The Valkyrie

The Valkyrie

By: Darian Lagup

Copyright January 2, 2004

The stench of death is thick around me filling the cool morning air. Unable to escape the smell, I gently stroke my steed, trying to ease his distress. Though we’ve both seen death and destruction far too many times before, it remains unsettling.

Each battle brings forth more idealistic young men dressed in their pageantry ready to serve their monarch. Some are not more than boys who have followed in the footsteps of their fathers and brothers who came before them. And this, their debutant, gruesomely welcoming them into the world of killing, fear, and death. When the fighting moves on to another venue, all that is left behind is the battle-scarred earth littered with piles of wounded and dead bodies.

A strand of my red-gold hair whips across my face as I turn toward the south. I snatch it and tug it back behind my ear before riding onward, weaving in and out of the rows of bloodied bodies. Many still clutch their swords, while others, their limbs severed from their bodies. A grisly sight I’ve grown accustomed to; one I cannot run from.

Amidst the death, I see movement. Then, I hear a muffled groan. His eyelids flutter briefly, as I dismount. When I reach his side, I know that I’ve found one still clinging to life with every breath. His eyelashes flutter again. Rich blue in their hue, I find them quite striking. His reddish brown hair curls around his face, dampened by his own blood. Or perhaps by that of another.

When his eyes open again, I see recognition in them. His bloodstained hand reaches to touch my cheek. His skin, coated in the morning’s dew, feels cool and wet against mine. I’m certain his blood now colors my milky white skin.

“Sweet Valkyrie, you’ve come for me,” he breathes as his knuckles faintly brush against my hair. I release a tear as I nod in answer.

I can see it so clearly. He led the charge, shouting to his men to keep advancing forward. And when the lines broke down and the melee had begun, he fought alongside them, plunging his sword into each enemy soldier that crossed his path. Even into the soldier who struck him from behind. With reflex action, he jabbed its sharp edge behind him, finding his attacker, killing him. Wounded, he struggled to remain in control, to stay upright and moving. Despite the blurring of his vision caused by blood loss, he saw a flash of black as a raven flew overhead. A few steps later, his body crashed to the ground bearing the weight of another man thrust against his chest in the chaos of the battle.

Holding his head in my lap, I know he is the one I sought. Brave. Valiant in his efforts. And beautiful, his face sculpted with great care. A favored son. The one that will return with me.

Scooping my arm beneath him, I elevate his upper body. He grimaces as I do this, his breath coming rougher and his skin looking more pallid.

Gently stroking his cheek with my free hand, I whisper, “You don’t need to fight it anymore. It’s okay. The battle is over.”

At hearing my words, I sense a greater ease in his blue eyes, eyes that normally would hold such intensity. Wrapping my cloak around him, I prepare to lift him. While cradling his weight against me, I feel an ache inside me, a sadness I normally would not feel. How many eternities has this been, and how many more will there be?

The wind, sensing the moment of our departure, uplifts the white feathers of the cloak, fluttering them. I close my eyes as I sense him struggling with his last breath.

Yes, it is time. Time to bring my chosen one from the battlefield to the other side. Perhaps there he will finally find peace.


	The Valkyrie By: Darian Lagup Copyright January 2, 2004 All Rights Reserved. Story cannot be reprinted/reproduced without Darian's permission. The stench of death is thick around me filling the cool morning air. Unable to escape the smell, I gently stroke my steed, trying to ease his distress. Though we’ve both seen death and destruction far too many times before, it remains unsettling. Each battle brings forth more idealistic young men dressed in their pageantry ready to serve their monarch. Some are not more than boys who have followed in the footsteps of their fathers and brothers who came before them. And this, their debutant, gruesomely welcoming them into the world of killing, fear, and death. When the fighting moves on to another venue, all that is left behind is the battle-scarred earth littered with piles of wounded and dead bodies. A strand of my red-gold hair whips across my face as I turn toward the south. I snatch it and tug it back behind my ear before riding onward, weaving in and out of the rows of bloodied bodies. Many still clutch their swords, while others, their limbs severed from their bodies. A grisly sight I’ve grown accustomed to; one I cannot run from. Amidst the death, I see movement. Then, I hear a muffled groan. His eyelids flutter briefly, as I dismount. When I reach his side, I know that I’ve found one still clinging to life with every breath. His eyelashes flutter again. Rich blue in their hue, I find them quite striking. His reddish brown hair curls around his face, dampened by his own blood. Or perhaps by that of another. When his eyes open again, I see recognition in them. His bloodstained hand reaches to touch my cheek. His skin, coated in the morning’s dew, feels cool and wet against mine. I’m certain his blood now colors my milky white skin. “Sweet Valkyrie, you’ve come for me,” he breathes as his knuckles faintly brush against my hair. I release a tear as I nod in answer. I can see it so clearly. He led the charge, shouting to his men to keep advancing forward. And when the lines broke down and the melee had begun, he fought alongside them, plunging his sword into each enemy soldier that crossed his path. Even into the soldier who struck him from behind. With reflex action, he jabbed its sharp edge behind him, finding his attacker, killing him. Wounded, he struggled to remain in control, to stay upright and moving. Despite the blurring of his vision caused by blood loss, he saw a flash of black as a raven flew overhead. A few steps later, his body crashed to the ground bearing the weight of another man thrust against his chest in the chaos of the battle. Holding his head in my lap, I know he is the one I sought. Brave. Valiant in his efforts. And beautiful, his face sculpted with great care. A favored son. The one that will return with me. Scooping my arm beneath him, I elevate his upper body. He grimaces as I do this, his breath coming rougher and his skin looking more pallid. Gently stroking his cheek with my free hand, I whisper, “You don’t need to fight it anymore. It’s okay. The battle is over.” At hearing my words, I sense a greater ease in his blue eyes, eyes that normally would hold such intensity. Wrapping my cloak around him, I prepare to lift him. While cradling his weight against me, I feel an ache inside me, a sadness I normally would not feel. How many eternities has this been, and how many more will there be? The wind, sensing the moment of our departure, uplifts the white feathers of the cloak, fluttering them. I close my eyes as I sense him struggling with his last breath. Yes, it is time. Time to bring my chosen one from the battlefield to the other side. Perhaps there he will finally find peace.