Chapter II - The Flag's Condition

1467

20th June – Summer

Outskirts of France – Tonnerre Front

Two hours Earlier

It was seven passed of morning, the gleaming sun lights played across the green flat lines of North Eastern France. Words played around as the camp of our Free Company, withered to overjoyed moments, coupled with the modest feeling of freshly brewed Wine and Barely tea.

I sat, bearing forward my gazes at the French Camp. A camp which looked less of an aspect of France than the king himself. Weird hounding moans, drunkard fights, meaningless hoisting and voiceless bards singing through the countless nights; I had witnessed in these 5 days. With their feral behavior they like more of a free mercenary company than us in a whole heartbeat.

The Free Mercenary Corpse that Lord Gullion de Verge, son of Antione de Verge had organized was one that stood above rises, the individuals contracted were not bound by an order of servitude or greed, but rather out of respect for the Lord and his forefather.

I sat in solitude willing choosing to not take part in the breakfast meal celebration.
The only reason I and my 5 other Arthurian Waeoth companions took part in this lonesome blood shed of a campaign was out of respect for our Leader and the legend of the old ones. And such neither me nor my other comparts bored and kind of sense of duty to the cause of
Charles, The Bold.

‘Starting war for sense of Pride, pretty foolish’ I said to myself, pouting hard to respect to my willingness to battle.

Just by the size of the camp and the cavalry and infantry at guard it was generous for me to consider we were outnumbered by a thousand or two, any more which they surely had would prove to be difficult.

“Why, is had to be us.” I spoke in a low hushed tone lamenting on the fact that, I just may, just may have to lead a failure charge on the camp.

“May be a two hundred in that area, may be a 100 in that forest cover and another 50 in that bush glove” I proceed tiring to guess some sneak ambush points near the entry to the supposed battle field. A nice lengthy green soft grass of a gaze field that would soon be turned into a vile of pit mud and clots. “Another hundred on the east and the vanguard would be caught off guard” I pushed out in a hurried tone, deadening to cost above respect.

No gain was going to come my way, if I was defeated or was shroud as a Victor. Yet the mark of respect that I had gained in the Cradle would be put to question if I ever lost a battle, even more if I loss the men, that I had under in arms, which would even be amplified as these men hadn’t severed felicity to me, but rather were in literal sense vassals of Lord Gullion himself. “Just my luck,” I threw out in a tried huff.

A sudden voice cut through my thoughts,

“Oi, Mr. Flag Knight! What’s this? Sitting all alone, staring into the distance like some tragic hero married to a weird adulterer wife?”

I looked up to see Blanche strolling toward me, twirling a stick she’d probably picked up for dramatic effect. She had her usual mischievous grin plastered across her face, her blonde hair bouncing as she bent forward.

“Are you scared? Don’t worry,
Your Big-sister will protect you,” she said, puffing out her chest and flexing an arm like some an overconfident charge leader.

“I’m not scared,” I replied flatly.

“Oh, of course not. You’re just… what? Admiring the scenery? Plotting your next romantic ballad? Or maybe figuring out how to run away dramatically in slow motion?” Blanche, teased forward, puffing her mouth out to draw a confession from me.

“Let me guess,” she continued, crouching down beside me with exaggerated seriousness. “You’re calculating some basic obvious troop numbers? Trying to find the perfect moment to charge in, scream something heroic, and then immediately tripping over your own face?”

“I don’t trip,” I muttered, side-eyeing her.

“Oh, no, of course not,” she said, standing up and brushing non-existent dirt off her armour. “You gracefully stumble.
A Lady of dignity, even when she’s falling flat on her face.”

Despite myself, I let out a short laugh.

“You, A graceful Lady of Dignity.”

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, sharpening your sword or something useful?”

She gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Me? Sharpen a sword? How dare you! My blade is already perfect. Unlike a certain someone who’s still sitting here, looking like he’s about to cry. But again, what would happen to the flag that you carry so much off.”

“I’m strategizing, and don’t you dare talk about my Flag” I retorted.

“Strategizing how to hide behind me in battle?” she shot back, leaning forward with a smirk. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you a spot. Right behind my very heroic cape.”

“Why are you like this?” I asked,

“Because someone has to keep you from turning into a statue before the fight even starts.” She stood up straight, hands on her hips, grinning from ear to ear. “Besides, if I didn’t tease you, who would? Your companions? Please, they look too scared to even speak perhaps more scared of a particular introvert 17-year-old craze child.”

She threw me a mock salute and began walking away, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to bring your bravery with you when we charge, Sir Flagger!”

“An introvert, Scared. hmm” I whispered giving a bigger smirk, my insides turning upside down.

“Won’t the Onee-Chan, Guide this poor Sir. Flagger to the main camp” I yelled in a bratty smirky voice.