Disclaimer I do not own Braveheart, or Mel Gibson, etc. Nor do I claim to. There. Now you can't sue me.

Vain

By SilverElf

Every man dies, not every man really lives.

"Stephen!" called Anabella, "Stephen!"

"What do you want of me, woman?" answered Stephen as he walked around the side of the house wiping his hands on his pants.

"A bit more respect than that!" she laughed. She stood posed with her rough hands hanging loosely on her hips. Her long brown hair lay across her back, framing her round face and her bright blue eyes. Her apron was greasy from her work in the kitchen, but she had just taken a bath, and she was clean as any could aspire to be in those days. Stephen walked towards her, trying desperately to clean his filthy hands, though work with cows did not lead to cleanliness

"I am sorry" he muttered apologetically, referring to his hands.

"I care not, my love." she replied as he swung her up and she giggled with a girlish pride. He lowered her again and kissed her gently. "I love you, my Anabella."

She smiled. "My Anabella. I like the sound of that." He laughed silently and kissed her again.

They had been wed nay but two weeks earlier. Their wedding was happiest in recent memory, and in years to come, for no solider came to steal the bride. Stephen had used what little savings he had amassed to "buy" her from the British, for he would allow no other man to touch her. That night she had moved into the old Wallace cottage on the east hill with him. An old commoner who lived nearby had rented it to them. "I've no need for it." he confessed, "And I daresay you people shall find a better use for it." Why it was called the Wallace cottage was a common legend in that town. Many people believed it was the spot where William Wallace had first seen Murron, his long lost love. Rumor had it that he now roamed the country in a melancholy manner, eagerly finding soldiers to fight for the freedom of Scotland.

He woke slowly and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "You must be the laziest man I've ever met. Why did I ever consent to marry you?" she called from the kitchen.

"Because I was the only single rascal left in town."

"Indeed. But such is the life of a poor barmaid."

Stephen walked into the kitchen to the smell of roasting bacon. "Aye, well you'll be a-bar-maiding no more, my dear."

She frowned at him, "Don't talk nonsense."

"You are the one who speaks nonsense!" he replied.

"What are you getting at, then?"

"I've bought this cottage from old Hamfast. He sold it to me for a season's worth of work for him. You'll stay home and tend our farm from now on."

"Oh, Stephen!"

"Aye, well don't thank me too quickly. It'll be hard work getting this place on its feet, and I shan't be here to help you. I must tend the harvest in Hamfast's potato field."

"Will you be coming home each night?"

"Aye, but it'll be late, and I'll have no strength to tend our crops, dear Anabella. You must do it alone if we are to own this place."

Anabella was a Scottish woman, and as such made of strong stock. "I will manage." she told him. He rose and kissed on the cheek. "Today you must let the cows out into the north pasture and hoe the west field. I'll be home as soon as I can." He took a piece of bacon out from the fire and left the house, whistling as he walked. "I've never seen him so happy," she told the cat, "I hope it will all work out."

The days continued much as they had in the past months, but now Anabella was with child, and unable to care for the farm. "Stephen, I can't do it!" she yelled, "I can't hold this place together on my own! I need your help."

He was tired and weather worn. The owner of the farm worked him to the bone, and he had no strength left to tend his own home. It was all he could do to make it back over the hill each night. "One more month, and then we'll own this place, Anabella. Can you hold on until then?"

She bit her lip. It wasn't her place to argue with her husband. "I will manage."

"Come here, Anabella." he motioned. She walked over to him and sat in his lap. He put his hand on her stomach. "If we can own this land, our son will grow up to live a fine life. We shall raise him properly. I'm sorry I can't help more, but I'm doing all of this for him. I don't want him to grow up the son of a barmaid and her peasant husband. He deserves better than that."

"Aye."

"Tomorrow is the Sabbath. I shall move the shed around and make it easier for you. I'll try to get some of the harvest done as well."

"But you shouldn't work on Sabbath! 'Tis against the word of our Lord."

"I'm sure the Lord will understand this one time. We're in a hard spot."

"Thank you Stephen."

"You're welcome, lass."

True to his word, Stephen rose early the next morning and set to work on the shed. He lowered the shelves and mended the broken door. He stopped only to eat a small meal, and set to work on the harvest, finishing nearly a quarter of the field before the sun set, thus halting his work. When he walked back into the house, he found the Anabella had roasted a ham from last year's pig for him.

"Thank you Stephen."

"No, thank you! I'll work every day from now 'til the end of days if this is my reward!"

She smiled graciously and served him dinner.

Five weeks later, an unknown man rode into town. Rumors flew about the village, and most of the folk set out to meet him. It wasn't often a stranger rode into town, after all. Horses were hard to come by in those parts. Anabella was now heavy with child, but she readied herself as best she could and left with Stephen to meet the new man.

"I've heard he's a freedom fighter!" she told Stephen.

"Can't be. There aren't any around here. Our Lord has not sided with them; they'd be killed if they rode through our village."

"Who do you think he is, then?"

"Probably a rich land owner dressed as a peasant to fool us and give us new laws." He shook his head disdainfully. The rich did not hold high in Stephen's books, as it was any of the peasants.

"Why are we going to the square then?"

"He'll tax us for doubting him if we don't. We've no choice in the matter."

The stranger leapt down from his steed and patted her neck gently. "Quiet there lass. We'll be moving on soon enough." he told her.

The townsfolk had gathered around him as though he had just been sentenced to hang. He looked rather skeptically at them from under his cloak. "I've come here today to ask you….."

"What now?" said Stephen. "Have you come to take our children as well?" The others echoed his cry.

"Stephen!" cried Anabella softly, "Quiet, or he'll hang you!"

"I'll do nothing of the sort, Miss," said the stranger. Her jaw dropped. Did he just say what she thought he had said…..

"I have not come to rob you of your children, or your wives, or to lay a new tax upon your heads. No, I have come here today in hopes that you might join us." He threw back his hood. "I am William Wallace. More men are needed for our fight against England. Will you help us?"

Stephen's heart stirred warmly. A free land, for all the people. His parents, his wife…..his son. "I will take up arms against the enemy, William Wallace," he said, stepping forward.

"No, Stephen," she breathed. "Please, the baby, Stephen, you can't leave."

"I must, Anabella. I will give our son a free land to live in. These lands are in dire need of change, and I shall be the solider who grants it! Imagine that, my Anabella. I must fight."

She turned away from him as an angry tear slid down her cheek. Why? Just when everything had worked out, he had to leave her again.

"Please, lass, don't be angry with me." He grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently.

"It is not my decision Stephen. I cannot choose your path in life."

He embraced her one last time and kissed her forehead. "Name him well," he told her, motioning to her swollen belly, "and do not spoil him. I will return as soon as I am a free man."

William stood before Anabella. She looked up at him. "You remind me of someone I once knew. I will keep your husband safe, as long as I have strength left."

Anabella held back her emotion, for she knew William Wallace spoke with truth in his words. "Thank you."

William faced the rest of the crowd. "Will none of you join in our cause?" he asked, standing next to Stephen, "Will none of you fight for your freedom?" These words stabbed the heart of every man standing there. All who were able to walked towards William Wallace. He mounted his horse. "Then on towards the damned halls of Longshanks himself. We shall throw him from the throne before our last breath is drawn." The men gave a rallying cry and followed Wallace down the hill.

That was the last time she had seen his face. Now she searched the fields, ever watchful for a sign of her Stephen. At long last she found him, but the life had already left his face. He had been impaled upon his own sword, and she hastily removed it and threw it away. "At least you did not die in the grip of a British blade," she told him. She pulled him up to her chest and sobbed quietly into his bloodied shirt. "My Stephen," she cried. "Even the spirit of William Wallace could not protect you this time."

She looked around the red plains. In the center of the field stood a Scottish flag, waving gently in the morning breeze. Suddenly she realized that her husband had died a free man. He had not died in vain.

Words floated across the field, and all heard the voice of William Wallace.

In the year of our Lord 1314, the patriots of Scotland, starving and outnumbered, charged the fields at Bannockburn. They fought like warrior poets. They fought like Scotsmen. And won their freedom.

A/N All italics are direct quotes from Braveheart.