Sorry it took so long to answer reviews and get this posted, but I’ve been sick for several days and I’ve only just been able to get back on the computer.
Chapter 8 ~ Tears and Frustration
While the rest of the family bid their men farewell inside, Morwen stood upon the front steps of the palace as she had so many times before. It never ceased to worry her, sending her brother and father off to war, and each time she and Hirilian had stood upon the palace steps, watching until not even the dust of their passing could be seen on the horizon. But now her sister was married to a Captain in the army of the Riddermark and was not there to comfort her. There was no sister’s shoulder to cry upon, and so she forced herself to hold back her tears. "Do not let Father see you cry," Hirilian had told her, "for it pains him so." Morwen could hear her voice even now, reminding her to hide her fear until after all had departed.
Narion strode forth from the palace, his helmet under his arm, pulling his gauntlets in place. He stopped before her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Farewell, my dear," he said softly, kissing her forehead affectionately before placing his helm upon his head. "Take care of your mother for me," he commanded her lightly, as he had ever since she was a small barefooted child running about the palace.
"Yes, Father," she replied, embracing him tightly. She felt his armor cut into her arms and cheek, wishing, as she always did, that he could put off his mail forever and live in peace at home. "Keep Belecthor out of trouble," she added as her brother joined them.
"I shall try," Narion smirked. "Keep well, Morwen."
"Farewell, Father." She turned to Belecthor as her father walked to his waiting mount. "Return alive," she whispered as she embraced her brother tightly.
"I always do," he replied lightly.
"Luckily," she muttered, a slight smile lingering about her lovely lips. "Just do not take more risks than is necessary."
"Yes, my Lady," he replied submissively, releasing her and smiling. "Farewell."
"Farewell, dearest brother." She watched as Belecthor mounted and the column moved out. She waved to her father and uncle as they passed, and then was forced to close her eyes in an attempt to stem the tide of tears that threatened to overflow.
She started and turned swiftly as she felt a gentle hand grasp her shoulder. Standing there, his arm in a sling, was Eradan. "Do not be ashamed of your tears, my Lady," he said gently. "For the tears of a Lady bring a slight amount of joy to the hearts of men, even as they bring pain. No man wishes to go to war thinking the women of his country do not worry for him, or grieve for him should he die.
"So show them you care, but give them also a smile of encouragement to strengthen their will. Let them know you trust them with your life."
She gazed up at him through tear-filled eyes. "But why do you grieve, Eradan?" she questioned, noting the shimmer and pain in his own eyes.
"I grieve for these young men," he answered, indicating the soldiers riding by with a nod of his head. "They have given everything for their country, and many will give even their lives. I know what they feel. I know what they are thinking. I know, for I have felt those same feelings and thought those same thoughts, and each time I have realized that I may be going to my death."
"Then why do you go?"
"To protect the innocent, such as yourself. To preserve the good in this world. To fulfill my oaths, and to bring down evil, tyranny and the enemies of our country, but also because of the strange perverseness of Men. We have a love of battle, an urge to combat, a feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment after a hard won victory on the field. Which also pains me now, more even than the pain of my shoulder.
"I feel that urge, that call to battle, as does every one of these soldiers riding away now. They feel it, and they ride to answer. I feel it, and it pulls my very heart from my chest, but I am stuck here, helpless to change my position in any way, while other men go off to fight the battles I long to enter." He paused in an attempt to control his frustration. "So I suppose," he concluded, "you might say that I grieve for my own sake, for I am burning with jealousy towards those brave men."
She looked up at him, her tears no longer falling. "I do hope this does not mean I will be having to chase my patient half-way across the country," she said with a slight smile.
He grinned. "No, my Lady, for now I shall remain under your kind care. I only hope I will soon be healed enough to join them."
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For you men out there reading this, I'm a girl, and so I really know nothing about the true feelings of fighting men, only what I have read and taken note of, mostly in Westerns. Therefore, if anything in this chapter goes against the actual feelings when being left out of something you truly love doing, I apologize whole-heartedly. Forgive a girl striving to capture a feeling she has never had.