Without... and Within

His shield fell, and he took a knee. His valiant blade buried in the ground to support his heaving frame. The air was stifled through the helmet still tightly fastened on his shoulders. There were still archers stationed across the plains, and though he neither advanced nor retreated, he hoped his pause from battle wouldn't draw their fire. His regiment's cavalry outnumbered the enemy's, but a few riders had broken through the line, and were circling back; downing a few, he'd wet his blade on a fair some of horses and riders.

Hoofbeats!!! Was another returning to avenge his fallen brothers? Sir Thomas still vigorous with the courage of a battalion was far from physically spent, but mentally? The hoofbeats drew closer, if this was his end, he would only regret not seeing the eyes of his assailant. But the horse was not in a gallop, instead a canter, not a charge, but a slower pace, and came to a jostling halt, with the clanging racket of metal signifying the rider dismounting quickly. 

 

"What are you waiting for, the enemy standing single file anticipating the honor of falling victim to your sword?"

 

"FRANCIS!!" He replied breathlessly. No sooner had he spoken the words his helmet was lifted off his head. 

 

“....”

 

His humor usually lifted Thomas’ spirits, but in an instant, Francis furrowed his brow and narrowed his gaze; this was no time for mirth. With his horse standing between them and a safe 30 leagues distance to the front line, he dropped to his knee, searching knowingly into the eyes of his comrade in arms. 

 

"You're fighting on two battlefronts aren't you brother?"

 

"Without...and within.." Sir Thomas answered.

"And your sword...?" 

 

"My sword is... is the light in my heart..."

 

"and that light... How does it burn..?"

 

"Steady and Long; Ready and... Strong."

 

"and would it, could it.. can it ever.. ever go out?"

 

"N-never..."

 

"Never?"

 

"....Never."

 

"Aye... Never." said Sir Francis, his hand extended, helping his fellow knight to his feet.

 "Perhaps I should find a few straggling foes to scare your way, feed your still bloodthirsty blade?" Sir Francis joked, hanging his helmet on his saddle, preparing to re-mount.

 

"Find me a horse, would you brother?"

 

Sir Thomas' breath still a bit ragged, his posture now straightened, his sword sheathed, pulling a spear from the ground; a long spear, bearing their kingdom's proud and victorious banner.

 

Sir Francis looked him over: The fallen shield now risen, held steadfast and firm; both feet planted, poised and pointing towards the front line, prepared for any further onslaught. The day was won, but the war far from over.

 

"A horse then..." Sir Francis smiled, turned, and rode towards the fray.