Death and Battle

[dragonqueen]

With quick, nimble fingers she plaited her thick red hair. Wrapping the heavy braid around her head, she secured it with a golden brooch. Snatching up her helmet, she shoved it onto her head, buckling the leather strap as she strode out of the room.

 

He scanned the soldiers filling the hall for a head of bright auburn hair, but, to his relief, found none. It seemed for once she had shown some sense, and fled with the rest of the women and children. He let out a sigh of relief, but caught his breath as he saw a figure emerge from a room. No! Please, he begged silently, please don’t let it be she! To his monstrous dismay, he saw the face beneath the helmet was feminine.

 

She saw, out of the corner of her eye, him, pushing through the ranks to reach her. His lips mouthed words, but she turned her head away. She would not be dissuaded. As she stood, resolute, the army began to stir. They marched through the halls, and as she moved, she heard his voice calling to her. “NO! NOOO! YOU WILL DIE! DO NOT DO THIS!” She ignored it, tears starting in her eyes. Death is not in my vocabulary, she thought grimly, and I must fight for my people.

 

The army began to move, and he fought desperately to reach her, hold her back, anything to stop her from going to certain death. Damn her honor! Her head turned, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked, but she closed her eyes and turned away. He thought he glimpsed the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She marched with the army, and disappeared from his sight. He ceased his desperate struggle, collapsing in futile tears against a wall.

 

She marched in step, watching for any sign of those they had come to fight. They entered the lower ranks of the city, and spotted the invaders. “There they are!” someone cried. The soldiers stopped their advance for a moment, and then, as one, charged forward, screaming battle cries. She ran with them, hefting her axe. “For my people! For glory! For hope!” she roared, her voice lost amongst the multitude of others. The wave met their foes with a great clashing. The battle had begun. All that remained to be seen was who would occupy the city when all was done and said.

 

He heard clanking and clinking of chainmail and the last of the foot soldiers trotted past him. Stirring himself to gloomy action, he followed, hoping against all odds that she would survive. Emerging into the daylight, he saw her. She swung her battleaxe with deadly accuracy, a whirlwind of movement. Again and again, he saw her take heavy blows upon her gleaming shield, and felt his heart stop and start again with each one. But every time he tried to go to her assist, a body was there to thwart him. Heedless of his wounds, thinking only of her, he hacked and hewed a path through his obstructions. It was when he had almost reached her that he saw the coat of arms upon her shield. It was the purple and white of Yitre. Yitre his own house. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he fought. On her last day, she had given her heart to him.

 

For every enemy soldier they chopped down, two more filled its place. They were fighting a loosing battle, and she knew it. But she pushed this thought out of her mind, utterly determined to take some down with her. As she thought this, she let out a piercing yell and brought her axe down on the helmet charging at her. From behind, though, someone stabbed a sword deep into a chink in her armor. She fell forward, her face blank.

 

He saw her fall, and screamed a cry of despair. “NOOOOOO!” Leaping over fallen foes, he fell to her side, and rolled the body over. She was dead. Not a flutter of life remained. He held her corpse tight and rocked back and forth. They were an island in the midst of the fight, of grief and pain.

 

She took no notice of her mortal death, spirit fleeing her dieing body even as it fell. She fought on, a mere outline of herself. But she began to strengthen, and her armor paled to ivory. Wings sprouted from her back, and a shining circle settled on her brow. An angel of God, she fought on, invincible. Truly, the word death was not in her vocabulary.

 

Something made him look up from his devastation. His jaw dropped in awe when he saw the shining white angel. Her hair was autumn red, and he knew it was she. Tears once again streamed down his face, but tears of joy, this time. Filled with renewed energy and hope, he fought valiantly beside her.

 

Slowly, they turned the tide, and drove out the invaders. Dusk came, and finally, the last one was slain. A victory cheer went up, and comrades embraced each other, weeping with joy. She looked at him, and wrapped her ghostly arms about him. She held him tightly for a moment, crying silently, and then withdrew, ascending towards the heavens with powerful beats of her newfound wings. “I will always be here, beside you in battle,” she whispered tearfully.

 

He embraced her closely, feathers of her wings soft and pure beneath his hands. Regretfully, he drew back, and watched her depart. God, she was beautiful. If anyone was meant to have wings, it was she, he thought. He heard her whisper as she left, and knew this was not an ending, but a beginning.