Out of the Ashes Ch. 11

Chapter 11: The longest march

(6,6k words, futa x futa, romance, character focus, plot chapter, off-screen growth, dialogue focus, speeches and character development)

"This is madness, Lexi! And you know that!" Agatha growled.

"What do you mean? I am back on my feet," the pale warrior muttered in between suppressed groans.

Alexia breathed heavily as she lifted her shirt and tightened the bandage around her mid to conceal her barely healed wound. Not that it mattered, her shirt had been soaked through ever since she tried to meet the approaching deadline, but she'd need the added stability to wear proper armour.

"She is right. You can barely stand, Lexi. You won't help Maggie when you collapse," Ricky whispered.

"I know what I am doing. I will be fine," Lexi lied and slowly turned around to face her friends. "Bring me the armour. I am ready."

"No, you are not!" Agatha shouted. "Come to your senses! You can't fight like that!"

The former commander squinted and returned her attention to Ricky who looked terrified by just having Alexia's stone-cold gaze linger on him.

"Ricky, bring me the armour," she demanded sternly.

The blonde boy shook his head and took a step away from her, but she followed suit.

"I... I ... won't," he muttered.

The hermaphrodite limbed forward, her left foot slightly dragged behind its right counterpart. Even as she forced herself to catch up to Ricky, she simply couldn't close the distance.

Alexia stumbled when she tried to hasten her drained feet and almost crashed to the floor wouldn't Ricky offered his shoulder at the last second.

"You can't wear armour, Lexi. Please, realize that," the shivering boy said.

Her grey eyes, shining as vibrant and fiery as ever, locked onto him and wandered between him and Agatha before she gritted her teeth.

"I gave her a promise. I will be ready," Alexia whimpered and rested more of her weight on Ricky's shoulder as she got up to her full height. "Whatever it takes."

"You never promised to wear armour, did you?" Agatha interjected and walked up to lecture the 8'6" amazon. "You promised to support Margaret wherever you could and not to bring yourself unnecessarily into jeopardy. I doubt she agreed on that."

Alexia stared at the chubby woman as she let go of the groaning boy's shoulder - with the imprint of her heavy touch still visible on the padded cloth.

"Why do I even bother arguing with you? I always lose anyways," she sighed and weakly smirked.

"Ricky, bring me my belt and a sword. No armour." Alexia said, her head hanging low.

"Alright. That's much better," he chirped characteristically energetic and rushed down the stairs.

"You shouldn't go at all Lexi. But I doubt anyone could ever talk you out of that," Agatha lamented.

"I made a promise and I will keep it," Alexia muttered and took a deep breath when she noticed the chef's worry on her face. "She is scared, Agatha. She would never admit it, but I see it every day. The way she fakes her smiles. She needs me... and I won't let her down."

"I got that, but don't forget that she and we want you to make it as well. Don't throw your life away, ok?"

Alexia's nostrils flared when she exhaled noticeably, her gaze fought its urge to avoid Agatha's but her appreciation for her friend's efforts made her reconsider giving false promises.

"I will try..." she drily replied.

"Yeah. Please at least try it," Agatha sternly muttered as well and took a few steps closer to the imposing warrior.

She then carefully hugged Alexia's torso, while avoiding the red spot of dried blood on the futa's side and soon felt long and strong fingers stroking her back.

"Thank you for everything. I really mean it," Alexia said while leaning into the chef.

"Just come back when all this is over, ok? You will always have a place here, regardless of how this plays out," Agatha said on the verge of crying.

"I know..." the futa said and before she would start feeling the same numbing sadness, she heard Ricky rushing back up the stairs.

Alexia gently broke out of Agatha's embrace and pushed her chest outwards and straightened her spine to hide the last signs of how vulnerable and close to tearing up she felt.

"Here. That's the only sword they gave me, but I got your belt," he said slightly out of breath.

"Thank you. You are the best," Alexia smiled and ruffled his hair while she observed the blade.

It was dull, poorly balanced and way too short for someone of her stature, but a sword nevertheless. Not like any sword in the world would make much of a difference when the wielder was in such horrible shape.

"May I ask you a last favour, Ricky?" she asked.

The blonde boy looked concerned on this specific choice of words, but Alexia leaned in and smiled to take such grim thoughts of him.

"Can you offer your strong shoulder to a weak woman? At least for going down the stairs?" she mused with her infectious grin.

"Only because you asked so nicely," he returned in equally cheeky fashion.

He barely reached her chest, while his shoulder peaked around the height of her belly button. It might have been uncomfortable for him, but he had a good height for her to distribute her weight onto him with her left hand.

Ricky groaned, the futa's solid grip dug deeper and deeper into him, but it was not too much to handle over a short period of time ... he silently hoped.

"Light as a feather," he gasped. "Barely notice you at all."

"I expected nothing less," Alexia chuckled and after a last short look at Agatha, barely holding back her tears behind the two, she started walking towards the door. The others were already waiting and now every minute counted.

Manuel managed to convince the council to let her and Margaret leave and negotiate on the town's behalf. Neither of them or their friends knew how he accomplished that or what price he had to pay. All they noticed was how drained he looked when he returned from the negotiations ... and barely spoke about it. Three days he promised and three days the militia waited for Alexia and Margaret to prepare while new banners were rising and lowering daily on the royal palace's towers.

War was coming and the Highking wasted no time preparing for it.

"So... brace yourself," Ricky muttered when reaching the stairs and glanced up to Alexia.

She silently stared at the familiar staircase and for the first time it manifested itself as an obstacle she almost doubted to overcome. But she was not alone.

"Let's get this over with. Important people are waiting for us," she said with a smile, which quickly faded into a painful grimace as soon as the two tried to limb their way down.

The militiamen were already waiting outside and the already mute innkeeper looked more brooding by the second. Margaret knew this behaviour well. The tension, the fear, the doubts he didn't want to show to the world, the attempt to fake confidence and bestow optimism onto others. Margaret couldn't remember one occasion when she actually succeeded in that either.

"Everything will be alright, Manuel. I got this," she lied, equally as unconvincing as his uncertain smile.

The last few days were hard on him. The eyebags and paleness on his face were clearly only the first visible symptoms of an exhausted, worried, old man. It wasn't the way he looked that worried Margaret the most, but the way he behaved. He appeared to be optimistic at first, but every hour they came closer to the third morning the more mentally absent he got.

Everybody but him used these days of agonizing waiting to talk to her and Lexi, to find their peace and word their goodbyes- they might never meet again after all. Not Manuel. He was denying this grim possibility its rightful credibility. At least he tried.

"I... don't know what to say. But if..." Margaret started in a soft tone.

"Then don't," he interrupted.

He had to crane his neck to meet the now 9'1" hermaphrodite's blue eyes but the way he looked at her was powerful, demanding and full of sorrow. She couldn't bring herself to continue.

The two waited in silence as the wooden staircase groaned under the huge weight coming from above. It was not alone when it came to struggling immensely.

Her girlfriend limbed down the stairs, her red face was riddled with veins and small streams of sweat running down her black curls as she clearly tormented herself to keep her promise. Ricky as well barely held on as Alexia's support and grabbed her arm to try to take some of her heavy load from his battered shoulder.

She might be a fierce warrior, but that only made seeing her almost trip over with every new step and solely relying on the durability of Ricky and the stair handle on her right even more heart-breaking.

"Lexi..." she whimpered when looking at her struggling partner.

"We are almost there," Alexia groaned and Ricky almost buckled under her weight when she nearly missed a step.

The soldier tried to hide her exhaustion and pain when she smiled down at her now taller lover, but both knew that she was just pretending to be even close to a decent enough condition to follow Margaret.

Still, she walked on. Both let out a sigh of relief when the duo felt the padded carpet under their feet instead of the wonky stairs. Alexia grit her teeth and straightened her back when she stood before her princess.

"Ready when you are, Maggie," she said.

"Lexi..." Margaret muttered and shook her head when looking in her sweaty partner's determined face.

"Don't 'Lexi' me now. You agreed you would let me join you if I'd be able to walk. Well, here I am. I kept my part of the bargain, now keep yours," Alexia hissed.

Their eyes silently continued the non-verbal skirmish and the grey-eyed soldier, although battered physically appeared steadfast and unwavering - unlike the princess'.

Margaret shook her head, equally disappointed to have made such a promise in the first place and deep-down craving for Alexia to remain at her side. Such an egoistic thought, but the infuriating truth nevertheless.

Her gaze lingered on Alexia, on how she just barely remained on her feet. Still, her hand rested firmly on the dull human sword's handle. She was ready, but could Margaret say the same about herself?

The blonde stood over 9ft by now, her clothes were on the verge of ripping with every quick motion. Gretchen didn't even have time to finish a fitting outfit within these 3 days - an appropriate summary for her overall preparation. The sword the militia wanted to hand her slapped lazily into her bulging thighs and obvious endowment with every step she took and feared to tear the fabric into pieces if she'd allow herself to let the sexual frustration of the last few days resurface.

She was in no condition to meet her mothers again. Not only would she not be dressed accordingly for the occasion, but the princess slowly realized over the last three days that she was most of all not mentally ready to face kingmother.

She would need Alexia. To help her in a way only she could. To make her feel like she truly mattered in this rotten world - even if that might be true only within Alexia's.

"I... at least let me help you," Margaret genuinely smiled.

"Deal," Alexia smirked and wrapped her arm around the curvaceous blonde.

Alexia simply nodded and leaned into the tall, stunning, now truly royal body of her girlfriend and the two passed the clearly anxious innkeeper after a short, but eery silence. His eyes rested on the two amazonian women as they started their journey ... and possibly moved out of his life forever. All he could do was silently following them and watch their first steps on this sinister path towards an uncertain future.

The sun stood high and burned down at the two hermaphrodite's without mercy, blinding them as soon as they stepped through the wooden revolving door of their beloved inn. It could have been another beautiful day wouldn't it had been for the battalion of armed militia and the humongous crowd of onlookers awaiting them. A day they could spend together, enjoying the refreshing breeze waving over the bay or finding a distant strip of the beach and love each other right here and there, but no this day was destined for far greater things.

"Is that really necessary?" Margaret asked the hooded figure leading the rows of soldiers.

"This is only for your own safety," he said and pointed at the crowded street ahead.

Hundreds of people seemingly waited for her, many out of fear, many to leave no doubt who they thought was responsible for this grim situation. The ones who could afford to leave the town did so over the last two days, but the ones who stayed were left stranded - desperate or angry. Many appeared to fit both criteria.

"I see," the princess said thoughtfully and looked over to Alexia. "Ready?"

"Ready. You can do this, Maggie. Don't let them dishearten you," she said.

The blonde smiled unconvincingly and took a deep breath and saw her friends flocking behind her and Lexi. Agatha, Ricky and Manuel, regardless of what their friends and comrades said, they would always have their back. She smiled, but for a brief moment really meant it.

Her partner's arm hung over her shoulder and after a moment of searching and finding Alexia's hand she found the strength to scale the first obstacle towards facing her mother.

Margaret overlooked the long street before them one last time and tried her best to ignore the clearly audible insults aimed at her among most citizen's less openly hostile mumbling starting with her first step.

The militiamen cleared a pathway through the town. Most bystanders walked aside as the caravan of leathered soldiers with make-shift guns, brittle shields and dull swords pierced through the ocean of people. Some, loudly debated if keeping Margaret wouldn't be of better use as a hostage and couldn't understand the militia's decision to let her negotiate.

The fact that the council's decision leaked through to the townsfolk didn't surprise her. An innkeeper was one of the leading members after all, everyone could be a part of such an organisation. But the way some particularly hostile people bashed on the soldier's shields or tossed vegetables, fish and even occasionally stones after them shocked the princess.

"Look at them. Only chaos and fear. Just the prospect of a fight brings them on the verge of collapse. They can't ever dream of winning in an open war," Alexia grumbled.

"No, but we can stop it before it even begins," Margaret said.

Her voice, although diluted by the booming tumult surrounding them, sounded sharper, stronger and even made Alexia lift her head and look at Maggie in surprise. Her gaze was locked onto the path in front of her and didn't avoid the masses' tirade of insults and hostility any longer. She looked almost like a hawk focusing on its prey to let nature take its course. Yes, a force of nature. That sounded like a fitting comparison, Alexia thought and smirked when she drew another one: Almost a bit like the king herself.

They passed through the last few districts; the ones where the wealthier people mostly resided before they left in droves. The streets were noticeably emptier, still, many followed the martial procession through the town, snaking its way towards the marketplace on the outskirts. The closer they got, the more the mood tilted into another direction though.

The cries for help and pleads for Margaret to save them slowly started to rival the shouts demanding to put the princess in chains in volume. The blue eyes of their heir took in the countless faces reaching out for her, insulting her or arguing with their acquaintances and comrades why Margaret indeed deserved a chance to speak for them.

The space between the hermaphrodites, their friends and the badly equipped entourage shrunk as more and more people mobilized for a final push to word their worries or anger one last time before Margaret would cross the town boarder... and enter no-man's-land.

They were still held back by the militia, but the princess couldn't take it any longer. She stopped as soon as she noticed that they were standing at the same marketplace she snuck in at an early spring night months ago, like some sort of unwanted refugee - almost like a criminal. She might have arrived as such, but she wouldn't leave as one.

"Hold. Everybody! Hold!" she ordered, loud enough to eclipse hundreds of voices at once.

"What are you doing?" Alexia asked.

"Can you stand on your own?" the blonde said, her gaze still bound to the crowd of people before her.

"Talk to me! What are you planning to do, Maggie?!" the former commander groaned.

"Talk to them..."

The hooded officer giving orders to the battalion of human soldiers eventually stepped forward and argued with the princess for a full minute. Much was lost in the chaotic maelstrom of voices and shouts, but in the end, he nodded and issued one last order to his men.

"Spread out! Form a circle around the podium!"

His men advanced and regardless of how much Alexia urged her to stop or Manuel and Agatha tried to sway her from taking such a risk Margaret proceeded. The podium, originally planned for the tax collector of the crown, stood neglected for many years. Almost ironic, that now a princess claimed it for the first time in ages.

"What if someone pulls out a gun?! Maggie, please don't! You've nothing to prove to them!" Alexia yelled, encouraged by Manuel's pleads as well.

She then tried to argue with the leading officer of the militia but her words meet deaf ears. He wouldn't stand in Margaret's way. Now it was upon Margaret to silence the doubters, especially among her closest friends.

"Who am I to speak for them, when I am even scared to speak to them?" she asked calmly.

Margaret then slowly removed her arm from her girlfriend's waist and smirked at Ricky who knew he was once more called upon as support for the wounded soldier.

"Got her," he said and looked up in awe as a waitress took centre stage to address her subjects.

The already towering princess scaled the few steps upon the wooden stage and looked over hundreds, probably thousands of faces, all fixed onto her. Many faces she knew by now.

Margaret waited for a few moments for the crowd to silence itself but the debate between them grew louder and stronger instead.

"That's the chance, go get her!"

"Someone, just shoot her already!"

"Let her talk!"

"That's all your fault you futa bitch!"

"Help us!"

Too many voices to single out where the shouts were coming from invaded her senses, too many emotions threatening to spill over any moment now. But she kept waiting, hoping they would put their differences aside eventually. And she kept waiting.

After some time, a loud boom echoed from Margaret's direction and the first few rows of people, on the verge of fighting with the militia or themselves looked up in shock.

Manuel stood on the stairs leading up to his royal friend, his gun still fuming and pointing towards the sky. He clearly didn't share the same trust in his own people and looked over them with disgust. Everyone knew him for what he truly was. A respected man, one of their own. Someone they all would listen to.

"Is that all what we are? Rabid animals!? Tearing each other apart over uniting to face them with dignity but instead limping into an unwinnable battle?! They treat us like animals and you are giving them all the reason in the world to do so! Don't grant them this level of satisfaction... you all are better than that! Stop fighting and listen for once! Let her talk," he shouted ... and the crowd listened.

The innkeeper shook his head in anger, tossed the gun aside and before heading back addressed Margaret with just two words.

"My princess," he whimpered, his head hanging even lower than usual.