Sundown

charge

Ansel had followed him to the South-west even though Timothee wanted him to be in the castle to look after things.

As soon as he neared the area, he could see the fires burning and upon getting closer he could hear their shrieks. People were fleeing all around and they had sped their horses like never before to reach to their rescue.

Enemy men poured from all directions, coming from the thick of the forests and the little coastline, their wooden carcasses floating lazily in the water once they abandoned it. Timothee's men fired arrows in their direction, taking down tens of them in one launch.

"CHARGE!" Timothee commanded as soon as they were close enough to the attack site.

Timothee's destrier trampled down a man beneath his heavy feet as he sliced off the neck of another. Ansel tore through the lines of the enemy, his sword swinging expertly and spilling a trail of blood behind him.

His garrison did their best at taking down as many men as they could before they actually reached the mounted soldiers. There was blood and shrieking all around and Timothee felt alive. His heart raced and the rush of blood made his cheeks glow red as he killed enemy after enemy.

Within minutes, he could see that they had cleared a good number of them and the others were beginning to retreat the way they had come. Timothee was not going to let them escape that easily though and he instructed a knight to go after the escaping men and made sure none of them reached back to their lords.

Thankfully he had not lost on a lot of men in this small battle. At least eighty out of the hundred he had brought were returning home with him. This incident told him enough about the foe though. If this was how the entirety of their host was, then they were not seasoned warriors that came to attack Elmcaster.

They might be greater than Timothee's host in number but they did not match the skill his soldiers had. Discipline always prevailed over numbers in combat, he had learned as much in his little life strewn with swords and blood.

He left a few soldiers behind to tend to the damages the enemy had caused to the area's inhabitants and to escort the wounded to doctors and nursemaids.

"I had expected them to be better than that." Ansel spoke, pulling his horse up beside Timothee.

"Me too. Do you think all their host is like this?"

"We must not underestimate them. Maybe they sent the poorest part of their army to this flank, knowing we wouldn't have enough defences in this part."

"You're right." Timothee sighed and they sped their horses up to reach back to the castle as soon as they could.

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"Saoirse?" Little Rob called her, pulling at her sleeve as she warmed milk for one of the clergywomen.

"Hmm?"

"I am scared. They say the enemy has come." The small boy said, his voice breaking in the end.

She covered the pot at that and lifted the child in her arms, kissing his forehead after smoothing out his hair.

"There are so many brave people out there fighting for us, I'm sure we will be fine." She reassured him.

"You think so?"

"I know so. Besides, if the worst comes to the worst, I know how to use a blade pretty well myself, I'll protect you." She said and gave him a smile.

"I saw the prince teaching you how to do it. He is fighting out there too, isn't he?" Rob asked with the sweet innocence only a child could muster in their voice and Saoirse's heart gave a painful lurch.

It had been hard for her to accept the fact that Timothee was not hers anymore, rather, he never was. It had all just been an illusion- a beautiful one but an illusion nonetheless and no matter how much she wanted closure in this situation, she knew she could not get it.

"Yes he is. Why don't you go give Mother Malda this milk?" She said, putting the pot off the fire before pouring its contents in a glass and placing it in a tray for Rob to carry.

Her hand instinctively went inside her pocket to touch his dagger, like it so often did. She would have been certain that all the things that went down with Timothee were a dream had she not had this dagger to prove otherwise.

It was proof that he had touched her and looked at her with affection in his poetic eyes. It was also proof that she had been stupid and had placed her heart on the edge of a sword, hoping to not get cut when that was as impossible as the sun rising at night.

She felt the cold metal press almost painfully against her skin but she did not let go of it. Her eyes watered and she bit down on her lip to keep herself from crying.

"Please be safe." She whispered, hoping the gods would hear her.

No matter how much he had hurt her, she still could not bear the thought of him being dead or injured.

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a/n

do my action scenes make sense? Let me know if they need to be refined more.

love,

smriti x