Rebuchier

Even with most of the common folk coming from seeing their husbands, fathers, and sons at the defense of Cafton's southern wall, I still struggle in my navigation of the smaller collection of gentry and wealthier families of the career men-at-arms, they having mostly begun departing the western gate.

Consequence of being at the front of the procession to the cathedral, now that I must maneuver my way to the very back of the line. With the enemy already having commenced their advance, I grow frustrated in my attempts to carefully circle-around the pockets of loved ones now going to where I had just departed.

But eventually the procession thins and I am able to approach…only then I find that I am unable.

…Because my feet won't let me.

Before me lies the Duke's mustered collection of men-at-arms: great cavalry of lance and steel. They are amassed in imposing harness; banners so unfurled, destrier and courser alike, stamping and pawing in ready anticipation for the coming sally.

I'm nervous that I have so little time, and equally so just by the echoing thunder of movement to the South, like the roaring of a great tidal wave approaching to crash upon the shore. The engagement is beginning, while here I stand, looking helplessly into the mass of the assembled lances, trying desperately to pick out the harness of my beloved.

“Ellie!”

I swivel, trying to discern the source of my name while failing to see through the mass of polished steel and heraldic flamboyance.

“Ellie!” The voice repeats, this time revealing to me the face of my Larkin, wearing his harness of gothic and fluted plate over sanguine-red brigandine. Drawing from the formation from atop his destrier, a great beast of mass and muscle, he dismounts, taking it by the bridle toward me.

“My love, what are you doing here?” He asks excitedly, pressing the spring catch of his bevor to reveal the astonished smile of endearment upon his lips. But, even if he finds this visit a welcome surprise, I yet still only feel the dread of it—my heart fluttering nervously as the man I love comes to me wearing the equipment of war.

Old memories of the past year swim anxiously together with those of my dream.

I go to speak but find myself startled agasp when the destrier forcefully draws back against Larkin's grip, sudden and firm against the lead of his hand.

“Easy, boy—Easy!” He demands, mindful as I recoil away from the beast.

“T'is okay, my love,” he says before patting a firm hand upon the horse's muzzle, whispering gently to it.

“Eaaasy, sh-shh~ eaaasy.”

Even as he minds the creature, he speaks carefully back to me.

“Salvator's just getting a little nervous, aren't you, boy? He's never met a lady so handsome—you're making him blush.”

Just as always, I struggle to remain so unsettled while in Larkin's tender care. Even as I stand before the subject of my greatest anxieties, my love yet-still assuages me.

Larkin partially turns to me again, leading the beast closer.

“Would you like to pet him?”

Not that assuaged.

“No,” I refuse with a firm shake of my head, the greater anxieties of purpose winning effortlessly in my demeanor.

He turns back to me, his expression wavering.

“...Is everything alright?” He asks, sincerity in his voice.

I hesitate a moment and then shake my head.

“I…I've come to beg of you, my love,” I say, my voice already faltering. Even still, he does not stop me, only carefully listens as I implore him and feel as though I might unravel before I even finish.

“Please do not go out there. I wish I could properly explain it, and perhaps it might betray me as mad, but I've experienced something…a revelation or divine premonition—whatever you might wish to call it, but last night...”

I pause, struggling to retrieve the words that cling to the inside of my throat.

“...I-I saw…”

…I have to say it!

But I find that, frustratingly, I simply cannot bring myself to.

“...It was a terribly vivid omen,” I say instead. “That is why I've come. I am so dreadfully afraid that it will all come true in the end…”

Larkin simply watches as tears well in my eyes, slowly taking my hand as I continue.

“I just know something is going to happen if you go! You have to believe me!”

His hand slowly pulls me closer until his arms are around me and I speak to the plate of his cuirass, my voice breaking.

“I-I cannot live without you. You—you cannot go! You mustn't go!”

All of the reasoning falls from my argument, left bare of all but naked intent as I collapse into his embrace, all of my control evaporating into the simple repeating sobs of, “You can't go! You can't go! You can't go!...”

…But he simply holds me as I gingerly cling to him, crying into his chest.

The once roaring thunder has deformed into distant shouting, voices and clatter like rain upon stone. The storm has arrived and I can only hold on in the hopes that God will help me to keep him out of it.

…But another voice calls from behind Larkin.

“Larry! Time to go!”

My beloved's grip slackens and I tighten mine with a final, “No!”

…But he gently draws himself from me, placing a tender kiss upon my head before pulling away with a regretful look.

“...I have you with me,” he utters softly.

“My favour…” I remind myself aloud, looking at the ribbon fastened to his rerebrace, it's golden inscription still displayed outwardly. But he shakes his head and places a hand to his chest, laid intently over his heart.

“I always carry you with me.”

Then, gripping the pommel plate of Salvator's saddle while stepping into the stirrup, with the practiced swoop of his leg, Larkin climbs up into the seat and, looking back down at me, declares, "Until I return, my love." With a hurried trot, he then finds his way through the rear of the formation as the western gate slowly rises open, allowing the procession of mounted men-at-arms through to the outside.

…But it doesn’t at all sit right with me.

It should not be this way! I was given my revelation for a reason, was I not?! Do everything in my power to save him and God would help me with the rest!

I step forward, stumbling as I do, my feet leading me closer to the formation.

Why am I here if it were not possible? Surely there must be more! He shan't be made to take the field!

My shambling turns into walking…

I am here for a reason! He cannot leave!

…And my walking turns into running.

He cannot be made to go off and die!

But, as I come to just behind the rear-most line of horses, my Larkin only but a few ranks beyond, I approach the threshold of the western gate and freeze as though directly running into a wall at the boundary between sanctuary and nothing at all.

Because, beyond this point was a sea of open ground…

The battlefield.

My pulse quickens as though I stand before death itself—as though unwittingly challenging him to take me in a grave misunderstanding.

My breath catches, my fingers clench…and I halt in place, powerless to do anything as the gate slowly lowers once again and I am only to watch helplessly as my beloved rides-off with the procession, hooking toward the South and then disappearing from view altogether…

…But it will all be fine…right?

At least, that is what I start to maybe believe for myself as I slowly begin to retrace my steps back toward the cathedral with Maud and the others.

If I could not convince him after all of this then…perhaps my words have still changed the outcome and it was all meant to be? Was this all part of the plan?

Was this your will, O Lord?

As I walk, I pray, and as I pray, I contemplate, and as I contemplate, I pray again…all the way up to where the western road intersects with the central thoroughfare.

But, when I turn in the direction of Cafton Cathedral, I halt…

I should return to Maud and the other servants of my brother's household…but I find that I simply cannot bring myself to and instead turn back South, listening to the clashing clamor of arms and unnerving, steady roar of men shouting for their very lives. Even as the raw atmosphere of death draws hen-flesh up my arms, I am yet conflicted by the feelings within myself that beckon me to stay…feelings of curiosity and of reluctance, coiled tightly together within my chest and beseeching for me to wait here for the men to return if I cannot bear going to the wall myself.

And he will return.

…Right?...

I take a nervous breath…and offer my fears to God.

—

Can I be so faulted for the things I have done this day? The attempts I've made in line with what I felt was the will of my God? What more could there potentially have been in my power to do?

Was it all not in God's plan?

These are the things which I ponder as I find myself, once more, searching through the hell of fallen men; of bodies vacant and empty stares.

Just as before, none of my men have seen my beloved since the beginning of their involvement. It maddens me so, the suspenseful anguish that I feel, with not the knowledge of if my effort were in vain or if he only failed in returning after the fact.

…But I only find the growing pit in my stomach ever increasingly unable to ignore with each sanglant view I gaze upon; each dutiful step I take within this garden of corpses.

In my suspense, I fail to utter a single prayer as I gradually comb the field. The thought doesn't come to me in my anxiety, only the growing pressure of emotional weight as I hold my breath.

He can't be here again.

Surely something I did must have changed the outcome…

…But then I find it…all over again I find it: the scene which I had so desperately hoped I would never see again.

Same stone.

Same lance.

Same vacant, blue eyes.

“...No…”

I mutter as I chillfully approach the man I love, gone all over again. I fall to my knees overlooking where he lie.

My prayers have been answered: ‘No.’

“I…I don't understand…”

The tears come, cracking through the vessel of emotion within me.

“I…I did everything I could I—…I followed your will…Was it not your will?”

My fingers place and then tighten against my beloved's cuirass, and I find the vessel cracks ever further.

“Have I not done all that you'd expected of me? Your faithful servant? Was that not the intent of your revelation??”

…The vessel shatters…

“If you had shown me this…! If I'd been made to bear through this morning for a second time, what use was it if only to force me to see it all again?!”

I shout through the tears, the gasping of sobs coming to punctuate through anguishing cries of rebuke.

“If I have it not in my power to come back and to change it, why have you chosen to torture me with this so?!!”

I scream out, my voice breaking into the air as I fall over against the pierced body of my beloved, my own arms cradling his harnessed frame whilst my hopes for a second chance—my gift of salvation from this dreadful hour—fall meaninglessly into ash upon the ground and scatter before my feet.

He is truly gone this time. What once felt like a dream is now enveloping my heart, strangling it in vines of thorn.

My poor, sweet Larkin, my beloved, the one whom I would devote my life to…is dead…and there is no waking from this nightmare. T'is all real.

I lower my head and gently recline upon his breast, pouring my anguish upon it…when I spot the ornate rondel dagger still in the sheath fastened to the other side of my beloved's girdle.

…And I consider carefully whether I am still yet willing to live on within this life.

With a sniffle, I reach around over the broken lance and grip the spiraled, wooden handle of the misericorde and slowly pull it free of the scabbard, drawing it back over to hold gingerly in my finger tips…

I look at the long and slender blade, tapered directly all the way down its length into a merciful point. Surely a blade as narrow and sharp as this would be light enough in a thrust that a woman might even—...

I carefully wrap my fingers around the handle, and then take a trembling breath as I hold out the dagger, its tip pointed back down toward myself…

I will always carry you with me.

…And I close my eyes…