This is War
"So this is war…" I say listlessly.
Beads of sweat plaster my brow and roll down my face. I wince slightly as I press my palm onto my forearm to stanch the flow of blood from a few fresh cuts. I sink down to my knees, drained, as the rush of battle leaves my body. The still air is interrupted only by my heavy breathing and the sounds of a few songbirds far out in the forest.
Looking around, it is just another beautiful, summer morning. Golden sunlight shines down and sparkles upon the field of grass still wet from the morning dew. A few butterflies pass by in their bubbly flight.
A shiver runs through me in spite of the surrounding warmth.
My gaze falls down directly in front of me. A sword –my sword, lies on the grass where I dropped it. It is an elegant weapon, the rapier. It was the only sword that I could effectively use and I had come to favor, being graceful, but deadly nonetheless. The slender blade of the rapier is dyed a bright ruby, the color of fresh blood.
No more than a few feet from my blood stained blade lay the corpse of a man.
The knowledge that this serene meadow would forever be marred with such violence sends yet another chill through me. This will not be the only life that will be taken by my hands. Will I be able to do this again? To strike down someone I knew nothing about, not even a name? To extinguish a life, with no knowledge of what he might have lived, hoped and dreamed for?
I never expected war to be so…brutal. It is nothing like the games Ephraim and I use to play with wooden weapons. It is not the glorious struggle between right and wrong as the stories and ballads speak of. The battlefield is not full of knights in shining armor, but just ordinary men trying to kill fellow men.
Words have no place here. Words are nothing more than but gentle breezes in a field littered with the ashes of war. Do we cast away all rationality and raise our weapon to kill? Is strength all that really matters?
What someone fights for is truly…meaningless.
Whether he raises his blade for his country or swings his axe for his purse is lost in a vortex of steel, gore and flesh.
War is a savage beast. It cares for nothing but to only desires to destroy, to maim, to kill. It devours men, women and all who stand in its path. It cares not for the destruction it leaves in its wake. It delights in shredding lives absurd with claws stained red with the blood of thousands.
How can man glorify such a thing? How can bards sing praises of supposed heroes of war that have done nothing but bathe their hands in blood?
It seams rather strange. Our heroes are not those that heal, build and comfort. Our heroes are not the ones who make peace and harmony. Our heroes are those who harm, destroy and slaughter. Our heroes are the ones whose blades cut rivers of blood through other men.
Why do we do this to each other? Not one generation has passed without the raising of arms against one another. Its all so sad. The only thing gained from all this is the death of countless soldiers and so many shattered families. How many widows will we make among ourselves? How many children will no longer grow up without the kind care of a parent? Why do we crave this wanton destruction?
Perhaps the beast can never be tamed. Perhaps it lies dormant in man's heart. When it awakens, it restlessly prowls about until it can bear it no more. It roars for carnage, for havoc, for devastation and will not be silenced until answered.
The clop of a hoof causes me to throw a glance behind me and interrupts my thoughts. I see Seth sitting atop of his warhorse looking far out, wearing a rather pensive expression. Does he understand all of this? Maybe this is why he is so reluctant to talk of his exploits as a knight and a general. Maybe this is why he always wears that same expression now etched across his face during the celebrations and fanfare of a successful campaign.
He finally breaks the stillness by letting out a long sigh. His face shifts into a grim resignation as he looks down towards me.
"Yes milady." he addresses me with a slight nod of his head.
"This is war."
A/N: This fic's idea came to me during a revist play through of Sacred Stones. After the end of the first battle, Eirika says some rather profound things on the nature of war which this fic was based on. It seams my story ideas are triggered by individual lines a character says. It took a rather long while to actually write it out because 4 other story ideas were also begging to be written. Anyway, any feedback is greatly appreciated. Hope you found this intresting.
Talren