Time Is On My Side; Lashton

14th Century (4) +

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We were tired, everyone was tired. The war had been raging for many years without a clear end in sight. Many men were injured or sickly. Those who weren't normally sat around a small fire as the day's battle ended. But that night was different.

"Lets go out for some drinks, Luke, let off a load tonight, mate," Michael said as he came into my tent where I was scribbling out a letter that was to be sent back home to my mother in the event of my death if it ever occurred during battle. Each soldier wrote a different one, because each day was different than the one before.

"Fine," I said to Michael as I set the pen into the ink well for the night. "Just let me get some money for drinks because I can feel several pleading for me to down them."

Michael and a few others, along with myself, went to a local tavern that seemed to be buzzing with customers at that late hour.

"A drink for each of my men, please Madam," I smiled at the healthy looking woman who was serving another man his drink.

"Only 'cause you said please," she smiled back before handing each one of us a pint.

I situated myself on an open seat at the wooden bar top, while the others went to join the fun of dancing to the string band.

It didn't take me long to finish my first glass, nor my second, or my third. I was blinking a bit harder by my fourth. On my fifth pint of the strong alcohol, my sight was completely blurred but my senses became more vivid than before.

"Another," I slurred out, wanting to forget the days, the months I had been away and killing other men. It wasn't my choice to come to war, but I came because it was expected for the young and unmarried to fight since they had nothing important to leave behind like a wife or children.

"I think that's enough for you soldier," Heidi, the woman, said with a slight laugh.

"But I want another," I pleaded in almost an whine.

"I'll pay for it, if you get him another." A new voice said to Heidi. I could see her shake her head and pour me another.

"You're welcome," said the same voice.

"Right! Excuse my bad manners, thank you," I giggled out after I had swallowed a swig of the harsh liquid.

"M'Ashton," the golden-haired stranger said with a chuckle.

"Luke," I said before throwing my head back, downing the rest of my drink.

Ashton and I carried on a conversation for a while, or at least, I believe we did. I was so drunk at that point that I probably wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between several exchanged words and an entire speech.

And I also didn't realize the slight French accent that laced Ashton's voice. The accent of the people that we, the British, have been fighting for so long.

"...and he stepped on the gun, and–whoops! Oh, clumsy me," I exclaimed as I spilled my drink all over myself.

"Here, let me help you," Ashton offered, grabbing a rag from over the counter, and wiping me up with it. One of his large hands rested on my knee while the other held the cloth, swiping across my lap with it to mop up my mess. And I could blame it on the liquor, or I could simply own the fact that I found his hands on me so bloody attractive.

He seemed to notice my sudden change in behavior and he stopped his movements, simply staring into my tired, intoxicated eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked, the hand that was on my knee slowly starting to make its way up my thigh. "Is there something you need from me?"