Lassitude

By the time my aching body finally stirs from its shallow depth of dreamless sleep, the day's dreary blanket of clouds, visible through the open shutters of my oriel window, have shown to symbolize the arrival of late afternoon.

The battle, and Lord Cafton's charge, should have already commenced.

The hand upon my shoulder gently squeezes, its owner having noticed my waking.

“...Lady Ellie,” says Maud, voice softened and prodding. I adjust myself to looking upon her from below.

“We have not gone to the cathedral?”

She shakes her head.

“Elizabeth and Olyver remained here as well when I said you would not be leaving. I might pray anywhere there’s quiet…and this were of greater importance,” she declares, “The Lord hath better considered mine to be your own just as well, else I shall have a stern word or two for him about it.”

The smile she makes drapes over me like a silken sheet, soft and reassuring to the touch.

“You prayed for Larkin on my behalf?” I ask, a little touched.

“Of course I did,” she replies, speaking as though she could have prayed for no one else. “I would have anyway. T'is not as though my father is out there on the wall.”

Maud's father was one of the men picked to remain behind, guarding the manor in our home of Halford, for he is not quite as spry as he once was in his younger years when we were girls. Nevertheless, Maud continues.

“...And I would be heartbroken to learn if Sir Laurence had not returned. He's far too kind a man to...you know…”

I lower my eyes back down, for I do know all too well, but she carries on all the same.

“He should be returning anytime now, I think. It has been some length since I’d heard the dying roar of the battle.”

She could hear the battle from here before?

Then that means it is already over with?...I've failed all over again?

Once more, my beloved lies in a field; bloody and lifeless…

I clutch my fingers together into a fist against Maud's lap.

“My lady…?”

Though she speaks it not, the tone of her silence says it all and I can tell that she wishes to ask about something, yet cannot bring herself to.

I worry if she would believe me…if she would even understand me if she could.

But I find I also cannot stand any longer that I am entirely alone in my suffering—that I have not been able to release my frustrations.

But Maud is my greatest friend. If there was anyone in this world who might understand, I feel it would be her.

And so I turn deeper into Maud's dress, bitter and terrified of what might come to happen…and broach the subject on my own.

“Maud…” I say, voice breaking even as my eyes remain depleted of their tears. “...He isn't coming back…”

I feel her grip tighten upon me.

“No, of course he is!—”

“—He's not.”

I slowly shake my head, back and forth in gentle repetition, my voice solemn and embittered.

“He's not…”

There's silence for a moment before Maud finally asks the question I knew she'd have to have.

“...This is why you were coming apart…isn't it?”

I nod into her dress. She pauses for another moment.

“...How is it that you know?”

I sigh pitifully, trembling through my lips in a dry sob, and then take a single, deep breath.

“Because I've already seen it happen…”

I clench my eyes shut for but a moment, willing myself forward.

“The morning starts the same way every time. You help me dress for the day and be ready to receive him. You tell me I look tired—that I should sleep longer. Goodwife Elizabeth interrupts us to announce Larkin's arrival…”

“Ellie, I—”

“—And then I go down to see him, try to keep him from leaving whilst trying my damned hardest to keep up my appearance as though everything is fine and that I have not gone mad…but I fail to stop him every time and have to give him my favour and smile as though I don't already know that he won't be coming back…Do you know how that feels, Maud…? Can you imagine?”

I know not if she believes me in her silence…but, all the same, she gently squeezes my shoulder, quietly comforting me and urging me onward.

“...It matters not if I go to pray with you in the cathedral or if I go to see him before the men sally out, in the end, he still never returns…”

I clench my eyes shut once again, my arms wrapped tightly around my dearest friend as she faithfully listens to me pouring my heart out into her lap.

“...And then I leave the walls to find him, pierced and broken within the field. Every time t'is the same way—in the same place. Even now, I so dreadfully know, if I go out there, that I would only come to the very same scene…because…”

I clench my fists even tighter, squeezing my arms around her, soft and giving to my touch.

“...Because I've been living this day over and over in an awful cycle, like a nightmare from which I cannot stir…”

…The truth is out, room remaining utterly silent as I wait patiently for her response, the pain finally somehow bringing back the tears in my eyes despite my tiring of it.

“...Maud?...”

I turn my head upward only to open my tired eyes to nothing…my arms clenched tightly around only but my pillow…

…And I scream.

I press my face to the bed, bury my head into the sheets and underneath my pillow and I scream.

“I cannot even have that?!!” I cry.

“Can I not even have that??!!

Thumping footsteps rapidly sprint their way down the hall, a figure rapidly throwing open the door to my chamber.

“My lady, are you alright?!—”

“—GET OUT!!!”

Maud jumps in a panic and slams the door back closed, leaving me alone once again with my heaving that quickly devolves into sobbing, then screaming…and then a torrent of all else as I throw the pillow across the room, clutching and clawing at the bedding around me…

I cannot do this anymore.

I am so very exhausted.

And so utterly, completely alone...

I press my face back into the sheets, crying my heart out as I curse the day, curse this life, and curse myself.

I cannot do anything.

I cannot even talk to anyone about it. I am completely and entirely alone, am I not?

I turn over to look up at the open ceiling above me, oaken support beams running up the roof’s interior all the way to the wall's edge. I slowly come to grip at the still-misaligned necklace around my neck.

Have you too forsaken me, God…?

I grip my hand tighter upon the cross.

“...Take this away from me…” I tremble out.

“...Do you hear me?! I said TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME!”

I cannot stand this anymore…

“JUST TAKE IT AND LET ME IN PEACE!!”

I pant breathlessly but the rafters speak not their reply…

…And so I am left just as I was, turning back into my bed, releasing the tightness of my fists as I finally give way to pitiful languish.

Why must Larkin always leave me? Donning his harness of cold, unforgiving steel and riding off without a care but for his duty just like all of the men beside him.

They're all fools. All of them.

The duke, for starting this sanglant war, Larkin, for so diligently following him directly into it…

Father, for his-stupid-grace's own pointless wars.

It matters not how hard I try to suppress the memories of it. They all come the same, intermingling with those of Larkin in his harness, promising to return to me.

Empty promises, so carelessly uttered by the lips of every man I so ever care about whenever they march off to war…

Just like when he marched off this past year…

—

Today is an important day—one I have been reluctantly anticipating since the evening father announced to me that he was to muster our household retinue upon the arrival of the spring season. Though I once used to love being dressed in my best finery, ever since the old King Henry V passed and the crown went to his brother, King Edward III, it has become more and more intertwined with the feelings of when I am to dutifully see him off as his faithful daughter.

Time and again, mother would have Walter and I on our best behavior and in our finest clothes, and time and again I would watch the happiness gradually erode from her eyes with each passing campaign in the mainland. But mother was the one who so taught me of our duty to the men of our lives who would depart for war—to remain strong for them, that they have a great struggle ahead and that we might only make it infinitely harder for them by expressing our discontent in the face of factors outside of their control.

One day, I would need to remember it for the man I would come to wed. One day, I would need to remember it for Walter.

But, until those days would come, I'd so dutifully stand for my father.

…But it has not been the same since mother died…

Every year in the period since there has been a campaign, with each one becoming more taxing than the last. Brother had taken over in serving as father's regent throughout the previous two.

But Walter has since taken the cross…and so that now leaves the family’s holdings with only one remaining candidate who might take up the role. Though I am well into my seventeenth year, I struggle to find any comfort in it.

There is no hiding my distaste for the day, even as the moment finally arrives and I am the last in the line of the manor’s residence to bid farewell to the old baron, his stout frame ornamented in his cuirass and the livery of our household.

I fail to even meet his expectant gaze, preferring the look of the bird on his chest to that of my father’s. I could feel his frown even if it were not plainly visible.

“Ellie…” He says, husky voice soft and consoling, but I do not respond, for I know I would not be able to keep myself from denigrating his journey before it has even begun. I’ve tried for so long to keep it in, as any good daughter would, but I only find it more impossible with each passing moment his eyes are upon me.

“...Will you please look at me?”

I fail in my efforts.

“...I cannot do this alone…” I say.

He sighs and I can feel the heartbreak within it. I feel like a terrible person…

“My dear,” he says tenderly, leaning down closer to my level. “You are strong; so much stronger than you realize…”

I frown at him. ‘Strength’ is quite hardly anywhere near the top of the list of my most applicable attributes…

“I’m hesitant to even believe that the serving staff would agree with that statement, father…”

I expect him to laugh but I find myself spared of it. In fact, his proud look of certainty never falters and his answer comes as though already upon his tongue.

“Because you have a heart of generosity, Ellie. You always have.”

“And what does generosity have to do with strength?” I scoff, the very idea completely ridiculous.

…But the man simply shakes his head with a smile.

“Do you know what this is?” He asks, pointing to the heraldic surcoat over his chest.

“Our coat of arms?”

“Well, yes, but do you understand the significance of the charge upon it?”

I shake my head. I’ve never had any appreciation of the topic of heraldry. Such is in the business of war and war is no business for any self-respecting lady.

I look upon the surcoat, observing the golden pelican over a waving ribbon of green upon a field of blue, its beak puncturing its own breast, drawing its own blood.

“Halford is heraldically represented by the charge of a mother pelican in her piety,” he explains. “The pelican is a beast that has been observed in the wild to nurture her young through the piercing of her own breast, shedding blood for which to feed her chicks.”

I grimace, not entirely understanding of the significance but he continues on to elaborate upon it.

“The pelican symbolizes the willingness to sacrifice, to do anything for the ones they cherish most and any who might fall under their diligent care. It symbolizes an act of ultimate generosity for the sake of others. Such acts may only be undertaken by those who have true strength within their hearts…”

My father’s hand finds my arm with a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“...And now I know it is unfair of me to ask but can you be strong for the people here counting on you?”

Though there’s a flicker of what might be called a smile at the edges of my lips, I find it hard to maintain as I come to hug the man, his form hard under the plated steel.

“I shall try, father. Just please come home soon.”

His form jostles in a light chuckle.

“When his grace has allowed it so, I will,” he says, pulling from me.

“Nothing will keep me from coming back to you.”

...I believed in those words. As I stood there and saw him off in his departure, with all of my heart, I so believed in that promise. I smiled, just as I had done all of those years I stood with my mother, with my brother, and then with no one left but Maud to stand beside me…

…And I watched him depart one final time, never to return…

—

My eyes flutter, lightened as I open them to the dim light of the open window within my chamber…

…And I realize, to my horror that I must have fallen back asleep…

I spring from my bed, calling for Maud as I make for the door and throw it open to find her there in a start.

Did she wait there the entire time…?

“Maud!” I say, voice elevated with panic. “W-where is Larkin?!”

The mousy girl shrinks back away, clearly shaken by my pressure.

“L-l-l-lady! Is-is everything alr—”

“Maud!” I plead with her, taking her by the arms. “What happened with Larkin? Has he already come by?!”

“Y-yes, my lady,” she says, “Sir Laurence had come to see you but I-I told him you had taken ill since—”

“—NO!” I shout, hurrying back into my room to throw open the doors of my wardrobe. I need something quick and easy to throw upon myself. Pulling a simple, red kirtle from the rack…

—

I am gasping for air as I sprint my way through toward the western gate, my feet—bare of shoes—muddy and sore as I run wildly through the rain-trapped puddles of the trodden paths.

I cannot be late. I just cannot! I care not how many times I have already failed, I cannot have failed him like this! To not even be there for him once!

My eyes burn with tears, not of sorrow…but of pitiful, impotent anger with myself.

I cannot have just simply abandoned him!

I round the final corner, heart thrashing against my ribs as I peer down at the force of heavy cavalry, present and beginning their march toward the open, western gate.

“NOOO!”

I pick up the pace again even as every fiber of muscle in my legs objects, my lungs violently opposing me at every breath.

“NO-NO-NO-NO-NO! LARKIN!!"

But it matters not how loudly I scream, nor how forcefully I drive my body onward. They cannot hear me and all that they so concern themselves with lies ahead of them…

I am nothing to the men who so mean to risk their life.

The gate begins to fall and I stumble, collapsing to my knees before it and helpless to only watch as the mass of men heedlessly march forth, leaving me behind.

…I am too late...

I draw myself forward, fists balled and still clutching the favour I had failed in giving him.

All of my love, my hope, and admiration for my beloved…and it all amounted to nothing.

I couldn’t even give him that…

—

I ask not the knights for if my beloved had been seen, for I already know what would be said.

I no longer look upon the empty bodies, nor the vacant stares. I inspect not the faces nor listen to the wailing of the women who come to find their beloved among the dead, for I know exactly where to go and what I will so find when I get there.

Bitter is the feeling I have inside as all that my reddened eyes can do is squint in the disgust I have.

Finally, I spy Larkin as he always is, reclined against the stone and lance still punctured…and I kneel before him once more.

“...I was not there for you,” I admit. “...In your final hours, when I should have been there to support you, I was not…”

Though my lips tremble as I force myself to look him in the empty eyes, I am too angry and embittered to cry. Not this time.

“I failed you. While you were readying yourself to die, I was wallowing in my own self-pity.”

Though I may be forced to bear repeated witness to his demise, I've failed in the most basic understanding that, through every cycle of this day, my beloved has ultimately been the one meeting that truly dreadful end. How might my own suffering even compare to that?

I fasten the ribbon tightly upon his arm.

“...And I will always see it through, for this I swear to almighty God…”

I stare at the profile of his expressionless face, drawing myself down until my head rests upon the polished steel of his sallet.

To thee I so pray.

“...Amen.”