Re: Butterfly (Reincarnated as a Butterfly)

Alistair's hands shook as he touched the door knob.

Beyond the thin, ornately patterned wooden doors, his wife and children were secure, insulated from the siege that had enveloped their city. All but one of them, at least.

Just open the door, the King told himself. These could be the last moments you have with them.

There were already two noblemen waiting to dress and equip him for combat. But it felt uncomfortable confronting the idea that he was going out to fight at all. In his younger days, he had taken on all comers. Back then, he hadn't believed his body had any limits at all.

Right now, it felt as if every step he took dragged. The more acute symptoms had to be largely down to the poisoning, but at some point, he had awoken to find himself feeling ten years older than he was.

At last, he forced himself to turn the handle and open the door.

Two pairs of eyes shifted to look at him.

"Alistair," whispered Carolien. She looked taken aback and concerned by his appearance.

Her face never lies, he thought. I must look like something the cat dragged in.

"Dad!" yelled Baltazar. He charged at his father and practically full body tackled him. Baltazar couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, but every bit of it hitting at once knocked the air out of him. He barely kept his balance.

"When did you get so big and strong?" Alistair said. "It feels like only yesterday, I was spinning you overhead. Now you're so heavy…"

"Baltazar, get your siblings," Carolien said, carefully examining her husband's face. "Your father came to see us, even though he's still very sick. It must be important."

The boy rushed off to gather the others, leaving his mother and father alone.

Carolien rose, strode across the room, and embraced her husband, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Alistair, I have been so worried," she said into his shoulder. "The healers could not tell us when you would wake or…"

"I am all right for now, my love," he said. "I have something I must do, but I wanted to see you and the children before I go. My task is dangerous, but only I can bear this responsibility."

Carolien nodded but remained pressed against him.

The King could feel her tears running down her cheeks and into his shirt.

Please, no tears, he thought. It only makes it all feel more real.

He was going out to face an unknown opponent. Intelligence on the Empire was always patchy at best, and there was always just as much misinformation as reliable intel in the reports they received from every source but one. He had not heard from that source since Rosslyn's return.

If the other duelist waiting for him turned out to be a close family member of the Emperor, someone whose blood ran particularly thick with power, Alistair could actually die. This might be the last time he would see his family.

Baltazar reentered the room, accompanied by Oliva, Cormac, and little Ailsa.

The King swallowed hard at the sight of his youngest daughter, who was around waist-high relative to her father.

Will she have to grow up without me? He let out a long, slow breath. Keep it together.

Carolien stepped back and managed to look as if she had not just been crying. Only a little redness around her eyes gave it away. She must have used his shirt as a towel to wipe away her tears.

"Go to your father," she said in a low voice. "He got out of bed to see you all, and he has something to tell you."

Alistair let out a long breath through his nostrils and calmed his body. It was time to execute his responsibilities as a father—and a king. No more room for useless weakness.

"All of you, gather around," he said quietly. "I will not repeat this."

The children, who had been nervously excited to see him, turned visibly more stoic as they lined up in front of their father. Their training as royals showed through in this moment of stress. Even though he wanted them to feel free to express their feelings once he was done, Alistair was proud of the children for being able to control those reactions in the moment.

"Along with your sister Rosslyn and your mother, the four of you are the Royal Family of Claustria," he said in a carefully steady voice. These might be their last words from him. They would not be weak ones. "That will never change. Even if the city falls and the Kingdom comes under occupation. Even if you must flee into exile. Even if everyone else you know dies fighting the Empire. You will always carry on your pride and your family name. Today, I go out to join the battle beyond the walls. To take the fight to the enemy. No matter what happens from now, remember this moment. Inscribe it into your minds." He smiled. "Remember that I was happy to see you four and your mother again and to fight for our homeland. And remember that I love you all."

The children waited a few seconds until it became obvious that Alistair was done speaking. He wasn't certain himself that he was finished until he said that he loved them. That had seemed like the best note to end on, if this truly did end up being goodbye.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Father, are you worried you will not—" Baltazar began speaking, only for Oliva to elbow him roughly in the stomach.

"We know you will win the fight, Dad," she said in an aggressively firm tone of voice. "No one else is stronger than you."

"Well, being the strongest is not always enough," Alistair said. "I will do my best. That is all I have to offer."

"What about Ros?" asked Cormac. The boy was holding onto his stuffed bear tightly as he spoke. Probably the best comfort he could find, with his big sister missing in action.

"Do not trouble yourselves worrying about me or her," Alistair said, carefully hiding his own slight anxiety about this point. "If I know your sister, she will be back very soon. If anything should happen to me, or if I am simply kept away by the war, she will keep you safe. Even if you have to escape the city, Rosslyn will find you."

"Do you know who you will be facing?" Carolien asked in a voice that trembled slightly, clearly against her will. "Not the Emperor himself?"

Alistair shook his head.

"I do not know, but not the Emperor," he said. The idea was a bit naive. No sitting ruler of the Demon Empire had gone to the front lines of battle in centuries, seemingly because the internal politics of the Empire were so treacherous, with regular assassinations and occasional plays for the throne. The imperial seat had remained in the same family for the entirety of the Empire's history largely due to paranoia.

"That means that I will not be facing the strongest possible opponent," the King added after a moment.

Carolien nodded and gave him an obviously forced smile.

"Children, hug your father and wish him luck," she said. She turned to Alistair. "May the Goddess's light give you strength."

The children came closer to Alistair and took turns embracing him, going from oldest to youngest.

"Do you have to go, Daddy?" asked Ailsa in her quavering voice. "I would feel ever so much safer if you stayed here with us. I know Rosslyn is coming back soon, but no one can ever protect us like our Daddy."

Alistair looked her in the eyes and saw that his youngest was doing her best to hold back tears.

"Just for you, I will make certain to finish the fight quickly," he said after a moment. "That way, I can come back before you have had time to worry."

All of the little ones gathered to give him a group hug then. The King felt a little bit stronger.

When he had departed from his family, he allowed his expression to become somber again, but his mood did not darken.

He felt a certainty that he would win the fight and return to the ones he loved. He was even more sure that Rosslyn was all right, wherever she was. She would return intact—no, return gloriously, with stories to entertain her siblings and the court.

He continued to think this way as his nobles stripped him of his normal garb, assisted him in putting on his armor, and armed him with his house's traditional weapons.

A quarter of an hour later, he stood in the courtyard, a fearsome picture of a ruler.

On his head, Alistair wore a helm with a crown motif sculpted into it. For his outermost layer, he wore a surcoat bearing the butterfly symbol of his house in colors of vibrant blue, cool pink, pale yellow, and verdant green. Beneath that, he was protected by a chainmail shirt with long sleeves and coif, with chainmail leggings to guard his legs. Under the chainmail shirt, he wore a gambeson. The belt cinching everything together was clasped with a golden butterfly buckle.

At his side, Alistair carried the Mystic Sword of Claustria, a weapon supposedly enchanted by the first mystic butterfly. He held a kite shield in one hand. On the opposite side from the sword, he had a dagger. Finally, hidden in a sheath inside one boot, Alistair had a second backup weapon: a butterfly knife.

The knights and nobles who Rosslyn had not selected to join her expedition had all gathered to see their sovereign once more. As he stepped out into clear view, a roar ran through the crowd.

"Alistair! King Alistair!"

The King smiled and waved at the gathered mass of key subjects. He thought about playing to the crowd a bit. He had known how to do that as a younger man—to make the right gesture or speak the correct words to make other people want to root for him in the day's melees or jousts. But now that he was older, tired, and perhaps about to walk out to his death, he felt little motivation to present any image to these people.

Just as he was thinking that, Alistair sensed a presence at his back. He tilted his head back to confirm it was the man he was thinking of.

"Lord Callum," the King said.

"Your Majesty," Lord Callum replied, bowing his head slightly. "Will Your Majesty give the crowd a few words before your inevitable victory in this duel?"

Alistair raised an eyebrow but had to admit to himself that his advisor was correct, as usual. It was probably worthwhile to speak to his public, even if he did not feel like it. And simply going along would take less energy and be more appropriate to his royal station than arguing with Lord Callum.

"Goddess bless and keep you, Callum," the King muttered.

"Hm?" the advisor said.

But Alistair was already stepping forward, already coming up with words to inspire this crowd.

"Thank you for gathering for me, my fellow countrymen!" he began. "Today we drive back the—"

But the rest of the words seemed to catch in his throat. At the edge of the mass of knights and lords, the King saw them. The party that had been dispatched with Rosslyn into the dungeon. He did not see Rosslyn leading them, but the fact that William and Frederick stood at the forefront, with two spiders hitching rides on their shoulders, made it obvious that this was the group.

Where was Rosslyn?

Alistair began walking toward the party, even as the young lords tried to remain surreptitiously placed in a corner of the courtyard, apparently attempting to keep a low profile.

I will know what happened, at least. Even if my Rosslyn is lost somehow…

"My young lords of Dessia!" the King exclaimed loudly, taking long strides with each word. "Well met. Truly an auspicious occasion. It is good to see you and our honorable knights returned safely from the dungeon!"

His voice never faltered. But despite his words, as he spoke, his eyes were still scanning the line-up of people who had accompanied William and Frederick. Alistair did not like what he saw. He did not know the exact line-up of people who Rosslyn had taken with her, but he'd had an educated guess in the back of his mind. At least a couple of them were gone, just like the Princess.

The dungeon had apparently not been a straightforward task. The more people were missing, the more his heart fell at the thought of what might have happened to his daughter.

He waited until he stood within a few feet of the brothers, his stomach churning, before he said anything. Alistair had to resist the urge to grab William bodily as he spoke. Appearances had to be maintained.

But he found a method to communicate in the way that the situation called for.

The King moved to embrace William and placed his mouth right next to the young lord's ear.

"Where is my daughter?" Alistair hissed.