WAR | Timothée Chalamet

4 | Underneath The Willow-Tree

Y/N

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For three days, I nursed him back to health.

My mother refused to go in the room, her mind set on the idea that Timothée was nothing more than a burden. He wasn't a burden to me, not in the slightest. I found comfort in his presence, a feeling I had not felt in a long time.

Once he was strong enough to go outside, I took him to my secret spot in the village. Of course, considering Lourdes was small, it wasn't very secret at all. A large willow-tree sat overlooking a pond, it's leaves falling across the sky and over the ground.

"I'm afraid of tomorrow," I whispered, watching the waves ripple against the land.

Timothée and I were sitting underneath the tree, his back resting against the trunk, and my back resting against his chest. In such little time, we managed to find solace with each other, and now I was dreading each coming day.

"Why?" the boy responded, his fingers brushing along the side of my arm.

"You cannot stay here forever," I said, "you know that."

He was silent for a moment, but I could almost hear his thoughts. From afar, I could see a bird fly just above the water line, it's belly barely touching the pond. Peace is what I felt with him, and when he was gone, I knew I'd never have it again.

Not in Lourdes.

"We could run away," he breathed, "explore the valleys of the North, just the two of us."

"There is nothing for us in the North, or the South."

"Would each other be enough?"

"Sometimes having enough isn't fair," I sighed, "my people need me here."

"And so do I."

"Valor needs you, Timothée, your kingdom is at war. If they find you here, they will kill you."

"My kingdom will always be at war," he said, "I was a fool to think I could change that."

"No," I frowned, sitting up and turning to face him, "you are a fool to give up. If I could go with you, I would."

I brushed one of his curls out of his face, his olive-eyes shining against the sunlight. He was so perfect; the incarnation of an angel. Yet he was of a kingdom I could ever respect.

"Do you mean that?" he asked, "that you would go with me?"

"You know I can't, but if there was any possibility, I would."

"Do you promise?"

"Timothée-"

"Do you promise?"

I paused, my hand falling from his cheek, and onto his chest. I could feel his heart beating through the thin fabric, quickening with every breath.

"Yes," I said softly, "I promise."

He sat up as well, his arm snaking around my back, and pulling me closer. I wanted to live forever in this moment, to live forever with him. War was such an ugly thing.

"I will come back for you," he muttered into my ear, "I give you my word."

"Your word means nothing," I frowned, "you cannot come back. You will die."

"We all die eventually."

"But if you die crossing the border, it will be my fault. I cannot, and I shall not live with your blood on my hands."

I stood up, brushing off the broken leaves on my skirt. I loved him, it was true, but he was going down a path of certain destruction. I would be happier knowing he was alive, then to know he came back for me and failed.

"Supper should be ready soon," I said, stalking off towards the cottage, "come when you will."

As I neared the gate, I heard him call out to me. When he said my name, I had no choice but to turn and listen. I loved it when he said my name.

"The war will end," he said, "you must trust me."

How could I trust him? He may know the Prince of Valor, but he has no power over what happens. No king has ever deserved my respect, and they never will. A knight could not fix a century old divide. I didn't respond, turning on my heel and heading back inside the cottage.

When war prevailed, love would not.

So ours could no longer.