The Kings and Knights
By Alexander V
Copyright 2017 by Alexander V
Shakespir Edition, License Notes
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The Kings and Knights
Powerful rain falls down onto the soldiers’ shoulders, as they stand in the cold, open and muddy field, staring at the enemy. Two comrades exchange looks, knowing maybe that it might be for the last time. Their eyes are focused, determined, yet their armor feels heavier than ever. An other soldier glares ahead with adamance, yet his vision becomes dizzy, blurry. The rain slowly becomes weaker, until it stops altogether. The sun begins to shine and the suffering field suddenly turns into an evergreen grassland, he sees his beautiful daughter and wife. He hugs them, relishing the warmness of their touch, the pleasant sound of their voice… They walk along the peaceful pastures, smiling and laughing. They come by a crystal clear spring and they stop to drink, then proceed to walk across. The little girl, clumsy as she is, loses her footing and falls, soaking her dress. Her father lifts her up with a smile, and she’s back on her feet again. The bright sun takes care of the chilling water. They keep walking happily through the forests and over the hills, arriving home as evening falls. Mother and daughter lay down on the bed, father looks at them, joyful of their mere sight. He quickly lights a fire to push the cold away. He struggles, but the fire cannot burn, his efforts seem to be in vain.
Daughter: Father, please light the fire, I’m so cold…
Seeing tears flowing down her face, he hurries to quickly break the sticks into smaller pieces, hurting his hands as he does so, blood rushes out through the wounds… The fire now burns, but as he looks back towards his daughter, she is still crying. He turns around and walks to her, but as he touches her face, the tears seem to be flowing ever more. He tries to embrace her, but all that he feels is cold, her body turns to water…
He is in the open field again, under the dark clouds… The two armies march towards each other, storming through the downpour. As the first pair of swords cross, the battle begins. The war wages on below the raging skies, until there is no one standing, but a bloody sword stuck in the ground…
Inside a house, relishing the shelter of a roof and the heat of a fire, a man writes a letter:
“Hear my people, on this day we suffered a terrible loss, but the enemy’s bloodthirst however, has not settled and it will not settle…“
Somewhere else, inside an other house, a different man is also writing: “…until they are defeated and we are victorious, for our nation’s glory we shall keep fighting and striving, those who knew the ones who have fallen today, be proud.”
The man then throws a couple of pieces of wood on the fire, a maid enters the room, bringing the meal…
There is little choice,
our shoulders must feel,
the armor’s ever so cold steel…
Yet, to this honor, we rejoice.
And when the first swords meet,
let their blades cast the sparks,
let us feel their heat,
and let them paint our scars and marks.
May the blood we shed,
be of the brightest red!
we may be weak and brittle,
but of this pain, we care little.
For with each blow we take,
it is yet another step we make.
It might be heavy, our burden,
But our way, shall never be barren,
Our effort, will always be worth while,
so long, when we arrive home, we can see their smile…
But should our shields be splintered,
our ways be hindered…
Such is the struggle of the knights,
hidden in the shadows of kings, and their candle lights…
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