The Fallen Prince

Snow fell on the cold, hard ground, covering everything until there was nothing but white. It had begun to fall in the night, Harlan reckoned. A cold wind spread across the field, making the soldiers shiver in their armor, enemies and allies alike. It was a reminder that they were all human. And all humans must die.

A lone arrow made its way across the air, piercing one of their soldiers in the heart before anyone could react. First blood had been spilled, and there was no taking it back. The commander yelled and the front lines charged, the archers nocked their arrows, and the innocents prayed to whichever god they believed in.

On the front lines a girl charged forward, the young princess Clematis. She had been Harlan’s comrade on every patrol since the day they set out to war. Together they had shared countless nights laying on the frigid soil, talking about anything and everything. Those nights had brought a sort of warmth to Harlan that no fire could replicate. In the split moment before he had to fight, he imagined a scenario in which they lost. An image of the princess who had once lit a fire in his heart, now lying cold in the snow. It was a terrible sight, and it froze him where he was standing. He looked towards the line of soldiers, where his eyes landed on a young man. The Crown Prince Chester, Princess Clematis’ twin.

His eyes flitted between the two, their faces blending together in his mind. During the countless days and nights Harlan had spent with the princess, he had not missed the love she held for her brother. They were two halves of one whole, born together, never separated for too long. Today, she fought for him, for her mother, for her father. She fought valiantly, never yielding to her foes, never faltering for even a second. The mere sight was enough to fuel Harlan to keep fighting. If not for himself, then for her.

And so, he fought by her side. Foes and friends fell all around them, covering the battlefield with the bodies of people who will never see home again. The battle ranged on for hours on end, both armies getting smaller and smaller but never giving up. They had sent a messenger to gather the other forces and send for help before the first attack, and he had yet to return.

Suddenly, Harlan heard a familiar voice yelling out behind him. He whipped his head towards the sound and his heart dropped. The Crown Prince was slumped against the enemy, with a lance speared through his abdomen. As he fell to the ground, his sister ran up towards him, grabbing him and holding him close. Blood poured out of the hole in his body, and Clematis ripped off a piece of his clothing and held it tight to the wound. She was clasping his lifeless body in her arms, clawing at him and scrambling to stop the bleeding. But it was too late. Tears fell from her eyes, soaking her face and falling onto her brother’s body, mixing with the crimson pool beneath him.

An enemy attempted to take advantage of her grief and snuck up behind her, but Harlan slung himself in front of the prince and Princess. He fought off any man who dared approach them, shielding them with his own body. Eventually, the reinforcement they had sent for arrived. Countless soldiers, including their own king, came to their aid. When Harlan was afforded a chance to behold Clematis, he could not recognize the girl in front of him. The once happy and warm princess was a shell of herself, her eyes dim and empty, her body weak and cold.

When the battle was won and her father came to collect his children, they had to tear her away from her brother’s corpse. She used the last of her strength to cling onto him, digging her nails into his skin until it broke. The war was won, but the heir was dead, and the princess was broken.

The king offered to knight Harlan and to give him a place in his court for his efforts in protecting the princess, but Harlan refused. He did not see his efforts as worthy. Clematis was his friend, the closest friend he had ever had, but he was not able to protect the ones she loved. She had watched her brother die, and would never be the same. The shame and guilt he felt was too much for him to bear, he could not face his dearest friend. He returned to his late sire’s manse by the sea, isolating himself.

For the next few years, he mostly kept to himself, writing letters to the princess that he would never send. His help kept him up to date with any news from the capital. A friend, one of his fellow soldiers, told him of the king’s plans to marry his daughter off to a son of one of the seven most noble houses in the realm. He told him this, yet even after three years, Clematis remained unmarried. Harlan did not know what to feel about it.

On the three year mark of the prince’s death, Harlan received news of a tournament that would be held in the capital by the king in three weeks time. There was to be a price for the winner, they would get to ask anything of the king and he would provide for it. One wish. You could ask for gold, marriage, land, anything you can imagine, and you would get it. This piqued Harlan’s interest. He did not imagine he would win, but it could give him a chance of seeing the princess again. For all his shame, he could not deny that he had missed her. So the next day he set off for the Valley of Thorns.

The journey to the capital went by smoothly, and after a fortnight, he had arrived in the capital. It was as impressive as the singers had made it out to be, the walls of the valley were covered with roses and thorny vines, the walls of the city were built of ivory stone, and the air past the gates was filled with the sweet scent of fruits from the market. The tournament grounds were just outside of the rampart, by a stream leading to the sea. Despite there being six days left until the tournament itself, it was overflowing with people. Honorable knights, mercenaries, commoners, fair maidens and harlots alike were scattered around the turf.

The next few days, Harlan mostly stayed by the tournament grounds and did not venture into the city much. While his friends drank and feasted, he wrote poems of the fairest maiden he ever met. Silky black hair, eyes the colour of the sea, and hands as gentle as a storm consumed his every waking thought, haunted his dreams. These images had lingered in his mind for years, but the closer he got to their reality, the more frequently they came. The morning of the first joust, he came face to face with this fantasy.

On the edge of the yard where the jousting would take place, the princess stood by herself. She was dressed in a purple gown, her black hair put up in a crown braid with silver hairpins. Harlan was left breathless as she turned around and her blue eyes found his. A wide range of emotions showed in her gaze, emotions he could not decipher. She took a step towards him before hesitating, faltering in her decision. Harlan wanted to run to her, to wrap his arms around her. There were a million things he wanted to do, but he did none of them. He stood there and looked into her eyes until a voice called for her, and then she was gone. Perhaps it was for the better, he thought to himself. It would not be a welcoming scene for the king if a soldier from a lower house showed such affection towards the princess. Towards Clematis.

The rest of the day, Harlan could often catch Clematis slumped in her seat, a somber look on her face. She did not interact much with her family, her father was busy with the jousting, her mother was taking care of her youngest siblings, and she had apparently sent away her ladies-in-waiting. Then it dawned on Harlan that she was lonely, she missed her brother and her family would not help her. If I had been there, he thought. If I had been there to help her, if I had not hid from shame, then maybe I could have lightened the burden. She would not be neglected.

Three years of guilt bubbled up inside him, turning into anger. Anger at himself for running away, for abandoning Clematis. During the war, she had asked him once if he had ever visited the valley. He told her he hadn’t, and she told him he should go one day, and even offered to let him stay in their castle. Princess Clematis had been a true friend to him, she was the only person who understood him. They never needed words, a glance at each other and they knew everything. He loved her, and yet he avoided her. Perhaps that was why, he knew he was not worthy of her and did not want to cause any complications. He wanted nothing more than to undo the damage caused by that abandonment.

The next few days, they fought by day and feasted by night. Every waking hour, Harlan would savor every glance he could throw her way. For a few moments, he would catch her off guard and see the sorrow on her face. He would see the loneliness in her eyes and his heart would ache. That fateful day, he had protected her on the battlefield. And still, he yearned to protect and help her. Just as she did for everyone else. When her brother was faced with danger, she had done everything in her might to save him. When Harlan himself was caught by the opposition, she would kill all who laid a finger on him. To protect, to love and honor each other. That was what he wanted.

On the evening of the next to last day of jousting, they held a ball. It was intended to raise people’s spirits, to prepare for the end of the fun.

Around him, ladies whirled in circles, gentlemen tried their best not to step on their partner's toes, bards and singers sang cheerfully. It was a jovial affair, but not for Harlan. He was left standing off in a corner by the entrance to the gardens, the perfect position to get away from the liveliness of balls. There was only one woman he wanted to dance with, but he would never ask.

Every now and then, he looked over at her. There, above the stairs, she stood with her father and a young lord of house Meadows. Harlan felt his heart ache when he saw her, as beautiful as ever. The soldiers spoke of rumors regarding the princess; how she had not left her room for weeks after being taken home; how she had refused food; how she had not visited a shrine for years.

This time, when he looked across the ballroom to where she had been stationed, she was nowhere to be found. He searched the floor for any sign of her. When he looked in front of him, he saw her, and his heart all but stopped. There she was, her black hair braided and tied up behind her head, her eyes bluer than the Free Seas, and her face as sharp but kind as ever.

"Princess," he straightened his back, cleared his throat. "Did something happen-" he attempted to ask, but the princess did not want to hear it. She grabbed his hand and pulled him outside into the gardens.

Onlookers gasped and whispered around them, but she did not stop until they were out of sight of the ballroom. Once they were, she halted and let go of his hand. Her eyes were glossy, her nose was red, perhaps from the breeze, and her countenance looked to be falling apart. "Are you alright, princess?" He began to stretch his hand out towards her face before hesitating and stopping himself. "Lord Meadows didn't say anything ill towards you, did he?"

The princess took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. In this moment, he did not care who could see them. He wordlessly wrapped his arms around her as well and drew her in closer. Clematis began to sniffle, and then to weep. Harlan followed, letting his tears drip down his cheek. Years of guilt and repression were released in those tears, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. All he had felt when seeing her before was gone, and now he only felt her. All he wanted was her, to stay by her side forever. They stood there, sobbing, sniveling.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually. He had so much to say. "I couldn't protect the prince."

She leaned back, not quite letting go, and looked into his eyes, "Do not say that. He was my brother," more and more tears dripped down her eyes. "My little brother. I should've protected him. I should have saved him." The words were like daggers.

"No," he said sternly, cupping her cold cheek in his hand. "It was not your fault. It wasn't, Clematis." He shook his head. It was all too much, all of it, and he began to laugh, "All those years ago, you told me to visit the Valley once the war was won. Perhaps, if I had, I could have helped you."

She let out a laugh as well, "We shouldn't fault ourselves for all the roads not taken." They laughed and wept together, making for a blubbering mess. Harlan felt stupid, for not having spoken to her in all this time. She had always been the light of his life, ever since he met her. "I have missed you, Lord Harlan," she sighed.

"I have missed you as well, princess," he smiled.

They stood there together for some time, savoring each other’s presence, dreading the moment they had to walk back. Clematis suggested they don’t, that they could go back to their tents and pretend nothing happened when people came looking. And so, they did precisely that. They snuck out of the garden and walked back towards their tents, avoiding the gazes of drunken men who had been thrown out of the venue. Once they got to Clematis’ tent, she enveloped him in a warm, gentle, embrace. In her arms, he felt invincible. When she pulled away, she leaned her face close to his and put her lips to his cheek, planting a quick kiss before walking away. Harlan was left standing there like a fool, holding his hand close to where she had kissed him, gawking at the princess who was already halfway into her tent. A mix of emotions stirred in his chest, bewilderment, desire, and hope. And in his mind, an idea was being formed.

Tomorrow would be the last day of jousting, and only four competitors remained. Now, Harlan needed to win. For if he won, he would be able to ask the king for anything. Anything he asks he shall receive. And he had his mind set on what he wanted.

The next day's jousting took hours. Up last was Harlan and Sir Lynden, an older knight. Harlan and Sir Lynden took their places on the field, and the audience held their breaths. The winner would be afforded a once in a lifetime opportunity, and neither of them would give up easily. Both men charged forward, holding out their lances and lunging at each other. They thrusted and dodged, rounding the fence multiple times before either of them budged. Eventually, Harlan pushed with enough force that Sir Lynden was launched off his horse. The knight fell to the ground and Harlan was crowned the victor. The audience erupted into applause and cheers, and the king rose from his seat to declare the champion. Harlan approached the booth where the royal company was sitting and dismounted his horse.

King Armand congratulated him on his win, and asked what his desired prize was. Harlan looked between the king and the princess before answering. “My one wish, your grace,” he said humbly. “is for your daughter, Princess Clematis’ hand in marriage.”

The king and the audience gasped, but the princess rose to her feet immediately and yelled, “It would be a shame to waste your one wish on that, Lord Harlan. I would have married you even if you had fallen on your face before the tournament began!”

And with that, there was nothing the king could say to stop them. Clematis ran down from where she was sitting on the podium. She rushed to him and he met her halfway, wrapping his arms around her in an intense embrace and kissing her. The world around them disappeared as their lips met, in a warm and passionate display of love.