Let Me Tell You A Secret

I’m the first one to see your battalion appear over the hill. The field stretches multiple acres in each direction, supplying ample space for both archers and swordsmen in the thousands. Metal clinks mercilessly all around me, even from my horse. Armor is torture on a hot day like this.

The scene that follows is majestic. It’s the grandest battle ever recorded in the forty-year-long war between our houses. We’ve never put this many men on the field at the same time before, but we all are thinking the same thing. It’s time for one of us to win.

I stand back for a long time, waiting. The fighting started hours ago, but it hadn’t been my time to join. Until now.

It’s invisible to everyone else, but I hear it in the air. It whispers of your arrival long before I put my eyes on your frame. A mysterious fog rolls over the grass and you cleave it perfectly. The whole battlefield goes quiet. Combat resumes, but I can’t hear a thing. Your command flows to the point where even I, your biggest enemy, feel its hold.

You aren’t even wearing a helmet. Confidence is met with wake-up calls in all cases but yours. I’ve never seen you get an injury.

Your eyes are locked on mine and they don’t stray a single time. The brawling men around you stray from your path before your slow horse even comes near them. They know that you’re mine.

Finally you stop, twenty paces from me, and dismount. I remove my helmet and do the same. When my feet hit the ground your sword is already drawn. The blade twirls in a lazy circle as your other hand pulls through your long hair. Effortless, masterful control.

I approach. The afternoon sun illuminates your stature. I don’t think you’ve bothered to polish your iron since the last battle. Dry blood coats your left side, reminding me of the soldiers who tried to block your path to me. My jaw tenses.

The first swing comes just in time for me to draw my sword. I’m not surprised that I need to use both hands, while you only challenge with one. Your first move is always ruthless. It has been ever since we were kids.

I manage to slip out of your hold, blades screeching from the friction. My left hand lets go and I attack. You predict it as usual. Why still we insist on doing this is beyond me. You’ve had every opportunity to win before, but something always stops you from killing me. When we were small it was suppertime. Now we fight ‘til it gets dark, or until you knock me out. But my eyes open again every time.

What excuse will you have this time?

We dance around each other, making no progress. Each time I’m vulnerable, it’s like you forget how to use your sword. It’s almost comedic.

I’m not going to submit to this endless fight anymore. Something needs to be different today. I lift my sword and land a jab to your left arm. The chainmail stops any serious injury, but it draws blood. You look to your arm and then to me. For a split second, it almost looks like your eyes get teary.

You’ve hit me more times than I can count. I take your blade every time, hoping it will be the final blow. Though, I’ve never done the same to you. Not even with a wooden sword. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t like it.

The counter-attack that follows is so powerful it makes me lose my balance. It hurts, deeply. Not because of the impact or the loss of balance, but the pain on your face.

I’m so incredibly tired of this pointless war. The decades have faded any memory of what this feud is about. You and I, we are fighting for nothing. You seem keen to keep up the charade, but I have to say, I’m bored. This isn’t a nice pastime. Behind closed doors, I dream of having an actual conversation with you. I want to meet you by the river and talk about fishing, or how to braid your hair, instead of butting heads with you in an instant. But that will never happen.

My thoughts seem to have captured my arms. We haven’t moved in a bit. I relish this moment, being able to take you in. Your perfect brows set in a frown, lips clenched together. It’s a pity that you hate me. I could look at you for days.

I smile. You spit at my feet and lunge. The only reason I level my sword with yours is to keep my head on my body. The block is lazy and you know it. You scream and kick me right in the stomach. The pain booms through me. You aimed just right, and you know it.

One time, when I was fourteen I sat and bathed my feet in the shallow water of the river. Dusk was just upon the horizon and dragonflies danced in the wind. I felt in my spine that you were looking at me from the trees. My head spun, but I couldn’t see anything. I stood up and waited for you to come out. The fist fight that followed was routine at that point, but you were too strong. You kneed my ribs harder than ever before, cracking two of them right in the middle. They haven’t been right since.