(no subject)
OK, so this is the "first love" story for Edward, attached to a follow-on to the last thing I wrote. It is probably a bit more informative as to his characterisation and background than I'd like, but not horribly so. Enjoy!
A roar erupted from the Freiboden musket line. Smoke clogged the air, hot lead and death span into the charging Mill-en-ese cavalry. Blood spurted up, and the screams of horses and men rang across the battlefield as the front line of the charge collapsed into a frenzy of pain, chaos and death.
Cowards the Royalists were not - the few survivors rode on, emerging out of the smoke with pistols and heavy sabres held in hands slick with sweat and blood. They hurtled into the revolutionary soldiers, trampling men under hooves and carving into their bodies with their hungry swords. Pistol-shots rang out, the butts of muskets were brought into play and a swirling melee engulfed the hilltop, dust mingling with smoke and blood mingling with sweat as the armies clashed under the hot sun.
Edward thrust the bile back into his throat and forced himself to move forward. He could be of little use here, but better for him to die than another - drawing his sword, he threw himself in front of the nearest horseman. Desperately dodging trampling hooves and slashing sabre, parrying and ducking and dodging, he rushed headlong into the fray.
Seeing one of their number charging in such a suicidal manner into the melee, Edward’s squad raised themselves from their place on the flank and charged into the swirling battle down below, giving up the tactical advantage of the copse they had been hidden within for one death-or-glory charge that might bring them victory.
Seeing the wave of seeming madmen descend from the flank, and watching a seemingly mad bearded soldier hurtling at him with no regard to his own safety, the lancer in command of the Mill-en force panicked. Turning his horse, he desperately fought to escape the melee - and as he turned, his men saw his flight, and their heart left them. Panic spread fast, and with that one man’s cowardice the battle turned. Fleeing down the hill, the proud lancers of Mill-en were picked off one by one by musket shot from the crest.
Edward fell to his knees, surrounded by the horrors of war - dead and dying men and horses, moans and screams and the stench of darkpowder, spilled blood and the voided bowels of the fallen. He felt bile rise again in his throat, and he leant forward and emptied his stomach onto the trampled grass.
Edward had never felt worse than when he was led into the tavern that evening surrounded by proud soldiers, jostling him and congratulating him for having turned the battle. Some even thanked him for saving their lives - he had done nothing, Smith damn it, but what he had to do - what glory was there in doing what you had to do? No, he had not tried to win the battle there. All he had know was that his comrades below were dying, and that it was better that he fell in their place - there was no thought of tactics, that charge could have gotten them all killed as easily as saving them.
Edward tried to seem happy as drink after drink were pressed into his hands, tried to live up to the image of heroism that they had made of him - but his heart wasn’t in it. He alone knew the fear he’d felt, the sense of helplessness as he had run into the battle - he was no hero.
A soft arm slipped around Edward’s waist. He looked up, startled from his drunken reverie, to see one of the tavern’s serving maids leant across him, bodice halfway unlaced and a smile upon her face.
“I hear you saved a lot of men’s lives today. I hear you’re a hero.”
She slid herself into his lap, her arms tight around him and her ample chest pressed against his body.
“I’ve never met a hero before…”
Edward’s drunken mind tried to resist at first - he wasn’t worthy of this, dammit - but as she leaned in close he decided that if he was going to have to pretend he was going to do it properly.
Edward was lead away upstairs, and for a moment lost himself and managed to forget it all in the girl’s warm embrace.
For a few hours, everything was all right. For the rest of that night, he forgot his guilt, and life felt good for a while.
A roar erupted from the Freiboden musket line. Smoke clogged the air, hot lead and death span into the charging Mill-en-ese cavalry. Blood spurted up, and the screams of horses and men rang across the battlefield as the front line of the charge collapsed into a frenzy of pain, chaos and death.
Cowards the Royalists were not - the few survivors rode on, emerging out of the smoke with pistols and heavy sabres held in hands slick with sweat and blood. They hurtled into the revolutionary soldiers, trampling men under hooves and carving into their bodies with their hungry swords. Pistol-shots rang out, the butts of muskets were brought into play and a swirling melee engulfed the hilltop, dust mingling with smoke and blood mingling with sweat as the armies clashed under the hot sun.
Edward thrust the bile back into his throat and forced himself to move forward. He could be of little use here, but better for him to die than another - drawing his sword, he threw himself in front of the nearest horseman. Desperately dodging trampling hooves and slashing sabre, parrying and ducking and dodging, he rushed headlong into the fray.
Seeing one of their number charging in such a suicidal manner into the melee, Edward’s squad raised themselves from their place on the flank and charged into the swirling battle down below, giving up the tactical advantage of the copse they had been hidden within for one death-or-glory charge that might bring them victory.
Seeing the wave of seeming madmen descend from the flank, and watching a seemingly mad bearded soldier hurtling at him with no regard to his own safety, the lancer in command of the Mill-en force panicked. Turning his horse, he desperately fought to escape the melee - and as he turned, his men saw his flight, and their heart left them. Panic spread fast, and with that one man’s cowardice the battle turned. Fleeing down the hill, the proud lancers of Mill-en were picked off one by one by musket shot from the crest.
Edward fell to his knees, surrounded by the horrors of war - dead and dying men and horses, moans and screams and the stench of darkpowder, spilled blood and the voided bowels of the fallen. He felt bile rise again in his throat, and he leant forward and emptied his stomach onto the trampled grass.
Edward had never felt worse than when he was led into the tavern that evening surrounded by proud soldiers, jostling him and congratulating him for having turned the battle. Some even thanked him for saving their lives - he had done nothing, Smith damn it, but what he had to do - what glory was there in doing what you had to do? No, he had not tried to win the battle there. All he had know was that his comrades below were dying, and that it was better that he fell in their place - there was no thought of tactics, that charge could have gotten them all killed as easily as saving them.
Edward tried to seem happy as drink after drink were pressed into his hands, tried to live up to the image of heroism that they had made of him - but his heart wasn’t in it. He alone knew the fear he’d felt, the sense of helplessness as he had run into the battle - he was no hero.
A soft arm slipped around Edward’s waist. He looked up, startled from his drunken reverie, to see one of the tavern’s serving maids leant across him, bodice halfway unlaced and a smile upon her face.
“I hear you saved a lot of men’s lives today. I hear you’re a hero.”
She slid herself into his lap, her arms tight around him and her ample chest pressed against his body.
“I’ve never met a hero before…”
Edward’s drunken mind tried to resist at first - he wasn’t worthy of this, dammit - but as she leaned in close he decided that if he was going to have to pretend he was going to do it properly.
Edward was lead away upstairs, and for a moment lost himself and managed to forget it all in the girl’s warm embrace.
For a few hours, everything was all right. For the rest of that night, he forgot his guilt, and life felt good for a while.