25 Days of Writing – Day 17

Day 17: Your character has fallen in love. With who? Is it serious? Are they in a relationship with this person? How did they meet? Write a scene of your character either contemplating this significant other or directly interacting with them.

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Trey was overwhelmed. Each of his arms was gripped by at least two men. His sword was wrenched from his fingers. A blow came from behind and he dropped to his knees. His arms were pulled back painfully. He bent forward, trying to fold over and protect his exposed belly. The mail coif covering his head was torn off. It caught his ear and he felt his flesh tearing. A huge fist then gripped his hair and yanked him backward. He was forced onto his back, with his legs still bent beneath him. He felt his thigh muscles stretching. Firey agony radiated from the older stabbing wound to his leg.

He cried out, as he continued to struggle. He managed to twist his legs out from under his body, but was immediately restrained once he tried to push up with them. The weight of at least one man crashed down across his knees.

Trey cried out again. He heard the men laughing. He tried to pull his arms free and felt the sole of heavy boots crush his hands. Bones broke. He stopped fighting. Stillness surrounded him.

From afar, he heard the sounds of a sword fight, and the grunts of the opponents grappling in mortal battle. One of the fighters was a woman. It was Hanna. He could tell from her voice that she was struggling. He heard her cry out. Her opponent’s sword had met its mark. A couple more clangs of steel on steel and she screamed. There was a distant thud of a body falling. There was silence.

She was dead. Trey screamed for her. “Hanna!—” He was cut off by a sharp kick to the neck. He remained still for a moment, regaining his senses.

“And good riddance,” commented one of his attackers.

“His sword, my Lord,” another voice.

“A man of the Mark, aye? Is this true?”

Trey felt his hands being crushed further by heavy boots. The sleeve of his right arm was pushed up and his flesh twisted to expose the tattooed Mark on his forearm.

“Aye, indeed.”

Trey felt a boot stomping down on his hair. It pulled painfully. A slap came across his cheek. His eyes snapped open. A filthy grizzled old warrior bent over him, sneering. “Mark-bearer, aye? See? You are nothing.”

Trey renewed his efforts to escape the grasp of these men, but it was futile. He couldn’t move. Trey cried out in frustration and shut his eyes once more. He listened as the men moved around him, discussing his fate. His mind wandered to Hanna. He realized he was crying.

Hanna was gone. Really gone. She didn’t believe in the afterlife, so she was gone forever. Trey found himself praying. He prayed to God; he prayed to Rosaline. Please, take her in and keep her safe.

A kick in the ribs brought him back to his situation. The men stood over him and laughed. Trey’s eyes rolled. He would be dead soon as well. He must pray for his own deliverance.

But his mind traveled to Hanna again. He realized that he had wronged her. He treated her so badly. She had never done anything but care for him and he treated her like a dog. He had forced this situation upon her, and she had died. It was his fault. That was two women he had killed. Another cry escaped his lips.

Oh, to have the chance to make it right! She had trusted him. He had killed her. His tears flowed freely. He knew now that he had loved her for a while – maybe since the moment they had met. It all made sense to him now. He had held her that whole night after she killed the man of Falgarth and had discovered the plans for this battle. Of course! Why else would he have held her so? He had ignored his feelings, though. He blatantly refused to love her. He lied to himself and he treated her like garbage. He was worse to her than ever after that. Maybe.

He did give her that necklace, and the coins she needed for a new dress. His desire to do those things had surprised him. The clues were all there, but he denied them.

And now she was gone. He wanted her safe. He regretted dragging her into this war. But she served her duty. Valiantly. And she was dead. He killed her.

He prayed again. He prayed that he would see her in the afterlife. That she and Rose would know each other and be friends.

Suddenly, he could not breathe. A great weight was upon his chest. His eyes snapped open. The old warrior stood over him, with one foot firmly in the middle of Trey’s chest. The man held Trey’s own weapon, dangling it over Trey’s face.

“Too fine a weapon for the likes of you, boy,” grumbled the man. Then he laughed. The others around him laughed as well.

“Tis fitting that your own weapon shall be the one to kill you, aye?” laughed the man further.

Trey groaned and tried once again to pull away. It was to no avail.

“Let’s see here,” growled the man. He pressed the tip of Trey’s sword to Trey’s cheek. “Who do you belong to?” The man cut into Trey’s flesh, starting to carve out the letter ‘F.’ Trey jerked his head to the side. The blade cut his cheek to his ear.

“Damn!” exclaimed the man. “Hold him!”

Trey’s head was turned and held in place by a younger, brutish warrior. The old warrior began to carve into Trey’s other cheek. Trey lurched, and the blade slipped again, this time not just cutting into his own flesh, but into that of the man holding his head. A minor victory.

The old warrior pressed more of his weight onto Trey’s chest. Trey found he couldn’t breathe. The tip of the blade was pressed against Trey’s throat, just under his chin. “You die anyway boy,” the man growled.

Trey squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the blade digging into his neck. He knew that it was sharp enough that if the man simply let the weight of the sword press on his neck it would pierce his throat. He was dead.

His head swam. He searched for prayers but thought of Hanna. Please God!

“Please, don’t,” an angelic voice said. Trey cried loudly. In his mind he begged for swift passage into the next life.

“Please don’t kill him. I love him,” said the angel.

Those words echoed in his ears. He recognized the voice. It was Hanna. He was relieved. The weight on his chest lifted. He knew he was dead. But she was with him, and he was happy.

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