The Lovers' Folly

[This story contains mild violence and in page death]

The midst of a battlefield is a terrible place for a revelation.

That was the second thought I had when cannon fire began echoing across the plains from atop our battlements. The first was the ball in my throat knowing we were firing on the approaching army of Prince Caerwyn.The revelation? Despite all the hurt, and the pain, and the loss, I was still damnably in love with him.

“Oh what have we done, my love” I whispered to myself.

The idea that this final fight might be his last was enough to almost make me call for parley. Almost enough to make me throw down my sword and take up his hand. But almost was not good enough. Not anymore. ‘Almost’ had gotten my brother killed. ‘Almost’ had gotten my own citizens’ homes burned and raided. Almost had nearly cost me the throne. And I would be damned if I let it cost me my life.

Dawn broke the skyline behind us, painting soft wisps of pink and orange across a cloud dappled sky. The line of shields coming towards us dazzled in the brightening sun, and were it not such a grim sight to behold, it might have been beautiful.

Looking out over the plains as the cannon fire silenced to reload, my heart sunk. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers stood here, all of our ranks neatly grouped and segmented for the day ahead. Despite the fact that the eastern flanks had already been engaged since an hour before dawn, the main forces held firm. Held strong. And if they could, then so must I.

“Captain Arramo!” I called out, my voice carrying across the legions with the help of light spellcraft. “Ready the riders. Prepare the mid-guard. The army nears the mark!”

“Aye, Your Majesty!” He called back just as clearly, and I could see the sections moving up into place.

This was always Caerwyn’s way; to approach everything from the front. No maneuvering or finesse. Straight-forward, straight to the point, and may the Gods help anyone who tries to stand in his way. I couldn’t fight smirking at the memory of him. He was that way in court politics, in school, and in romance. And, unfortunately, in war.

A clamouring arose from the west. The glimmering armour of Caerwyn’s archers exploded in a rain of fire and shrieking arrows. It took everything in me to not look away, to not abandon my soldiers to their suffering. Field nurses and medics ran through the ranks of soldiers, their deep red uniforms easy to pick out among the black armour and regimental banners. Time slowed, and yet everything happened it seemed in a single instant. The front lines clashed in a ringing of shouts and metal against metal. Captains called out orders, trying to keep the battle plans as tight as possible while Caerwyn’s soldiers pushed against our ranks.

Sitting atop my horse, I could see it all. The mixing of silver and black armour as the front rows fell to one another, and the ranks moved up to fill in the gaps. The line was broken, and though it was only moments, the ground was already baptized in red.

Then it was my turn. No ruler should send their men and women into war who is not willing to take up arms themself. And so I led the cavalry, curved blade raised up high as we descended into the plains. The shout that tore from my throat egged on those around me, and their shouts egged those around them. And so the regiment joined the fray in a chorus of cries up to Mighty Ghardell. It had to have been His grace that guided my blade that day. I cannot remember ever fighting so furiously, so tirelessly, as we did that morning.

Even when I was unhorsed, and my poor mount slain before my eyes, I did not lose heart, nor hope that we would come out on top. That Ghardell, mighty and victorious as He is, would take up arms with us and grant my soldiers the heart and the strength to win out the day.

The heat of battle was inconsequential to the fury in our hearts. And that fury carried us for hours. I can scarcely remember a single face I saw that day that was not my own people.

But not even the blessings of Ghardell could have prepared me to meet him on that field; Caerwyn Al’ Gammor. It was lucky for me that the standard of his army has a near full face covering. But I would have known those eyes anywhere. At any time and in any place.

And the hurt that shone in them when I picked up a fallen spear and threw it his way hurt more than any wound I received that day.

But throw it I had. I missed my mark, of course. I am not so lucky as to escape that fight with so little agony.

His eyes met mine, as grey and dark as the winter sea, and all the world fell away. The battle around us seemed to quiet, and fade to the edges of my world. Anger and love, sorrow and hatred, regret and resolve all bubbled up within me, all at once. And despite everything I wanted, I raised up my sword to him. He nodded at me, and raised his back. And in that single action I knew that only one of us would leave this field today. And for the sake of my brother, and my mother, I would not let it be him.

For the life of me, I cannot recall the fight itself. We came together in a way that two people who were in love once never should, and that is where my memory fails me. The first ringing of sword to sword reached my ears, and the next thing I knew we were both of us falling, and his helmet had been knocked from his head. And the breath knocked from me all the same.

Kneeling and out of breath, I looked to the sky, looked anywhere but into that face I knew was watching me.

The battle around us came back to me so fast and so loudly, my ears rang. The clamoring and the shouting and the wailing of pain and of victory, all of it.

“Van?”

One word. One syllable and I could have sworn to all the Gods that my blood stopped cold in my veins. Only Caerwyn called me Van. I couldn’t stop myself as I looked from the bright sky to his dark eyes, rimmed with tears.

Is it possible for a heart to break while still beating in your chest? I think mine did at that moment.

“Avanna,” he whispered, but I could hear him as clear as crystal. As clear as the shrieking arrows from his archers’ next assaulting volley.

It was one such arrow that missed its mark. So deep into our ranks had he come, his own soldiers hadn't even realized their Prince was among the fray—and without his helm.

Caerwyn's eyes widened, shock and confusion clouding what only a second ago I would have sworn was regret, and love. Both of us glanced down to see the arrow piercing through him. I always told him that if he ever lost his helm during a fight, he was in danger. Always warned him that his breastplate came down too far and his neck was too exposed. And look what happened.

Trembling, his hands came up, gently touching the entry point. The pain on his face, that sharp intake of air that didn't sound quite right. That sounded as if not enough air got through.

“V-Van?” The confusion turned into fear. He tried to get up, to stand up, but he stumbled. His eyes followed the arrow shaft from entry to fletching, and I watched as reality dawned on him. Caerwyn let out a half-cough, half-laugh, his lips trembling. The inside of his lips seemed too red.

I dropped my sword, unclipped my gauntlets and stumbled to his side. My legs had forgotten how to move forward. Either that or somehow they had become heavier than lead. I wish that I could say I was brave. That I stayed strong and held my ground, but I couldn’t do even that. My hands trembled terribly, hovering around his head as I wondered if I should touch him. If I could touch him.

“Funny seeing you here.” The bastard had the audacity to laugh. To look up at me, head in my lap and an arrow in the base of his neck. And makes a joke.

Tears fell from my eyes unbidden. I couldn’t stop myself. All the love I had buried for years, and all of the hatred and the anger and the betrayals. How could any of it matter when he had so little time left?

“Caery,” his name fell from my lips as if I had never stopped saying it. I placed my hand against his cheek and held him. Battle raged on around us, dust and smoke and blood and bodies, but none of it made any difference to me in that moment. Weakly, Caerwyn brought his hand up to mine, his fingertips still slick with his own blood.

I moved his hair back- he had let it get so damned long-and the smile he gave me was enough to heal almost every hurt we had given one another.

“Just like we used to be, huh?” He coughed again, and already his face was paling.

“Shush now. Everything’s-”, I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘okay’. I couldn’t make that lie come out.

“Fine”. He finished for me. “You’re going to be fine, Van.”

I shook my head, my tears streaming in full force now. I looked up around us, looking for anyone who could help. Who would? War was not the time for mercy. Or regret.

“Caery, I’m,” my voice broke, choking on the impending loss. “I’m so sorry.”

“What have you to be sorry for, my love?”

“For never bending. For icing you out.”

He shook his head, and even that small motion made him wince in pain. Every breath he took was shuddered, getting harder and harder. He should not be wasting his energy on speech.

“You-” he took in a trembling breath, his hand fumbling to find mine and hold on. He was so cold, so clammy.

“You were always the best of me, you know. The world,” he paused, taking another deep and stuttered few breaths. “The world needs more of you, not of I.”

“Don’t talk now. Save your strength, Caerwyn. I’ll,” I choked on the words. “I’ll get help. I’ll-”

The coughing fit that wracked his body was more startling to me than it should have been. The rattling in his lungs that were certainly filling with blood as the moments passed.

“You have helped, Van. I thought I would never see you again. And here you are.”

“Here I am,” I confirmed, holding his hand so tightly, I am shocked it didn’t break.

“I have never stopped loving you.”

“Nor I you, you stubborn bastard.”

His eyes fluttered for a moment, rolling back and losing focus.

“No, no , no. Not yet, please. Not yet.”

“I am sorry, dear heart. For all of your hurts.”

His eyes, those ocean grey eyes I had once been so lost in, looked up at me. And kept looking.

And looking.

And looking.

With one last kiss, I sent him off to the mighty halls of Ghardell, where I might one day meet him again.