|Courage and Fear
Author: Thewise PM
A traditional piece about two warriors heading to battle. Please read and review.Rated: Fiction T - English - Fantasy/Spiritual - Words: 1,201 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 05-26-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2918121
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It was the beginnings of dusk when two champions rode for battle. One was Arron, protector of the people. He rode a white mare. In his left hand he bore a silver shield with a red fist at its center. The shields name was Honor, and Arron carried it with much respect. In his right, Arron wielded Courage his sword. It was a blade of majesty, long and powerful, but it was a heavy thing, one had to bear much strength to carry it.
Arron was beloved to the people, and they cheered for him as he marched his mare bravely to meet his fate. His red cape hung over the back of his steed, catching the eye of all those that cheered for him, even those the farthest back could make him out, and they watched him, hope swelling in their chests.
Arron stood for all that was good in the world. He carried the faith and courage of the people, and he bore it with a smile on his face and a weight on his heart.
The other champion skulking his way across the field was Vyrin. He was everything Arron was not. He did not hold the courage or the faith of the land. He was cruel, and none cheered for him as he rocked on his black stallion, gray cape tattered and hanging loosely about his horse. Though no one cheered, the crowd did bear a different kind of support. Their silence was so still they might as well have been roaring his name, for Vyrin was the champion of fear, and all men held it tight in their hearts. There is no man that does not fear.
In his left hand, Vyrin welt the blade of Terror. It was not as long as Courage, but was jagged. The blade was made to draw pain for every inch it sunk in. In his right hand, Vyrin bore no shield but a glove of metal, with long sharp needles for each finger, each tipped with poison. It was known as the Glove of Hate.
And so the two champions marched their steeds across a barren field. The wind began to pick up as the two drew closer. They stopped before they met at the fields' center. Two men looked at each other with no love in their hearts. None said a word as they dismounted. Arron patted his mare lightly, sending her back to his people. She did not wish to leave him, but knew this was not her fight. Vyrin, did not look twice at his steed, but it too left him without a second glance.
Vyrin was the first to hold Terror aloft. The wind picked up to a howl as he raised his blade high over head. It seemed to shriek in the presence of Terror. He did not hesitate to strike, but Arron was prepared and he held Honor before him, blocking Vyrin's blade. The shield gonged when the blade hit.
Arron then swung Courage, but Vyrin, bearing no heavy shield, nor dragging cape, dodged the blade easily. He circled around back, but Arron followed Vyrin with a sharp eye.
Arron swung his long blade once more, and though Vyrin was quick, the length of Courage did reach him and a gash was torn into his thigh. Vyrin hissed and ripped Courage from his leg with his glove of Hate. The wound pained him more than it would any other human, but it did not take him. He knocked the blade aside and threw himself at Arron.
Arron made to bash his shield, but this time Vyrin was too quick. He grabbed for Arron's neck, digging the claws of Hate into his flesh. But the thread of Arron's red cape was thick and only it was shredded when Vyrin was forced to flee the might of Courage. He stumbled away from Arron, breathing hard and limping from his wound. Arron's great cape fluttered to the ground as he ran for Vyrin.
Vyrin held his blade before him, but when Courage came arching down he knew Terror would shatter beneath the weight of the blade and the strength of Arron. However, Vyrin was crafty. He waited until the last minute before retracting his blade and throwing himself to the ground.
Shocked by such cowardice, Arron tripped over Vyrin, yet managed to keep his footing. Vyrin grunted when Arron's boots hit him. Despite the pain, he pulled himself to his feet, and ran for Arron's exposed back, Terror held ready in his hand.
Arron spun, and held Honor before him. Terror scrapped against the shield. Arron then threw his weight into the blow. Vyrin was thrown from his feet. He stumbled to the ground, and before Vyrin could flee again, Arron pressed Courage to his throat.
"No! Please!" Vyrin cried. "Do not kill me." He begged, and tears wet his eyes.
Arron froze, and though he bore no love for Vyrin he could not find any honor in killing a begging man. He gazed at Vryin with contempt, but did raise his blade. "You will leave this place." He said. "You will bother us no longer. You will be cast off from us, and remain alone for all eternity."
Vyrin stared at Arron, eyes wide with fear. He nodded.
Arron withdrew his blade and turned his back on Vyrin, returning to his people. But Vyrin did not stay down. He charged Arron and sank Terror deep into his back. Arron fell to his knees, gasping in shock. Blood and pain blossomed from his chest. He felt the claws of Hate as they tore into his neck, felt the poison spread through his veins. He collapsed to the ground, gasping but taking in no air. Vyrin plunged Terror deeper into Arron, each jagged point ripping his skin anew as it sunk in. He bent down and spat into Arron's ear. He then tore the blade out and thrust it high into the air.
The people fled, and screamed, dispersing to any safe hole they could find. But in a world of fear there was no safe haven. Vyrin did seek out each and every person, filling every heart with terror. And in this state the people did live, huddled in their homes, fearing one another as well as themselves. Not one of them returned to Arron to see if he was truly dead, not one of them had the strength.
But on the day of Arron's death, his body deteriorated completely within the day. It broke apart into thousands of tiny sparks that shot out into the world. Each spark drifted into the hearts of the people. Where that spark landed no fear could dwell.
So know this, whether you are a girl fearing her wedding day, and the future it will hold, or a child starving a lone on the streets fearing death at every corner, or a man huddled in a dark cave, hidden from the world and all that might love him, know that there is a courage within you, and if you were to take hold of it, it would bare you through any fear.