole foot taller than Bridget, and muscles bulged everywhere. He wore a short gray beard and kept his slightly lighter gray hair neatly combed back away from his eyes. His face seemed locked in a perpetual half frown and his eyes were unmoving stones. Bridget suspected that he once had bright blue eyes, but, like the rest of the man, they had simply been eroded with time.

“Princess Bridget,” He said and bowed just enough to acknowledge her superior standing, “What can I do for you?”

Bridget swallowed hard and pulled her shoulders back and chin up. “I want to train with the rest of the soldiers. Will you train me?” She said with far more conviction than she felt. The two generals exchanged a wordless glance with each other, then stared back at her appraisingly.

“I don’t know about this, your highness.” Paulson said, stroking his beard.

Geneviene spoke up as he trailed off, “We will not treat you with any more dignity or respect than the rest of the soldiers.” She said, “That means you will do what we say and do it without complaint. If you cannot follow our orders, then we will not teach you.”

Bridget hesitated only a moment and said, “If that’s what it takes, then I will do so.” Hastily, she added, “Sir!”

Paulson still eyed her dubiously behind his pensive frown. “What do you hope to accomplish by this little stunt? There’s no nobles to impress here, Princess. I push my soldiers hard, and I will not have you become a burden on them. So, why should I do this?”

All the nerves that Bridget had been feeling vanished, and her stance became one of pure defiance and conviction. “Because I will not be helpless to anyone anymore. Too many have died because I couldn’t protect myself.” She thought of Harry getting pierced on the cliff’s edge; she remembered her Father’s face as he sent her away; she recalled Katsumi’s judgmental stare before the fighting had even started. “I will not be a burden anymore.”

The general walked toward Bridget until he was almost staring directly down on her. She looked up at him, meeting him stare for stare. He nodded to her and said, “Very well, soldier. Be back here tomorrow at dawn. Do not be late or you will be cleaning uniforms instead of training. You will do as instructed without question, and you will continue to do so until I see that you have been adequately trained. Do you understand?”

Bridget nodded her head and said, “Yes, sir!”

“Good. Go to Catherine in supplies to get a more appropriate attire. Dismissed.”

Sparing one last look at Geneviene, Bridget turned and marched away. She made her way around a tent and out of the eye-line of the two generals before she collapsed onto her knees and started panting. She had done it! She was going to learn to protect Harry! She could hardly believe what she had done. For a while, all she could do was remain on her knees and laugh at her own foolish courage.