They faced each other, chests heaving. His sword was lying in the dust by his feet. Her armour was dented in places that made it hard to walk. Still, she straightened to her full height, ignoring the annoying cut on her lip. He eyed her the way men watch prey, his own headgear long thrown off after the Calvary clash. The screaming of horses had dulled to a menacing silence. Anyone left standing after the fourth rush ambled back to their sides. Dead eyed, grey. They were walking corpses ignoring the cry of the almost dead.
But this man. This man walked towards her with powerful, rage filled strides. He was a wolf prowling towards her, each step sidestepping death. His hair was dripping in sweat and blood, sliding down his neck to pool in his chainmail.
“Take it off.” He said, each word a bite. His hands hovered by the sides of her head, as though a force denied him to touch her.
“I’m fine –”
“Take. It. Off.”
“If they see –”
“Please.”
She looked up, suddenly seeing pure fear leaking behind his furious eyes. Without a word she gripped her helmet, pulling it off and dropping it onto the tattered grass.
He shrank before her eyes, his shoulders dropping, face collapsing into exhaustion. Neither of their banners were still intact. Both armies were scattered across the plain like discarded bloody clothes. The invisible boundary dissipated, his dirty palm gently cupping her face.
“Why?” he whispered.
“How would I keep living if my heart died out here?”
Fire gripped him, filling him enough for his eyes to blaze, “What if my men had killed you? What if I–”
“I’m a shield maiden,” she replied softly, “I am not a weeping woman. If anything, I am your enemy.”
His body again softened, tears filling and then making dusty tracks down his cheeks. His hand fell from her face, left limp by his side. “You are no more my enemy than the very air I breathe. We should have left together on the eve of battle. If you had told me you planned to –”
“You could not leave your men.” She pressed a hand to his cheek, and he moved so his lips pressed against her fingers. “You could not leave your mother in such peril.” She added softly.
“No.” he agreed, his breath warming her hands. “But had you perished, I would be the husk of a man.”
“We intertwine you and I.” she smiled.
“Like braided copper wire. Better to melt us together and begin again then pull us apart.”
She pressed against him, ignoring the digging of his plate mail. He put a tentative hand on her head, stroking as though her very presence grounded him. A reassurance that she was safe. Alive.
His intensive stroking undid her braid, making a mess beneath his fingers. She battered him away, moving to plait it down the side of her face. He watched her, unable to care for any other motion. Any plan.
His whole body wished to bind her to him.
But she was fire and air. She breathed life and freedom into every step she took. She was no more his than the wild things in the Forest of Ore.
“What now?” she asked, a stained ribbon in her mouth.
“It was a draw,” he shrugged. “I suppose we will go lick wounds and try again.”
“This is madness.”
He took the ribbon out her mouth, kneeling in the muck so he could tie the end of her braid. She watched him. Watched his head bent in concentration before her. His broad shoulders blocked her from seeing anything beyond him. But even his presence could not quieten the screaming and death whimper of dying men.
“Marry me.” She said suddenly.
He looked up so fast the blood rushed to his face. She steadied him with a hand, helping him stand.
“We have talked about this…”
“Yes. Before both our families were stricken with war debt and grief. A feud began this bloodbath. Why not end it with an alliance?”
“You said no to me!” He cried, looking down at her baffled, “was I not enough then?”
She reached up, placing a hand over his heart. “You are more than enough. But love should bring together, not tear apart. Had we tried before they would claim bewitchment or trickery.”
“I love you, Eleanor.” He said softly. A gentle battle cry. A simple declaration for that which was and always will be.
“And I you Arthur, Heir Apparent and Commander of Silvercrest.”
He wobbled. As though her words had struck him a powerful blow. He reached into his chainmail, the sound of a quiet snap and his giant hand revealed a dainty ring. It was woven of two metals, cupping a single swirling gem glinting in the centre.
“The Silvercrest gemstone.” Eleanor whispered, looking up at him. “I cannot –”
“You will.” He rumbled. “In our tradition. The Queen of Silvercrest provides the heir the ring when she believes his suiter is of love intention. Kings hold no power over of the gemstone. If my choice is true, it will glow the colour of starlight.”
“This feels like a ceremony for a better crowd.” She grimaced, “and attire.”
“There is no one for me but you.” He shrugged. “Better now before the world swallows us whole.”
She wiped her hands on her butt, the last place not covered in grime. Gingerly she took the ring, slipping it on her dirty finger. The moment she touched the ring, the gem began to glow. It swirled with stardust, admitting a glow that sunk into her skin. Her aches began to wane, breathing a sigh when she felt weariness melt away.
She gripped Arthurs hands, watching the light travel from her hands to his. He buckled under the light, watching it travel under his armour.
“You are my light.” He grunted.
“And you are my heart.” She replied.
He smiled at her. The first real smile since the screaming had started. He led her to his horse, stopping to help her take off the battered plate mail and place into the saddle bags.
He helped her up, climbing up behind her. “Let us resuscitate our people. Our fathers can ignore us no longer.”
“Let us rewrite this tragedy.” She whispered, feeling him press a kiss against her neck.
“Together.” He murmured.
“Together.”
ns 15.158.61.23da2
