Hedge Knight

Silver faded from the Father’s vision. It’s cloudy, blinding hue gave way to the darkness of the overcast skies above, and the vice that clamped over his mind faded, and he felt his lungs heave as what felt like the first breath in ages rattled from him. A breath that soon turned to a cough, producing blood that stained his lips. There was an impulse to wipe it away, but his arms did not respond. One was gone, replaced by a semblance of a limb derived from stone. The other was just a useless mass of flesh, sliced to ribbons and bleeding out into the ground. There was only a slight warmth to it as it pooled around him, draining from both his arm and the many wounds across his torso. He felt… cold, fading.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

How did it come to this?

Just days ago was walking with his wife, with his son. Rotek’ei would run ahead of them, pestering them with questions about the wider world, about what lay beyond the trees that hung over them. Touk’ai would smile, her radiance chasing away the shadows around them. She would answer their son, tell him of the Shattered Plains beyond the Spine, of the vast peaks of Rodun and the depths of the caves that lie within Ironmarch. Stories from countless years of wandering, but it was never enough for the insatiable Rotek’ei. Still he would want more, still he would be curious. He would proclaim to the trees that he would see it all, walk it all. He would look to his father, eyes so bright with life.

Eyes that were forever closed.

Tears pooled at his eyes, trailing down his face as they overflowed. For a brief moment he could feel Touk’ai’s hand brush against his face, an imaginary touch that wiped the tears as they fell. He could hear his wife humming, the sound summoning a tremble at the pit of his stomach.

How did it come to this?

His body shuddered as he wept, the last of his strength spent as he felt his chest clench with every sob. His limbs started to feel distant as the cold crept over him, the pain that lanced across his body fading as darkness crept at the corners of his vision. The ache at his chest, however, remained the same, only intensifying as the rest of his senses started to fade. Raw, primal instinct told the Father that he didn’t want to go, a natural drive that told him to fight, to pull himself together somehow, to not fade away.

The rest of him told him to give up.

There was nothing waiting for him. No smile, no questions… nothing. Even his blind pursuit of vengeance had ended in failure, costing him the life of Touk’ai, his life mate, in the process. All had been taken from him, and he was given nothing in return.

He knew the fate of his corpse, knew the value that men held in his heart, in the hearts of his wife and son. Their bodies would be carved open, ripped apart as men greedily dug for the treasure they sought within, denying them peace even in death. Despair clawed at the Father’s chest, and he could feel himself start to slowly sink.

Only the faintest sound of footsteps broke through.

His eyes listed to the side, vision still blurred from tears that flowed freely, but still clear enough to see that it was a man that stood before him, a mass of people behind him, off in the distance. Bent and broken armor covered his body as one of his arms hung loosely at his side, and as he closed in a pronounced limp marred his stride. He was without a helmet this time, but the Father recognized the energy that clung to him. The wisps of silver Aether that clawed at the warrior’s skin, but never piercing through. Wisps that soon faded, telling him all that he needed to know.

The Sword was gone, its corruption far beyond their reach.

The Father looked at the man’s face, one that, upon first glance, betrayed little to know emotion, but he knew better than to believe that. There was an almost aimless gaze from his eyes, looking through the Father’s body rather than at it, and his shoulders betrayed the weight they carried by the slight slouch in the warrior’s posture. It was subtle, and the Father might not have even noticed it were he not feeling that exact same weight press down upon him.

The weight of failure.

Is it gone?

The man turned to look the Father in the eyes, and gave a slight nod. Sadness hung over his eyes, and for a moment the Father could only feel pity for the man as they met each other’s gaze.

The man drew his sword, and the Father felt himself tense, that last spasm of wariness draining his remaining strength. He looked at the man as he approached, sword in hand, resignation slowly settling over him as he prepared for what was to come. A moment that never came, for the warrior turned around soon after, facing the crowd of people that had followed him. He said nothing to them, but kept his grip firm on his sword even as he rested its tip against the ground. Confusion swept through the Father’s mind at first, but as he saw that the crowd remained at a distance, he knew what the man was doing.

Even broken, he was standing guard.

There was a newfound lucidity to the Father’s mind as he felt himself fade away. Though part of him wished to curse the man and his species for what they had done, he knew that the warrior before him had done all he could to prevent it from happening, and his reward was a broken body and the pressure that pressed upon it. His slouch was more noticeable from behind, and the Father knew anymore would soon make the man collapse. Yet still he stood, unflinching, unmoving.

What is your name?

The man’s head tilted towards him, “Helbram.”

Helbram… I am Korok’ai. I thank you.

Helbram shook his head, “I am not worthy of it,” he looked to the sky and let out a long, drawn out breath, “All of you deserved better… I am sorry.”

The Father shook his head.

Of all people… you are the one that should not apologize.

A slight tremble shook Helbram, but he betrayed nothing else, “I wish you and your family peace within the Cycle.”

And I wish you fortune in this life.

Korok’ai closed his eyes, and let himself slip away.

 

 

It had been hours since the end of the battle. In its climax a wake of silence was left, smothering all but the sobs that broke through as people left the shelter, only to discover that a loved one had fallen in defense of the town. Elly assisted with moving the bodies of the fallen, lining them up as Sophia said prayers for each unfortunate soul. Tears streamed down the former Maiden’s face as she looked upon people that she knew, people that she would never see again, but still she pressed on. Mary and Marcus were by her side, the latter hovering around her as if he was ready to catch her at any second. He did not meet the eyes of Elly or any of her companions, most notably of the man that stood in front of the Father’s corpse. They were all aware that Marcus spoke due to impulses driven mad, but the clear was still in the young man’s eyes.

Leaf took the lead in helping clear the bodies of the animals that had swarmed Southsheer. A few adventurers joined him in this endeavor, namely Roger and August, who had fortunately recovered from his unconscious state with minor injuries. A few of the soldiers had walked up to the corpses of the animals, kicking them and spitting at them in anger, but such behavior was snuffed out by Leaf, who did little to hide the anger in his expression as such things were done.

Jahora worked with a few of the townsfolk in further dressing up the wounded. Though Sophia’s healing magics were potent, they had mostly prevented the most grievous injuries from taking more lives. Many still held wounds that rendered them unable to help themselves, and gave silent thanks as they were treated. The Mage looked the most downtrodden of the group, letting her empathy show clearly as she comforted the wounded to the best of her ability. Elly knew, however, that her friend’s sadness was only compounded further by another source, something further cemented as her glances drifted to the warrior who stood off in the distance.

Helbram had not moved from the Father’s corpse ever since their work started. He had put his helmet back on, hiding his expression behind its visor. His broken arm was propped up by his sword, its tip pressed into the ground as a makeshift stand, and he kept an upright stance as he stood guard in front of the Father. He was so still that one could have presumed him to be a statue, and had Elly not known better she would have assumed such conclusions were correct. Past the time that he took up his post, townsfolk and soldiers alike found themselves too busy to pay the warrior much attention, but Elly did notice a few looks of anger, of disdain thrown his way. Looks that had filled her with an anger of her own, but she knew that lashing out at them wouldn’t better the situation.

When she had helped with moving the last of the fallen she walked away from them, letting the townsfolk and soldiers mourn the dead in peace. Around the same time, Jahora and Leaf had also finished with their tasks. They gathered a distance away from Helbram, who still had not moved. Upon looking at the state of his friend, Leaf frowned and made to walk up to him, but Elly held him back. She produced a small glass bottle filled with a red liquid. A healing potion, gifted to her by the alchemist that sheltered much of the townsfolk in her store. Despite her disgruntled attitude, she had supplied most of her stock to the soldiers before the battle and was key in treating many of the wounded afterwards. She had been told of the group’s exploits by Roger, and had given them enough potions for each of them, including Helbram.

“He’s not going to take it,” Leaf said, “The man’s refused you four times already.”

“Yes well what I lack in persuasion I make up for in persistence,” Elly said, clear focus in her eyes.

Jahora held the same look, “We’ll force feed the bloody thing to him if we have to.”

Nodding to each other, they walked up to Helbram, who, beyond a slight turn of his head, betrayed little else of his state. Elly held up the potion, swirling its contents in an attempt to catch his attention. An attempt that failed.

“We’ve no tasks to keep us away now,” Elly said, “It would be best for you to take this now. Unless you’re in the mood for a lengthy diatribe on Ruhian philosophy.”

She smirked as she spoke, hoping that Helbram would respond with his usual relaxed wit, perhaps even provoking her to deliver on her threat.

He said nothing, and continued to stare ahead.

“Oi, you better-” Leaf started to march forward, only for Jahora to stop him as she pulled him back. She shook her head, and Leaf, despite the sigh that he gave, stepped back.

Elly walked closer to Helbram, “It would be far easier to stand guard without a broken arm,” she softened her tone, but did not reach out to him.

He shook his head, “Give it to someone else, someone that-”

“Someone that deserves it more, yes I know,” she said with frustration, “but I am afraid that none are more deserving of this than you.”

“Please, do not say that,” there was a slight crack in his voice. Elly felt a pang of guilt at the pit of her stomach, but pressed on.

“You do not believe yourself worthy of aid?” she inquired, “Or do you not believe me worthy enough to give it to you?”

“Elly, that is not what-”

“I know, Helbram, I know,” she reached out to him this time, placed a hand on his uninjured arm, “But at least this is getting you to speak. I was starting to believe that you’d fallen unconscious standing up.”

He sighed, but said nothing.

She returned one of her own and gave him a sad smile, “You know, in my research I have been exposed to many stories, countless legends of Ruhian heroes throughout the ages, and there is one near constant that I have seen through all of them.”

Helbram still did not say anything.

“Hard decisions made in difficult situations,” she said, “Granted, there was the occasional cut and dry bout of heroics, but in history such events are the exception, not the norm. It is the same for this age as well. Bards and rumor may try to paint a more idyllic picture of such events, but at the heart of such deeds a difficult decision has to be made, and there are many out there that are not capable of making such choices.”

Still he did not say anything.

“We know what you are thinking,” Elly said as she motioned back to the Leaf and Jahora, “you believe that someone stronger, someone better would have handled the situation differently, would have saved everyone. Perhaps others may not be able to see it, but to us it is as clear as day.”

“Then you should know that I am right,” Helbram said.

“Perhaps you are,” Elly admitted, “but that does not change what happened, does it?”

She grabbed his shoulders, gently turning him to face her, “They weren’t here. You were. You were the one who took action, you were the one that saved as much as you could. Despite all the hate, the pain, you kept pushing forward. There are many who cannot say the same, the ‘stronger’ among them.”

Helbram moved his hand to hers, “None of this would have happened if I had just taken the Sword in the first place.”

“You cannot be certain of that,” she held onto his hand, not letting it slip away, “something worse may have happened, something better, but the time to dwell on such things has long passed,” her grip tightened, “what has passed has passed, the best that we can do is to learn from what has happened and keep moving forward. I know you are capable of this, you have proven it time and time again. If you mire yourself in the swamp of what could have been, the only thing you will do is sink.”

She pressed her forehead against Helbram’s helmet, “You are a good man, Helbram, and I am not going to let you believe otherwise.”

Helbram stayed silent, but moved his arm. She let go of his hand as he did, letting him wrap it around her in a hug. His touch was light, squeezing her with only the barest amount of pressure, but there was a weight that settled around her as he did so. She wrapped both of her arms around him and held him close. There was a slight tremble to his large frame, like a tension that had pressed upon him had been released, but not all the way.

“You are exceedingly stubborn,” he said, his tone lighter than before.

Elly snorted, “Perhaps you should say that to a mirror before you cast further judgment.”

Helbram laughed, it was weak, but it gave her relief nonetheless, “I shall take that under consideration.”

Another pair of arms wrapped around their legs, and Elly looked down to see Jahora clinging to them. Her eyes were full of tears as she looked up at the both of them.

“She’s right,” the Mage said, “especially about the stubborn part.”

“So take the godsdamned potion already,” Leaf said as he clamped a hand on Helbram’s uninjured shoulder, “or do you plan on slapping people away with your noodle arm?”

Helbram snorted, “It would give people pause, would it not?”

“Aye, listening to the fine symphony of snapping bone,” Leaf said in a dry tone, “Something I’d rather not grace my ears, if you would be so kind.”

Helbram sighed and released Elly from his arm, “Fine,” he held out his hand, “The potion, please.”

Elly smiled and uncorked the bottle. Before Helbram took it, he moved his visor up. His eyes were still tired, but there was a brightness to them now, a sense of strength that told her that things would be alright. He took the potion and drank it down, flinching slightly as he finished off the last of the bitter draught.

“It certainly tastes… potent,” he said, wincing as his broken arm twitched. The limb continued to shift about uncontrollably as the potion took effect and she could see Helbram flinching despite his best efforts as his body started to heal.

“It’s going to take the better part of the day for that to fully heal,” Jahora explained, “it’s not going to feel good, but it is better than waiting weeks.”

“You are… right,” he said while flinching, “I shall take this as punishment for being silent with you all earlier.”

“The last thing you need is more punishment,” Leaf motioned to both the bodies of the Father and the Mother, “We’ll keep watch over them. You need rest.”

“We all need rest,” Helbram said, “So we will just keep an eye on them together.”

“A fine solution,” Elly said, “just know if it does come to blows Jahora and I shall be throwing stones.”

“Agreed,” Jahora said, “though I have been known to have a mean kick to the shins from time to time.”

Helbram snorted, “Truly fearsome, I daresay that will keep them all at bay.”

The Mage nodded with a satisfied smile, but then her eyes widened, “I just realized something.”

Helbram tilted his head as he looked at her.

“You and I, we’re even now.”

His eyes narrowed as his confusion deepened.

“I destroyed a priceless magical artifact,” she said with a hint of pride, “you tossed one into the sea. I’d say we’re square now.”

Helbram paused as he considered her statement, then started to shake. He turned his head up and laughed. Not much strength carried it, but it still rang around them just the same. They all joined him, and when Elly looked up, she could see that the skies were clearing.

Author’s Note: So the purpose of this chapter was to both wrap up some threads as well as show more of Helbram's mental state. It's somber, and quite heavy overall especially with the Father, but I didn't want to breeze past the post battle without properly reflecting on what actually happened. I want these events to have some weight to it, and I think moments like this really cement that feeling I'm going for. This was not a clean battle, it was messy and as a result there really isn't a lot of cause for celebration. Despite that, I also wanted for there to be sparks of hope, which is why I ended it on a high note and with Helbram recovering some from the mental and physical beating he took. As moody as I get with the writing sometimes I always want to have a thread of hope present, and I think I managed to relay some of that here. Let me know what you think though! If it didn't land or if I was too mopey tell me, always wanna make sure that these things are the best I can make them.

 

Till next time, have yourselves a wonderful day! :)