Unlikely Endings (Now Being Rewritten as: The Pursuit of a King)

Hurt

Terror seized Henry’s heart and he darted from his uncle’s lifeless body cradled in the King’s arms. He sprinted as fast as he could towards the gardens, vaguely aware of his knights rushing to follow him.

It was then that he saw them not fifty yards away from the castle; Amelia draped over Percival.

As he ran towards her he noticed the front of her dress soaked in blood. Henry swept her up into his arms and frantically checked for the source, he was shocked when she violently shoved him away.

“It’s not me!” she shrieked. Harry then saw the arrow impaled in the chest of his friend.

“Send for the bloody surgeon!” he screamed at the incoming knights. A few broke from the pack and ran back towards the castle. Already the bells were ringing signalling the attack.

Percival was unconscious and pale, blood still pooling beneath him and staining the green grass red. The arrow by some miracle had missed his heart but that by no means ensured his survival. Henry quickly ripped of his shirt and tore it into sections packing them around the arrow to keep it still.

Only after he was sure the arrow would not move an inch did he allow Sir Matthew and Philip to carry Percival back inside and to the surgeon’s quarters. He knew that it was all in the hands of God and the surgeon now.

Amelia was in complete shock her breath shallow and uneven as she stared blankly ahead of her. Henry quickly scooped her up and carried her into the castle; she was someone he could help. They reached his chambers and he immediately pulled the servant’s rope shouting for hot water as soon as Mrs. Evans poked her head through the door.

“Amelia?” he asked softly taking her face in his hands. Her skin was clammy and she shivered beneath his touch, tears threatening to spill at the edges of her eyes. He had never seen her this way; she always seemed so fiery and calculated. Henry then noticed how delicate each of her features was, how each part of her was so fragile.

“Amelia I’m going to take this off you” he explained carefully unlacing the ties that held her soiled dress together. Her only contribution was to numbly step out of it merely out of habit. She was left only in her under tunic and the fact that she merely stood there instead of making any attempt to cover herself worried Henry. The Amelia he had come to know would have been outraged at her state of undress and most likely delivered a stinging slap to further illustrate her point.

This girl was merely a shadow.

Mrs. Evans delivered the hot water along with a cloth and had to be shooed away muttering something about chaperones and common decency. Henry took the cloth and dipped it into the water and began cleaning off the blood that had congealed on Amelia’s skin. There was something so vulnerable about her at this moment that made him want to take her into his arms and never release her.

“Amelia you must rest” he whispered laying her down on his bed and covering her with the blankets. He too slipped beneath them and watched her intently as she drifted almost instantly into unconsciousness. She was still shivering so he pulled her to his bare chest and she immediately seemed to relax. As Henry stroked a stray hair away from her forehead he felt oddly at peace listening to her rhythmic breathing.

As Amelia lay sleeping on his chest time seemed to slow down and he could think clearly again. He couldn’t believe that the castle had been attacked after at least a hundred years of peace between the three kingdoms. This did not fit the pattern of the raiders that had murdered George. Their tactics were far more clumsy and relied on the elements of surprise. Henry had never known them to use poison.