A Guardian's Ascension (Chapter 14)

“Lady Sophia…” Elder Varkas humbly spoke, once more leading the charge as the swarm of grateful-looking beings divided themselves along the upper ridge and base of the rocky formation upon which the giantess was seated. It wasn’t quite the whole village who’d joined in today – after all, it wasn’t like she’d just staved off real monsters again, Sophia told herself – but easily more than half: any whose duties in town could possibly be abandoned for a time. Close behind the group of Elders, the giantess could see her parents and her friend Elisaben, but not Torv or her once-bigger siblings. “Ten days have now come to pass, with you here as our great defender, and the only fear we may ever experience again is that we have not adequately expressed our gratitude to you. It is not right, that you should continue to serve us so graciously, and we but stand by, accepting this grandest gift for nothing. Please. Would you… allow us, to offer what ways we might repay but a fragment of the debt we owe you?”

Hearing such servile near-groveling again, Sophia might’ve felt almost as embarrassed as she had following her first battle, if Elder Varkas’ voice wasn’t so piercingly sincere, and so many exiguous nodding faces behind the old woman weren’t also looking up at their Guardian in affirmation of this question and wondrous admiration. With so many eyes upon her, it was enough to make the giantess self-conscious of her more disheveled exertion-musked state – not that such a thing had ever bothered her before, considering the kind of filth she’d daily generate during her previous blacksmithing chores – but it was difficult not to entertain the thought now. In the silence, then, as everyone below hopefully awaited a positive response, Sophia felt that same timid self-effacing impulse trying to rise to the surface, but again she drowned it out with thoughts of Sigrid, Nemora, and especially Raluch’s guidance. It was time, she soberly concluded, to start being the thing her people needed, even if she didn’t feel nearly at-home in that glory yet.

“All of you are the dearest souls in the world to me, and there could never be considered a debt between us, nor any need of “repaying” me for standing in defense of my family, my friends, my neighbors,” Sophia diplomatically announced to an audience of valley gatherers listening with dead-silent bated breath. She took a deep inhale, then, ensuring her smile remained just as warm: “Still… all of you are free to make your own choices. I could never tell any of you to refrain from whatever brings you contentment. Your presence is and will always be more than enough thanks for me, but… if you do wish to express yourselves in other ways, it is… not my place to stop you.”

The reaction was immediate. Murmured joy and even relief seemed to disperse throughout the gathered population, in contrast to the wistfulness Sophia had witnessed last time their offer was made and gently rejected. Such gladsome feedback did help buoy the giantess’s spirits, and continued to suppress any pesky final urges to rescind her agreement, though already she was mentally preparing the kindest wordings possible to prevent the village from offering her their complete winter food stores today. Because she anxiously expected that if she was maniacal enough to ask for exactly that, they wouldn’t hesitate to let her peel the thatched roof away and consume their seasonal surpluses in a matter of handfuls. Nevertheless, she recognized such immediate and cathartic vindication in her people once they’d received her permission, almost comparable to the glowing reaction she’d sensed after the prior incursion, Sophia was further convinced: if the only cost on her part to deliver this level of gratification were some operatic sword swings, a few acquiescent words, and the swallowing of her non-pride, who was she to be so miserly in granting them all better peace of mind? Just so long as no one made a worshipful offering in the next few seconds that instantly rendered them a starving nomadic beggar, in which case she’d horrifically regret unsheathing her blade or even opening her mouth.

“Wonderful!” Elder Varkas cried, seeming again to voice the general consensus of all the people. Sophia’s parents, too, appeared calmly pleased, while Elisaben was practically jumping up and down with excitement alongside some of the more-enthusiastic villagers. “First. If… a great feast is not to your liking, Lady Sophia, then perhaps more offerings like those we have left for you in the night would be acceptable?”

“Yes. I would be very grateful for that,” the giantess relented, and indeed wasn’t massaging the truth as much as she feared would be required. Though most of her gratitude was instead borne of not having to negotiate the overwhelmingly obliged villagers down from that once-threatened feast; she could sleep much better at night knowing they weren’t emptying their pantries for her. Then, still mulling over her superior Guardians’ recommendations just as vividly as she could hear the voices of her people now, Sophia ventured a step further: “In fact, if… it would not be too bold to make a request-”

“Please, Lady Sophia! Whatever food you’d wish, in whatever quantity would be satisfactory. Only let us know!”

“Well, that’s just it,” the giantess sweetly exhaled, choosing her next words even more cautiously: “I… so greatly enjoyed the meals that everyone was already so kind to gift me. While away at the Citadel for so long, before my return, I had grown to miss such hospitality, the flavors of our home and the creations of so many skilled friends. So, I would ask… for any that do feel compelled to share from their tables, for none should feel they must… that rather than providing me some great mass of your food, you instead put the same great care and attention into preparing a single plate for me. Just one meal from your home, as would be sufficient to feed any of you. Such a gift, a reminder of where I am from and will always belong, would be a grander token than any feast. I promise you that.”

“Of course, Lady Sophia!” another of the other Elders chimed, sounding more consoled than if the Guardian had just stomped a charging battalion of orcs right in front of them. “You have our word. Every night, you will have a meal from each household waiting for you!”

“Once a week,” Sophia haggled, thankful yet firm. Then, having just proven firsthand to herself the effectiveness of making requests rather than denying everything, no matter how deeply she begrudged such need, the giantess chose to exercise that power again: “I would be most overjoyed, to know that great care and dedication was put into each of your gifts. To ask that attention of you, nightly, would be far too much, when you all work so hard already. But I admit to you, dear ones, that my mouth waters at the thought of what delicious bounty you could prepare for me, given six days of readiness for your best effort. Still, I would ask again for only one meal from every home. One meal that you, too, will share in, not a meal of such grandeur that you would otherwise create it but once a year. For it is the taste, the reminder, of the home I’ve always known that I wish to receive, and nothing more. After all, this is still my home, too. It just so happens that I am… different now than any of you remember me. The greatest of those differences, of course, being that my appetite has grown considerably.”

The entire crowd laughed exuberantly at Sophia’s lighthearted understatement, like she’d hoped they would, and she even let herself join in. Sure enough, she hadn’t disappointed her people, nor left them in a state of confused gratitude-taxed helplessness. Already she sensed dozens of separate conversations buzzing as families excitedly discussed what they would cook for their great protector this week, and folks taking industrious charge of scheduling staggered meal assignments to ensure that no night would pass without grateful sustenance being laid at the giantess’s feet. Such regulation was precisely what she feared might happen, rather than allowing every household to choose for themselves, and she made a mental note to keep a close watch such that no families were ever left in a panicked fluster to prepare a meal on their “day,” while their own untended needs rendered them worse off than if the girl had never grown to begin with.