LJ Idol, Season 9 - Week 29
title: The Pride of the Fairhair
topic: gauntlet
There is a woman standing on a hill, shielding her eyes with one hand and scanning the fields before her. Somewhere beyond the grass is an army, marching towards her.
Spread out across the land behind her is her own army, men and some women who swore to follow her even into death. They have been fighting for some years now and they are tired, but they have not deserted her.
But she is leading them to their doom. She knows it, even if they do not. She feels guilty that she has brought them this far, only for them to be denied the victory they - and she - deserve.
She pulls a leather gauntlet over one hand, raises her arm, and whistles. After a minute or two a hawk comes spiraling down out of the sky with slow sweeps of its brown and white feathers. It lands on her outstretched arm, blinking at her.
"What did you see, my beauty?" she asks it. It cocks its head. "Are they very distant?"
A man comes trotting up the hill behind her. The hawk makes a curious noise. The woman doesn't turn.
"What news, captain?" the man asks.
"No news," she answers. "They are at least two days' march from here, as I thought. We have time to rest and fortify our position."
"We are running low on supplies. Even the horses are exhausted. We are in no shape to fight, even with two days of rest."
"What do you suggest?" she asks without anger. This is her army and this is her fight, but the man is her cousin and her lieutenant, and she will listen to his opinion. "When they arrive, they will be tired from their march. We will be fresh."
"We will not be fresh," he retorts. "For that we need reinforcements and a month of leisure. Two days will get us nothing." He stands next to her, watching her face even as she is watching the landscape. The hawk tilts its head at him. "We are dying, cousin. On our feet or on our knees, your army is going to break."
"I know," she says sadly. "But I can give you two days."
"And I said it will not be enough."
"This is our best option, cousin." She turns to face him. "Should we run? Should we surrender? Better to die on our feet, swords in hand, then to submit to them - to him - to be treated like slaves in our own homes. Better to water the land with our blood than to plow it in our subjugation."
Neither of them says anything for several minutes. A slight breeze blows around their heads.
"Now find my help," she whispers to the hawk. "Return and tell me how many, and how far." She throws up her gauntleted arm, launching the hawk into the sky. It soars away, screeching. She watches it go.
"There is no help," the man - her cousin - tells her. "We are alone now. We have been deserted by everyone who pledged their swords and their friendship. No one will support a cause not their own, when that cause begins to fail."
"You are wrong."
"I am not. You have me, and you have the army scattered across the ground behind us. But that is all." He puts his hand on her arm, and his tone softens. "We will die, cousin. We will follow you as long as you lead us, but you must know that you are leading us to our graves."
"I know. And it fills me with sorrow."
"Is there no way to surrender with dignity?"
"What do you think?" She turns a calm gaze on him. She can see her own death in front of her, as well as the deaths of her cousin and many of her men and women, but those deaths have a purpose. As much as it causes her pain to have led so many good men and women to ruin, she knows their inevitable defeat will still serve her cause.
Perhaps she was always doomed to failure. Even in the beginning, she was outmanned. Her opposition could raise more swords. She might have always had self-determination and unbendable pride and a certain amount of money on her side, but her enemies are entrenched and wealthy, and their leaders have offered greater material rewards.
She does not think that they will keep their promises, but the prizes that they dangle are tempting indeed.
"I think we will fight and we will die," her cousin says now. "But to what purpose?"
"So that future generations can have their revenge. Not our children's children, likely not even their children, but generations down the line, they will sing of us, and they will cry vengeance for our deaths."
He is silent.
"I swear it, cousin," she says. "Decades hence - centuries, even - they will still remember us. They will remember the Pride of the Fairhair - you, and me, and the army that marched under my flag - and they will avenge us."
Patriotic fervor creeps into her voice. It is a lot to assume of children not yet born, but she knows. She can see it. She and her army will not have fought in vain.
They will water the land with their blood and their tears, and their story will have such an ending that even centuries from now, people will still remember her name.
She will do this one last thing for herself, and for her cousin and lieutenant standing beside her, and for the men and women who belted on their swords and sharpened their spears and followed her.
"I hope you are right," the man says quietly. "I do not know how much faith I can place in your future, but I do know the faith I have placed in you. You are proud, cousin, and that pride will be our undoing, but I cannot say I wish I had never come with you."
"Even now? With death's cold and clammy hand so near your shoulder?"
"Even now."
"Thank you."
There is nothing else for them to say. He has made his case, and she hers. It is her army and every death, every injury, weighs on her soul. There is but one end to this road, bloody as it is, and all that is left to her is to reach that end with a fierceness and a determination that will travel down the years so that one day, mothers and fathers will teach their daughters and their sons how the Fairhair fought and died so that one day they might take up arms and finish what she could not.
She cannot see this through. She is filled with sorrow that she will bring so many to their graves with her. But they will not be forgotten. She will make sure that she can accomplish this one thing, for her honor and her pride and the honor of the dedicated army that has followed her.
topic: gauntlet
There is a woman standing on a hill, shielding her eyes with one hand and scanning the fields before her. Somewhere beyond the grass is an army, marching towards her.
Spread out across the land behind her is her own army, men and some women who swore to follow her even into death. They have been fighting for some years now and they are tired, but they have not deserted her.
But she is leading them to their doom. She knows it, even if they do not. She feels guilty that she has brought them this far, only for them to be denied the victory they - and she - deserve.
She pulls a leather gauntlet over one hand, raises her arm, and whistles. After a minute or two a hawk comes spiraling down out of the sky with slow sweeps of its brown and white feathers. It lands on her outstretched arm, blinking at her.
"What did you see, my beauty?" she asks it. It cocks its head. "Are they very distant?"
A man comes trotting up the hill behind her. The hawk makes a curious noise. The woman doesn't turn.
"What news, captain?" the man asks.
"No news," she answers. "They are at least two days' march from here, as I thought. We have time to rest and fortify our position."
"We are running low on supplies. Even the horses are exhausted. We are in no shape to fight, even with two days of rest."
"What do you suggest?" she asks without anger. This is her army and this is her fight, but the man is her cousin and her lieutenant, and she will listen to his opinion. "When they arrive, they will be tired from their march. We will be fresh."
"We will not be fresh," he retorts. "For that we need reinforcements and a month of leisure. Two days will get us nothing." He stands next to her, watching her face even as she is watching the landscape. The hawk tilts its head at him. "We are dying, cousin. On our feet or on our knees, your army is going to break."
"I know," she says sadly. "But I can give you two days."
"And I said it will not be enough."
"This is our best option, cousin." She turns to face him. "Should we run? Should we surrender? Better to die on our feet, swords in hand, then to submit to them - to him - to be treated like slaves in our own homes. Better to water the land with our blood than to plow it in our subjugation."
Neither of them says anything for several minutes. A slight breeze blows around their heads.
"Now find my help," she whispers to the hawk. "Return and tell me how many, and how far." She throws up her gauntleted arm, launching the hawk into the sky. It soars away, screeching. She watches it go.
"There is no help," the man - her cousin - tells her. "We are alone now. We have been deserted by everyone who pledged their swords and their friendship. No one will support a cause not their own, when that cause begins to fail."
"You are wrong."
"I am not. You have me, and you have the army scattered across the ground behind us. But that is all." He puts his hand on her arm, and his tone softens. "We will die, cousin. We will follow you as long as you lead us, but you must know that you are leading us to our graves."
"I know. And it fills me with sorrow."
"Is there no way to surrender with dignity?"
"What do you think?" She turns a calm gaze on him. She can see her own death in front of her, as well as the deaths of her cousin and many of her men and women, but those deaths have a purpose. As much as it causes her pain to have led so many good men and women to ruin, she knows their inevitable defeat will still serve her cause.
Perhaps she was always doomed to failure. Even in the beginning, she was outmanned. Her opposition could raise more swords. She might have always had self-determination and unbendable pride and a certain amount of money on her side, but her enemies are entrenched and wealthy, and their leaders have offered greater material rewards.
She does not think that they will keep their promises, but the prizes that they dangle are tempting indeed.
"I think we will fight and we will die," her cousin says now. "But to what purpose?"
"So that future generations can have their revenge. Not our children's children, likely not even their children, but generations down the line, they will sing of us, and they will cry vengeance for our deaths."
He is silent.
"I swear it, cousin," she says. "Decades hence - centuries, even - they will still remember us. They will remember the Pride of the Fairhair - you, and me, and the army that marched under my flag - and they will avenge us."
Patriotic fervor creeps into her voice. It is a lot to assume of children not yet born, but she knows. She can see it. She and her army will not have fought in vain.
They will water the land with their blood and their tears, and their story will have such an ending that even centuries from now, people will still remember her name.
She will do this one last thing for herself, and for her cousin and lieutenant standing beside her, and for the men and women who belted on their swords and sharpened their spears and followed her.
"I hope you are right," the man says quietly. "I do not know how much faith I can place in your future, but I do know the faith I have placed in you. You are proud, cousin, and that pride will be our undoing, but I cannot say I wish I had never come with you."
"Even now? With death's cold and clammy hand so near your shoulder?"
"Even now."
"Thank you."
There is nothing else for them to say. He has made his case, and she hers. It is her army and every death, every injury, weighs on her soul. There is but one end to this road, bloody as it is, and all that is left to her is to reach that end with a fierceness and a determination that will travel down the years so that one day, mothers and fathers will teach their daughters and their sons how the Fairhair fought and died so that one day they might take up arms and finish what she could not.
She cannot see this through. She is filled with sorrow that she will bring so many to their graves with her. But they will not be forgotten. She will make sure that she can accomplish this one thing, for her honor and her pride and the honor of the dedicated army that has followed her.