Would You?

“Would you love me when I am weak, just as you do when I am strong?” The Knight Francis asked The Princess. His eyes met hers with a mix of anticipation and worry, for he did not know how long he had left. His dreams were to ride into battle with her blessing of love, knowing that he captured her heart and lived valiantly.

Her eyes, however, remained dispassionate in his ask. Clearly, from his perspective, she was deep in thought in response to his request. Of course, he was a knight, but he was also her knight. To protect and love her as a knight and a man was expected to. But to love him when he is weak? That would go against everything he promised. To him, at the time, he promised her no weakness, only strength. But now, as he feared his time was near, he wanted to be loved in his entirety. He did not want to be loved solely for what he could provide, but he wanted to be loved in a way that was inarticulable.

Her eyes moved from unwavering as her mouth began to open, and his ears were ready for her response. Her royal upbringing left her difficult to read, as she needed to be both discerning and immovable in her convictions. That training worked all too well and carried over to her love. The power in the veil that covered her emotions was something that he wanted access to, and something he wanted to see behind.

Just before The Princess was able to answer, the captain of the knight’s guard came and called him to battle.

“Francis! The invaders are on their way, it’s time to prepare for the fight. We must go, now!”

____

The Knight Sir Francis left with the captain and his crew, with no words uttered from The Princess. She waved goodbye as he walked out of the room and he did the same as he reached the exit, with only a look of longing to leave her with.

To be called to battle once more, in the name of glory. What once filled my heart with pride, now fills it with dread. To die on the battlefield without knowing what is truly in her heart would be the same as my young self dying without seeing victory.

As he prepared for battle and donned each piece of armor, they felt heavier than normal. Only adding to the weight of his earlier question and the hopes of survival.

There were 1000 warriors for the city, Sir Francis and the captain included in those. Even still, with his formidable presence and track record, the sight seen at the top of the brick wall surrounding the city was daunting. At least 2,500 of the enemy’s soldiers were in formation with their spearmen in the front, swordsmen in the middle, and archers bringing up the rear.

The city had stood so long due to its geographical advantages, with the back half being protected by a cliffside backed by an unclimbable mountain. The city’s waterfall and river flowed from end to end, clearing the castle wall and helping form a moat before continuing out into the wildlands. This geography meant that the city typically did not need as large of an army and was easy to defend. But the king’s feud had reached a point of boil with his enemy, and they came to claim his jeweled crown.

There were 300 men, including Sir Francis, waiting atop the castle with their bows and swords alike. As the city’s defenses found their places, the city became still. The sounds of metal clanging, wood slamming against brick, and the soldiers’ chatter continuously decreased.

As Sir Francis’ heartbeat continued to rise, the enemy horn sounded. Their horses charged the gate, but the sound of the horn continued to echo through the ears of the soldiers on both sides.

As the enemy army charged the gates, Sir Francis yelled, “Bowmen! Fire at the front line! Aim for their horses to slow them down!”

He gripped his sword, turning his knuckles white, but he kept his fear inside. His eyes surveying the battlefield to direct the troops and prepare for the entrance of the enemy. As fortified as the city was, and as prepared as the troops were, the enemy would push to enter soon enough.

The horses on the battlefield screamed as arrows plunged into their bodies, and the men riding them screamed as their legs broke under the weight of the falling horses. Blood began to soak the battlefield as animals and humans alike were slaughtered. Row after row of soldiers yelled their frantic war cries as they charged, inching closer to the city’s gates. Enough bodies were piled on the battlefield that soldiers began to use them as cover from the arrows that rained down on them.

As the enemy neared the city’s bridges, Sir Francis sharped the focus of his command, “Longbowmen, switch your aim towards the bridges and keep the enemy out of the water! All other bowmen, continue firing at will!”

The knight unsheathed his sword. We’re minutes away from breach. Hundreds of men slaughtered for the will of one and the fight between the few. How many children abandoned? How many loves gone untold? What a barbarous existence, characterized as glory for the king.

Cracks formed in the wood of the city’s doors as the men slammed their instruments and bodies on both sides, giving their bodies to the king they served. The enemy’s men finally gathered enough of the battlefield to drive a battering ram, over and over into the left bridge of the city – just a half of a mile from Sir Francis who was poised on the center left.

“Men, prepare for a leftward breach! Longbowmen, continue protecting the bridges. All other bowmen, be ready to draw your swords and defend them as they keep the enemy at bay! All-out war is about to begin! Now is the time to remember your children, remember your wives, your loved ones, and anyone you will take with you to Heaven! Remember them now, and then give way to your instincts. Fight for the city, fight for the king, and fight for your brothers!”

As Sir Francis finished his speech, the left gate exploded from the weight of the battering ram. Shards of wood, metal, and stone flew into the city’s soldiers, knocking them down and creating a pile of bodies. Swords clashed, and both sides men screamed cries of war and anguish as they attacked and died, each more violently than the last.

The blood of both sides began to stain the cities interior, giving it a new history for the victor. As the enemy began to breach past the opening on the bridge, pandemonium broke loose. The leftward archers drew their swords and joined the swordsmen of the interior, but the enemy’s forces began to overwhelm them.

Then, another explosion. The center gate sent the same shards flying into the city’s men and the enemy poured in.

My love, I fear my time is near. I have no family, and very little friends so you took my heart and became my north star. All that I did, I did for you. I hope you know that.

Before we met, I served you as a knight to your father. After we met, I served you as a man. I served you without considering my own will except for one thing, my love for you.

The fighting reached the base of the stairs below Sir Francis, and with those thoughts he charged into the battle. Slashing his sword as he went, taking down the enemy swordsmen with ease, and letting his mind go blank.

Slash, stab, block were the instincts that flowed through him. Not words in his mind, but actions from years of training and experience. He was no longer a leader, but a soldier, a machine meant to defend his homeland.

Slashing his way through the enemy’s troops he found his way to one of their captains. As they locked eyes, a circle opened on the battlefield with men of both sides providing room for this battle and to give them reprieve from their combat.

Sir Francis, armor covered in bloody handprints and slashes, breathed heavily as he stared at his opponent. A man, close to his equal in stature and dressed in chainmail, stood with the enemy’s green and red lion insignia on his shield but sword as clean as the day it was made. This man, his enemy, saved his energy for this fight. This was the fight to rally his men, to empower them to save their own lives.

Both men readied their swords, and the enemy charged confidently towards Sir Francis. In his armor, he could not move quickly to get out of the way but used his technique to parry the enemy’s sword and knock him off balance. As the enemy rushed again, Sir Francis sidestepped his attack and swung his sword, grazing the enemy’s thigh and slowing him down.

Only a few places he can kill me. But the worst is to knock me over. I must stay on my feet as a maneuver.

The enemy realized this and charged at full speed, Sir Francis sword pierced the enemy’s left shoulder but the force from his charge knocked him off balance. Moving with the sword now in his right hand, the enemy winced and swung at Sir Francis’ legs as he stumbled.

As quickly as it began, it is to end. Sir Francis thought as he fell.

As he fell, he swiped his sword at the enemy but missed. Their captain’s speed was too much.

With the ground beneath his back, the soldiers on both sides watched in silence. As was tradition, they could not interfere. This is where legends were made, and where they perished.

The enemy captain’s sword speared through Sir Francis’ breastplate and tasted blood. Sir Francis let out a gasp as blood shot from his mouth. As the sword pierced his armor, he swung his in revenge and caught the neck of the enemy. His energy fading, saw his sword pierce halfway through the right side of the enemy’s neck. Their captain’s eyes widened as the pain and realization of death swept in. His blood pooled on Sir Francis as they witnessed each other fading.

Both armies sat there in horror as their respected commanders, their storied commanders, their immortal leaders were on the verge of perishing.

In the realization that their fight was over, the fighting resumed between the two armies.

As the men fought around Sir Francis, he felt his vision begin to fade. The screams of the battlefield were no more to his ears. He no longer felt blood on his fingers or smelled the stench of death. All he could understand now were the words in his mind.

In my dying breaths, I think of you, my Princess. There is no one else I would rather think of, as I lay here. My senses are gone, and only an image of you remains in my mind. I will fight to keep it there. It will be the last thing I see. Before I go, could you answer me, would you love me when I am weak, even as you did when I was strong? Would you?