King~ Ch 24
Sweat became a sheen over Amice's muddied forehead as she wrestled another man into the dirt. She had lost count now, body after body falling at the might of her sword.
Her wounds screeched under the exertion, her own blood mingling with that of her enemies as it coated her clothing, a grotesque shade of blackened red.
The battle seemed to rage around her with no promise of cease, and she could not remember a time when she was not swinging her sword, a time where she was not doing deaths work. But she pushed on, forcing herself onward, just like the men around her.
She tried to remain steady as she matched the brutality of the men who tried to slay her, but the gash in her thigh brought with it a weakness, making her unusually unbalanced. Yet her capability for survival did not waver, and she defeated all that challenged her.
But her keen eyes continued to train on Henry, following him to ensure he was never in a place of danger.
And she remained that way, her focus partially dedicated to her king. That is, until her gaze fell upon a body sprinting to the forest. He was small and scrawny, she could see it, even from afar, and his form brought a flash of similarity to mind. No, not similarly. Recognition.
It was the boy she had comforted, in her own forceful way, by the tents back at the camp. His armour was encased in grime as he powered through the smothered grass plain to the cover of the trees. She watched as two Englishmen trailed him, heading into the dense forestry, fleeing from battle.
She could not understand. Why would they run now? They had their chance before they engaged the enemy, why abandon hope at this moment? Had they foreseen a loss that Amice could not have predicted? Confusion set upon her brow as she distractedly watched them vanish into nature's maze.
But then she caught glimpse of why. They were not running from a loss, they were running towards a victory. She saw the fleeting image of the prince of France upon a steed, weaving into the trees. He had three others with him, also atop of horses.
The foolish boy. He was not heading toward victory, he was shaking hands with suicide.
Amice's morality tore through her. She felt the weight of guilt in her chest before she had even thought through her actions.
She spared nothing more than a glance at Henry, her gaze holding adoration and love as she watched him, never giving in.
Then she tore her eyes away, her legs carrying her away from him, her thigh wailing in protest as she dashed across the field and vanished into the tree line.
~
Amice stood, guarded by the thick trunk of a twisted tree, watching silently as the men marched through the woods, before meeting their enemy.
The trio stood, swords raised as the small cavalry approached, the horses struggling to manoeuvre the dense woodwork. Yet when they made it level with the Englishmen, it was the Prince who spoke first.
"Get out of my way boy." He directed it to the scrawny boy that took post at the centre of the triangle formation. His accent was thick as he spoke and his tone was patronising and degrading.
"I don't think so." Retorted the boy, and Amice grit her teeth as he poked the bear.
"Move or you will be moved."
The boy did not falter, and Amice watched as the French Prince signalled with his hand, the order of attack.
One of his men instantly loaded his bow, striking down an Englishman easily at this range. But the other two did not halt as they screeched a battlecry and raced onward.
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The King ~ Timothée Chalamet
Fanfiction"A crown is a great weight to bear. But even greater is the weight of a crown at war." ~ "You are not like other women I have met Amice." He speaks honestly. ~ Every king has his subjects, his council, his advisors... his queen. ~ Based on the film...
