If Only I Was Faster . . .
Inspired by the fic Priscilla's Gift.
Dedicated to Wandering Cat. Here's to you, my friend . . .
The sun shone brightly, cheerfully, falsely. It was strange how such a normally pleasing day's weather could be so misleading of the emotions he felt.
She was dead. She was dead, and it was his fault. Guy brushed the soft earth of the grave with trembling fingers. Even for as fast as he could move- a blur when he needed to be- he was too slow to prevent this tragedy. The myrmidon gritted his teeth, tears blurring his vision. Why did she have to venture out alone? Surely she must have known he could not protect her, not with a virtual mob of Brigands attacking him! And yet she had knowingly, blatantly, ventured out into the writhing battlefield to heal him. He had been completely surrounded; nothing could have been done. Guy sank to his knees, his fingers shaking barely a millimetre above the freshly dug dirt. How could she have done this to him? Her death . . . it cut deeper than any axe wound. Though she was gone from physical existence, Guy would always keep her alive in his heart.
Priscilla gazed at the wounded and shredded body of this stranger, her eyes wide. Could she save him? She had to try . . . Immediately she clutched her Mend staff and gave him two prolonged bursts. Healing really took it out of a girl, but there was something about him that made her forget physical exertion and the loss of strength.
After the blue glow of magical light faded, the wounds were gone. The myrmidon stirred, and a breeze ruffled his blood-stained clothes. His forehead wrinkled, and his eyes opened. Priscilla gasped; his eyes were almost exactly the same hue as her own, perhaps a few shades lighter.
"Where . . .?" the myrmidon mumbled. Priscilla placed a finger to his lips.
"Ssshh . . . it's okay. I healed you, you were almost beyond help." she informed. "Everything is alright. Can you stand?" This unknown man nodded, and stood with a grunt, his green braid dangling behind him. Priscilla found herself strangely fascinated with him; he was even Sacaen, a place that had always intrigued her.
"Lady . . . what is your name?" he asked. Priscilla smiled warmly.
"My name is Priscilla." she said, barely listening to her voice. "If ever you need healing, I'll always be around." The Sacaen nodded.
"Priscilla, then . . . my name is Guy."
A freshly-shed tear dropped onto the moist earth. Guy tried to read the epitaph, but his tears came so fast as to obscure the engravings. She had healed him, when he was so close to death . . . if she was nothing else to him, she was the one who had saved his life at the start of the whole blazing quest. But she was more than that, so much more . . . or rather, she had been so much more . . .
Priscilla frowned. "A feather?"
Guy nodded. "Um, yeah . . . I thought you might like it. I've had it since I was young; it was from the only bird I ever shot down with a bow." The troubadour's face betrayed the barest hint of confusion. "The only bird?" Guy nodded, feeling rather stupid.
"Um, yeah . . . it was before I became a swordsman, you see, and . . ." Priscilla took his hand, and gently removed the white feather. "Guy," she said firmly. "Thank you. I will think of you as often as I feel this feather." And she placed it delicately behind one ear, curling a strand of fiery red hair around it. The swordsman smiled softly.
"I'm glad, Priscilla. I will think of you also, for as long as I can."
At that moment, Guy had never felt so weak in his life. Priscilla, he thought. Can you hear me, wherever you are? I kept my promise . . . I'm still thinking of you.
Gritting his teeth, he tried in vain to stop the flood of tears from pouring down his face. Everyone had known and mourned the troubadour's passing, but very few knew that Guy and Priscilla had been as close as they were. Only Erk, from who Priscilla had never kept a secret, and Raven, who was her brother after all, and knew Priscilla well enough to know she was in love. Both had shed many tears in grief, but left. Lucius escorted Raven away from the grave. For all the monk knew, her death may harden and damage Raven's soul beyond repair, and it was his duty as friend and monk to comfort him as best he could. Several had thought it odd that Guy would be so jarred by Priscilla's death, and had left him to be alone with his thoughts. The myrmidon knelt at the grave; his heart long-since broken and shattered.
Priscilla rushed forward on her horse, charging through the battle. Noises and shouts of pain echoed on either side of her; she ignored them all, concentrating on a single blur in the midst of a dozen muscular bodies. Guy was fighting off almost twelve bandits at once, showing his worth as a true warrior of Sacae. The troubadour raised her staff, magical energy building and surrounding the gem at the tip.
A stream of blue energy flew away from the Physic staff, engulfing Guy and mending his wounds even as he fought to prevent himself going under from sheer numbers. A Brigand turned towards the troubadour, grinning and charging for her with his axe. Guy roared in frustration, his sword arm working like a machine of destruction.
"Priscilla!" he cried, his voice breaking. "No! Get away!" The Etrurian had become almost peaceful- she had saved his life. It did not matter that she would die; she did not regret a single moment. The Brigand reached her, confused.
"Aren't you going to move?" he asked stupidly. "Cry? Beg for mercy? Even attack?" Priscilla shook her head. Guy was moving as fast as his body would let him; and he felt hampered by the needs of the flesh. If only he had no body, he knew he could be faster than ever. It was now that he needed not to be human, and he fought like a demon to escape the suffocating throng of axemen. Guy peered out of a gap in the morphs. The Brigand still hadn't made his move, and the Sacaen felt a rush of energy. If he could go a little faster, he could save her . . .
The mountaineer shrugged his massive shoulders. "Very well."
And he killed her with a single blow.
Guy screamed until he thought his throat would tear, pain blossoming in his heart and gripping every part of his soul in unquenchable fires of agony. His sword arm seemed frenzied, and he became like a killing machine; void of emotion, a creature upon whom time and fatigue had no effect. In reality, he was only a man. A man who had lost a loved one-
And he wreaked bitter vengeance on her killers.
Guy cursed quietly as he felt the pain return. She had saved his life twice, and he didn't do a thing in return. It was the pain of inadequacy, the pain of failure, made worse by the price that had been paid because of his failure. His tears had dried up; his ducts had run out of fluid.
"Priscilla," he whispered to the grave. "I'm so sorry. . . I wish I could have saved you.I wish we had another chance." His green braid flopped over his shoulder, disturbing the topmost layer of soil. He grabbed it irritably and threw it behind him, his red eyes reading the epitaph that would forever be burned in his mind.
Priscilla. Beloved Troubadour and friend.
Adopted daughter of Count Caerlon of Etruria.
Sister to Lord Raymond of Cornwall.
She will be dearly missed.
The myrmidon hated himself. If he had been faster, this could have been avoided. Priscilla, the girl he loved . . . she would still be here. This grave would not exist. Guy saw her final moments flash over in his mind. Go away! he screamed inside his head. Please, don't make me remember! I loved her, but I can't stand any more pain! Regardless, the scene played out . . .
Her usually cheery face was sombre, and her complexion was that of bleached parchment.
"Priscilla," Guy wept, her broken and bleeding body engraving itself into his memory. "I'm sorry . . . I tried, I tried to get out, I tried to save you, I tried . . ." Priscilla shook her head minutely.
"Guy . . . I regret nothing." she whispered, her voice cracked and barely audible.
"Priscilla . . ." Guy stammered, shaking with fear. "Priscilla . . . you can't die. Please . . . I need you." The trouadour smiled, and her face radiated such joy that it cannot be described.
"Guy . . . I l- . . . I lo- . . . I love y-you . . ."
And she slipped away, out of reach forever. The myrmidon howled at the sky, his sword bloodied and forgotten beside her body. Clutched in her hand was his white feather. Guy took it, and placed it behind his own ear . . . the tip of the feather dyed crimson until the end of time.
Guy stayed kneeling for a moment longer, as the sunset's rays played along the marble tombstone. Removing the feather he once gave her, he placed it gently on the grave.
"Priscilla," he said solemnly. "From the moment we met, you gave me life. You healed my wounds, and you loved me. I will never forget you."
And he turned and walked away from the grave of his loved one.
The feather stayed on the grave, untouched by the evening zephyrs . . . a final tribute to his undying love. The feather was eventually picked up and carried by a stronger wind, where it sailed gracefully . . .
And landed in the braid of a mourning Guy. Frowning, he removed the offending object and forced himself not to cry at the sight of it. He held the feather close to his heart.
"Guy," whispered an ethereal voice."I love you . . . think of me . . ." Guy's heart jerked into overdrive. It was Priscilla's voice! He whirled around . . .
And only saw the marble headstonein the distance. The myrmidon smiled.
"Priscilla." he spoke. "It was your voice, wasn't it? I guess miracles do happen." But the Sacaen knew she had not come back. Not even that was possible.
Guy turned and walked into his tent, closing the tent flap . . . still holding her whitefeather.
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