by Billy Wong
Thank God. "No, I don't."
"Then I won't, because I am going to find it."
Crap! "Galahad..."
"Don't say it. Your verbal clumsiness tells me enough, considering I've heard enough about you to know you're not like this normally. You fancy me, don't you? Are you testing me?"
For such a young man, Mildy was surprised how easily he saw through her. She nodded slowly and held her breath, her heart racing. She was about to find out the answer to the question she'd held since she met the lovely young man, and felt so excited and scared at the same time...
He locked gazes with her, and she thought she saw desire shimmering in his eyes. Then he sighed and seemed to deflate. "I'm sorry, Mildy. I've thought about it for a long time, and I've finally decided. I do like you. You're smart, beautiful, and most certainly interesting. But I'm not the man for you."
"Why not?" If his explanation did not satisfy her, she would do her best to try and sway him.
He hesitated, as if afraid of her response to what he meant to say. "I can't take a female warrior.
"I'm sorry to say this, and I'll stop whenever you ask, but... warriors die too much, Mildy. I can't imagine the idea of losing the woman I love in battle, watching her hacked down by cold steel and dying in her own blood. And it would be even worse if it happened after we had children together, and I had to explain to them how their mother died fighting, doing my job. I can accept that women can fight, you know that. But in my family, I have to be the protector, the man."
Mildy blinked, her calm exterior belying her inner torment. To learn that their attraction was mutual had brought joy to her heart, but it was a cold comfort when they could not be together. His reasoning felt so unfair, and his firm voice seemed to leave little room for compromise.
All she could think to say was, "You've given a lot of thought to this, haven't you?"
"Yes." He looked gently into her eyes. "I would be more than open to remaining friends, if you don't still have to go?"
She turned away. "I still have to go. Goodbye."
#
Mildy left without another word, and shortly began to regret letting go so easily. But it was too late for takebacks. As she and Ares rode away, she muttered, "Doesn't take female warriors. What a dumb reason!"
"I don't know," Ares said. "I wouldn't be too thrilled to see my love risking her life and dying in battle, either."
"I understand that. But what gets to me is the 'female' part of it. What, does he think that women are fine with their men going to war and dying? What gives a man the right to die where a woman can't?"
"Society?"
Mildy scowled. "Society can kiss my ass. I've got as much a right to fight and get myself killed as any man."
Ares laughed. "What a choice of words."
"Just trying to be accurate."
"You'll find another man to love, I'm sure. And Galahad will be regretting what he missed."
She frowned. "Yes... unless I do get killed soon." Ares started to say something encouraging, but she cut him off loudly. "Just teasing! I don't have any misgivings about the dangers of being a warrior. I accept them all and know it's still what I want to be. I love being able to fight, to feel strong. How could I give up that pride? I'm just glad I got all that over with."
"Me too. Those two weeks of deception were hell on my nerves. Let's not do that again, Milady."
"Alright."
"So where are we actually going?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess we really are going home, unless something comes up."
They continued down the road, Mildy secretly dejected and yet, frightfully enough, also a bit relieved at what had just happened. Sure, she wished she had more of a chance to see what she and Galahad could have been together. But at the same time, she was still a little afraid of the compromise that would come with any relationship. She admonished herself for her cowardice. Was she destined to forever be lonely?
Galahad hadn't given her the chance to find out if the two of them could work, but if he had, would she have given herself fully to their growing love? She didn't know, and was scared of the answer. If she truly wanted love so badly, why hadn't she offered to give up being a warrior?
"Ares, why am I such a violent woman?" she asked suddenly.
He turned his head to stare at her. "Milady? You love to fight for what's good and right, that's what you always tell me."
"I don't see too many other women, especially not princesses, doing this. What is wrong with me?" Because something had to be wrong, right? Her mother didn't like her being a warrior, though she admired some of her motivations for being one. Her best friend liked her as a warrior, but wouldn't give her full credit for her prowess. And the first man she'd sought romance from in years had denied her because of her chosen profession. Was being a woman and a warrior really such an incompatible combination?
"I thought you loved being a warrior, minutes ago."
"I do, Ares. But I'm also a woman, and sometimes it feels like I've got to make a choice between the two, that I can't play both at the same time, at least well."
He shook his head. "You're not the only woman warrior who's ever lived, Milady. You'll be okay."
"And how many of them came to happy endings?"
He didn't answer.
"So what are my choices?" she asked. "Dead young and bloody, or dead old and lonely?"
"Milady, what happened to the proud, cocky warrior I know and love?"
Realizing how gloomy she was being and how much she must be unnerving her young charge, Mildy laughed weakly. "She's reeling from getting rejected for an awfully painful reason. Maybe I should just shut up for a while, how's that?"
He was too polite to nod, but she read his expression and fell silent nonetheless.
#
A few days later, they saw Sir Gawain and Sir Bors on the road ahead, and Mildy's thoughts took a hard swerve which nonetheless left her mind in its confused and unhappy state. Gawain, as she'd found out upon learning the identity of her mother, was her half-brother. It had been bad enough to know he was her cousin, when she'd only known that King Arthur was her father, but her brother too! She didn't like him at all, and knew the feeling to be mutual.
She hated the way he treated her with contempt and disdain; he looked at her with contempt and disdain for being a female warrior and her "false" claim of being kin to him. Apparently, he didn't think her worthy of sharing his blood. But they were closer than he knew.
When both groups became aware of each other's presence, Mildy and Gawain shared a brief, hostile silence. Then Bors spoke, trying to relieve the tension. "Hello, Lady Mildred," the plump, round-jawed knight said. "Are you well?"
"I'm fine," she replied in an even voice, not willing to show an ounce of weakness before her arrogant brother. Though she disliked him, she wanted him to respect her as a warrior. Arthur, too. Everyone! If not a perfect representative of her gender, she knew she was one hell of a fighter.
Bors gave her the perfect chance to prove it. "Count Gorsin has declared war on Camelot for a supposed insult from King Arthur. He doesn't stand a chance in the long term, of course, but for now Arthur's only sent a small force to quell his rebellion. We mean to help them out. Are you up for it?"
Mildy sensed a bit of doubt from him, but at least Bors had the manners to treat her as the warrior she presented herself. Gawain, on the other hand, glowered like he was looking down a uppity peasant from his high horse. "Sure, I'll come. I'm going to show you how a real warrior fights, Gawain!" And though he looked unnerved at the combat she'd committed them to, there seemed a hint of relief in Ares' otherwise fearful eyes.
#
He indeed felt glad to see his friend's fighting spirit alive and well, but Ares was terribly frightened about engaging in true warfare. Yes, he'd taken part in battles to the death before, and even killed. But he had never experienced the chaos of armies clashing, and from the stories his kin told him—admittedly to discourage him from t
rying to become a knight—he expected the worst of horrors.
Accompanying the knights to Count Gorsin's stronghold, he found a calmer scene than he'd expected, perhaps four hundred men camped just outside bowshot of the stout stone fortress. Apparently, Arthur's men would wait for all their allies to arrive before attacking. Mildy and Ares found themselves largely ignored by the other knights and soldiers, reluctant as usual to engage in conversation with the female warrior.
"This stinks," Ares said. "You'd think that out of so many knights, there'd at least be a few willing to give you a chance like Lance and Galahad."
Mildy smiled sadly. "There probably are, actually. But it's different with so many of their fellows around; they don't want to be looked down upon for opening their arms to the outcast."
So they waited together, occupying their time with little games and jests. As they sat drawing pictures in the dirt, a voice called, "Mildy! Didn't expect to see you again so soon."
She looked up, and a smile lit her face. "Galahad? Aren't you supposed to be hunting for the Grail?" The knight had appeared like a star among the darkness of his unwelcoming peers, but Ares didn't feel nearly as pleased as Mildy sounded. He'd been having fun with his friend, and now her attention would be stolen from him again.
"I'll get back to that soon, but right now this needs taking care of. So Mildy, who actually found the balls to ask you to come here?"
"Bors did. He's a smart one, compared to most."
"Are you doing well?"
"We're alright."
Galahad nodded, not quite meeting Mildy's gaze. "Well, good luck in the battle." He walked hurriedly away.
Mildy rested sad eyes on the knight's back. "And here I thought I would get a second chance, when I heard him call out to me."
Set your expectations too high, and it was easy to get disappointed. Ares felt sorry for his friend's dashed hopes, but said, "You can't expect that he would change his mind so easily. There are other men out there."
"I suppose there are. But somehow, I really thought he would be the one. Silly of me, I know."
"Happens to everyone. Maybe there is such a thing as love at first sight, but it doesn't always work out. Sorry, Milady."
"I know I won't have him, now. But I do hope this awkwardness will pass. We would still make good friends."
"It'll pass, with time."
She sighed. "I should have just settled for being friends. How was I ever stupid enough to think I could be anything more to a man like him?"
Though Ares hadn't shared Mildy's high hopes for her future with Galahad, her unusual pessimism bothered him. "You weren't stupid, just brave to try and reach for the best." And saying so, he wondered if he could be considered brave too. He wasn't a hero in combat, but he'd forsaken the safety of his home country to pursue his dream, hadn't he?
His encouragement seemed to have little effect, and they waited together without cheer. Night had fallen when Arthur's forces finished assembling before their target. They advanced, and the ranged bombardment from both sides began. Old Count Gorsin, about seventy years of age and dressed in armor too large for his shriveled frame, shouted from the wall, "I will never surrender!" Not the most original statement, but Ares believed it. Gorsin's eyes burned with desperate fury, and a clear unwillingness to come to a quiet end.
Ares followed Mildy up a scaling ladder, screaming bodies falling from the wall around them. The smell of blood was already strong in the air, and he felt too aware that he might not even make it up. Almost miraculously in his eyes, he topped the battlement right behind Mildy only to see her receive an axe cut to the arm. "Milady, you're hurt!"
Her flail caved in the skull of a helmetless young man, and Ares had to stifle a gasp at the sight of a human face crumpling like an egg. "I'm fine," Mildy said. "Watch out!"
A man slashed at Ares with a battered longsword, and he barely parried with his shorter blade. He thrust, and the man skipped back out of range. Ares hesitated, not so much waiting for an opening as unwilling to risk his opponent's deadly reach.
Mildy hit the soldier in the back of the head so hard his eyeballs bulged unnaturally from their sockets. He fell, his skull misshapen at a glimpse, and Ares tried not to look down as he stepped over the corpse to Mildy's side. Blood dripped from her wounded arm.
"You sure you're all right?" he asked as he made his first kill, stabbing into a stocky man's lower back while he locked blades with one of Arthur's soldiers.
Mildy raised her shield to block a sword, proving she could still move her injured limb. Her flail came down, crushing her foe's helm into his skull so that his head seemed to lose a third of its height. Ares had killed before, including just now, but there was something about his friend's utter demolition of human bodies which made him cringe inside.
She was no more a killer than he—well, she did kill a lot more people—but he saw now exactly why he preferred his shortsword to the larger weapons of English knights. Killing was killing, and maybe his distinctions were foolish, but to him there was a significance to the difference in the mess they made.
A heavy warhammer nearly took Ares' head clean off, and he just ducked the strike to stab at his enemy's gut. The soldier turned, and the blade glanced off a metal plate. Damn. The hammer wielder tried to break Ares' back with a downswing and he rolled out of the way. Stone chips scratched his face as the hammer crashed against the ground.
He was nearly deafened by the boom inches from his ear, and wobbled to his feet in time to catch a steel-covered elbow in the mouth. He stumbled away, forced to try and block the next blow with his shield. The wooden board broke apart on impact. His arm went numb. He hoped it wasn't broken. Ares tripped, falling to his back, and the hammer came up. Then its wielder's features froze, and he fell headfirst into Ares' lap.
He pushed the sightlessly staring body away in disgust, wondering who had saved him. To his surprise, it had been Gawain, who now exchanged heavy blows with one of Count Gorsin's sons. Ares supposed petty rivalries mattered little in mortal combat. He rubbed at his arm, and upon being able to move his fingers again stood and looked around for Mildy.
She finished off a fallen man, breaking his neck with a vicious kick that sent his helm flying over the battlements to the field below. "You seen Galahad?"
Still thinking of him? "No. I've been busy."
"Stay by my side. We'll be safer that way."
He tried. His foot found itself in a soft red-gray mass as he walked, and he almost retched right there. He walked faster, following Mildy's trail of slaughter, and another enemy barred his path. Sidestep, thrust, kill. For once it worked the first time, and the white-bearded soldier fell to the ground.
"Are we winning?" he asked anxiously.
"I think so." Two knights came at her at once. She held her own, but could not ward off all their blows forever, and soon a sword laid open her thigh. The pain seemed not to affect her as she struck back, leaving the head of the man who'd wounded her sideways on his shoulder for the moment before he slumped lifeless to the ground. "Ares, what are you doing?!"
He realized then he'd simply stood there watching Mildy struggle against the two men, and stabbed her remaining opponent through the side. "You didn't look like you needed help."
"Probably not, but you weren't doing anything!"
While Mildy looked over her thigh wound, Ares realized guiltily he could have saved her. Again, the thick of the battle found them. Ares ducked a bastard sword whooshing at his neck, but the red-bearded giant holding it continued forward and rammed a huge shoulder into his chest, knocking him down. The next chop would have split his breastbone in twain, but he blocked with his shortsword, slowing the heavier blade enough to save his life. Yet his sword broke, and the force still left in the mighty blow drove the breath from his lungs as it bruised his chest through his chain shirt.
The sword rose again, and for a moment Ares closed his eyes. What was he doing? He couldn't just let himself die. His eyes snapped open, and he kicked
up into the man's groin. As his opponent's knees buckled, Ares turned what remained of his sword so that he impaled himself when he fell. The heavy body nearly crushed him, and he struggled to push it off.
Helping him roll the corpse aside, Mildy pulled Ares to his feet. His legs felt like wet noodles, and he leaned on her for support. She pushed him away to brain the soldier charging at his back, and he found the strength to pick up a longsword and slice the leg of a spearman who tried to menace her with his reach.
"Finally," she said, her flail caving in the vulnerable man's face.
Ares' unfamiliar new weapon seemed overlong and unwieldy, and he struggled to parry the blows of his next enemy. Though the other man did not seem very skilled himself, flailing his sword like a simple club, he seemed to possess a fearsome strength. Or was it just his fatigue? His arms tiring, Ares cried for Mildy's help. She didn't come, and he saw at a glance that her hands were full with an immense bull of a knight. Suddenly Ares' sword flew from his grasp, his fingers stung from parrying a fierce blow, and his heart skipped a beat.
He threw himself back in time to avoid a gutting slash, but his foot caught against a body and he fell. Looking frantically about, he grabbed the handle of the nearest dropped weapon he could see. A mace. He kicked at his opponent's knee, and lamented his lack of skill in unarmed combat as he connected weakly to no visible effect. He scooted away on his rump, his foe stalking after him. Ares bumped up against a wall. The sword flashed down.
He moved, and steel rang against stone. The soldier unbalanced himself with his mighty miss, and almost by instinct Ares smashed his foot. He stood and swung the mace, breaking his opponent's skull at the temple, then stared in nauseous horror at the fluids which flowed out. Ares swallowed again and again, trying to keep down the contents of his stomach. A feminine cry of pain snapped him out of his reverie. He turned to see Mildy impaled on the end of a large sword.
"Milady! No!" he yelled, retrieving his foe's sword before he ran to aid his knight. But another accursed soldier blocked his path, and he knew he would never make it in time.
