The wind whistled through the barren branches of the trees, the white snow like a whirlwind, black splotches of ash mixed in. A crunching could be heard coupled with a rhythmic clunking. Small sparrows flying above would have told the world of the elderly man clad in heavy black armor marching through the snow, were they able to talk. Squirrels dashing to and fro would remember that pained look on his scarred face that flickered into existence every now and then, before fading quietly back into nothing. Footprints trailed for miles behind the man, and the occasional crumb and splash of water, the necessary marks of sustenance. Elderly eyes would blink and elderly legs would grind to a halt, as charred burnt husks of houses came into view. A gloved fist, a shaking man, an unsteady step. Breaks into a march, the regimented discipline forcing him forward, each step laborious, a odyssey just to force himself forward, to hold the memories back. Yet the memories, much like age, creep ever forward overwhelming the barrier and flooding back to existence.
He remembered as he passed the old town hall, those meetings that he had once attended. Back in the days when his hair was still that lovely purple and not the dulled grey. The days when he was a lowly knight, still finding himself, embroiled in the passion of youth. His oratory had inspired many as he stood at that pulpit, encouraging those young folks to enlist and fight alongside him. Gone now, scattered across Nohr some alive, some put to rest. He wished he could rest, his bones ached, his soul pined, and his eyes drooped. Service was a monster, a beast that forced him out here. The Yuletide wind chilling his bones, as surely elsewhere others were celebrating reveling in the warmth and their wine. Not for him. This slog, this trek. A burden, a curse, and sometimes when the wind whispered to him and regaled him with the old tales it was a gift. Journeying back to their arms, scooping them up, pinching their cheeks, and kissing their mother. Some memories would never quite let go ethereal and persistent. Gunter grinded his teeth and continued to plod further into the burnt out husk of the town.
The memories continued to lap against Gunter's mind like the lazy waves lapping against the sand. Each stride took him deeper into what remained of his old home, Rendeford, burnt when he rejected the Royal Offer. What a fool he had been to reject that, if only he had known just how the King planned to react. His recollection was interrupted by his arrival in front of the old library or what remained of it. It came back in a flash. Their first meeting had been in those halls, row after row of books lined up and ordered. Her long ashen hair falling down to her waist, the dust that would rest upon on her nose, and that wonderful smile. That gleeful expression as he had asked for that book on modern warfare tactics as she dashed down the aisle. Feeling the light outside slowly dim as the snow fell and that night he spent with her there in the library… all gone now. Foolish to even remember, foolish to care. Yet he could not help but care. Those nights and days all stolen from him now. There was nothing to do really but press on and end this charade.
Much had passed him on this journey. The Yuletide celebrations back at the fort were surely in full swing by now, but surely an old man like Gunter would not be missed. That is what he told himself and besides, he had a duty to be here. To pay his respects on the anniversary of their marriage was the least he could do, it was all he could do. He wanted to run now, to stomp past all the buildings and the memories that came with them but he couldn't. That delicate red rose in his hand, a fine white coating now resting upon it, had to be delivered. He would not risk falling and dropping it. Roses had been Etheldreda's favourite flower. It had been her first gift, a bouquet of handpicked roses. She had loved it, and thanked Gunter for days as she was prone to do. It was his duty, it would be done.
The graveyard was a barren affair. Before the massacre it had not been the most pristine or well looking graveyard but at least there were tombstones. Post massacre all the burials had to be done by Gunter himself the sole survivor. Wooden crosses stood cockeye with names written in cramped hand writing. He had done his best for them, he had tried. It all came back to him now the smell, the flames, the screams, all of it his fault. Gunter, the Knight who didn't listen to his liege, who felt he knew better. Now look. At the very least it would soon be other. Tired and weary his shoulders drooped, Gunter stood over one grave. Etheldreda. He softly placed the rose upon her grave, coupled with a few tear drops. Yuletide, their anniversary, and the day that would be back together. Departing from this plane would be the gift that Gunter had sought. Callused hands pulled the lance from his back, and planted it deep in the soil. He ensured that it would not move, he did not want the weapon to move and leave him alive. There could be no mistakes. A breath, a step, a movement of the head.
"Sir Gunter! I must ask for you please wait!"
"... Flora. How long have you been trailing me? How long have I allowed you to trail me."
"That isn't important right now ok? Just please, come and talk with me Sir? I can't allow for you to do this to yourself!" Stated the maid, whose hair was the colour of ice, a pained expression on her face. Gunter heaved, his breathing short and rapid. He took a breath, a step, a straightening of the neck.
"I will talk with you Flora. I owe you that much. To trek out after an old man like myself, on the night of Yuletide. You will surely be missed at the celebrations." He stated flatly as he walked over to Flora, the pain still painted across the canvas of his face. The maid, dressed in her usual garb, breathed a sigh of relief. At the least she could perhaps talk him down from whatever he had planned to do. She gestured at a nearby bench and slowly walked over. Sitting down she looked at the knight and waved him over. Gunter slowly, ever so slowly, came over and almost fell into the bench. Weariness seemed to weigh down on him plaguing his every waking moment. He sat down. The silence hung in the air, as snowflakes continued to fall around the two.
"Why did you journey out here for me Flora. I am but an old knight, tired and weary. You are a young woman, with all the wonders of life laid out before you. You'd do well to chase them." Gunter stated breaking the silence. A smile crept across Flora's face as she shook her head.
"I suppose you would be right Sir. Yet someone is required to guide me through it, no? Would that not be the duty of an experienced knight? One who would be missed by so many…" She replied. Gunter's face didn't change, his eyes still sunken and his mouth tucked into a small frown.
"I'm afraid that argument won't hold muster Flora. I find it doubtful that many people will miss me, you will be able to overcome it. Not to mention there are countless others who can guide you through the journey before you. Nay, my journey has reached it's conclusion." Said the knight, his voice monotone. Flora felt her own frown return, as she furrowed her brow. The maid simmered and glowered for a little while, the air growing somehow cooler as she tried to regulate herself. Looking directly at Gunter, she adjusted a strand of hair and began to speak.
"I never would have pegged you as the selfish sort Sir Gunter. When you rose Jakob, Felicia, and I, you taught to care, you taught us how to live. In all but name you served as our father, and we were your children. I level a question to you sir. What sort of father leaves three children behind? You go on to say that no one would miss you, besides us? Are we not enough for you sir? Do we mean nothing to you, mere distractions while you strove to get that revenge on Garon!?" Flora exploded at her last question, the anger that had been bubbling, bubbled over. Gunter had a different look on his face now, one of remorse tingled with some guilt. The knight shook his head.
"... You meant the world to me dear Flora. You, and Felicia, and Jakob despite his tendencies. This revenge, you label it so vulgarly. Would it be a crime to take it upon myself to steal Garon's life? Look at where we are… he certainly did not hesitate to take my life. Not my blood, nor my breath, but my life nonetheless. Now I may not slay him, for the dragon stole it away. There is nothing left for me to do, but to return to my wife's side. You simply must understand Flora." Was the reply, his mind still trying to push forward with his intended goal. Flora huffed, as she grew close to tears small droplets forming in her eyes. Violently she shook her head, and stood up.
"Would that wife you talk about, and loved so much approve? The act of leaving us behind, and all those that care for you despite your arrogant insistence that you don't! Would that be permissible? I came to try and bring you back Sir Gunter. If I, and by extension Jakob and my sister, mean so little to you fine! Do what you need to do, I best be leaving. After all, I have my duties to attend to!" She snapped back, now tears falling from her face. The maid stormed away and Gunter watched her go. The rose still sat limp in his hand as he stood back up. Snow crunched, the wind howled, and the rose fell upon the grave. Silence fell across the graveyard.
Flora had managed to quell her tears, but her mind was still in turmoil. Fell chill air swirled around her as she journeyed back home. If that bitter old man wanted to kill himself then why should she stop him? No point in caring if he doesn't. Those were some of her thoughts as she continued to press forward. Though she would hate to admit it, after several long minutes Flora would deduce she was lost. It had been simple to merely follow Gunter when he came here but she had not memorised the way home. She felt the tears well up again and Flora just wanted to scream. At this point she felt a hand on her shoulder. Swirling around a hand going for a blade to defend her she was shocked. Stood before her… was Gunter.
"Lady Flora. I shall escort you home. I wish to return as well." He stated plainly, with the small flicker of an attempt at a smile. The blue haired woman nearly broke down in tears, before collapsing into him. No words were needed as the two slowly broke the embrace and began the long walk. For Flora, the long walk home, and for Gunter, the long walk of recovery.