In Measure
The waltz echoed in my ears, a conversation between brass and strings. A dialogue of comfort, of knowing, each measure deliberate and trusting. A call that would always be responded to. I look into her eyes, filled with fury and heartbreak. I have to look away, it hurts far too strongly. Instead I look at her hands, holding the sword I gave her so long ago, on her 21st birthday. It looks just as it did that day. It has not seen battle. It never had to. It was my sword that had blocked her from danger for so long. I stand, with weak knees, in the shaded grove of trees I knew so well, just past the meadow that surrounds the castle where Elora should be now. But she is not in the castle. Instead she is here in our grove, the light reflecting off the pristine silver of her sword as she lowers the blade at me.
Crescendo.
She steps in measure, the delicate strings in my mind becoming dominated by the fast fury of cellos. She stands in for a slightly flawed Posta longa, an offensive guard. She has stepped into measure. It’s a call that I must respond to, or risk my death. I know she could kill me, not because she’s a better swordsman, she’s never had to be. She could kill me because it's her. I respond by stepping into Dente di zenghiaro, the boar's tooth. A defensive guard, far different from my usual offensive style of battle.
As the tender countermelody in my mind comes to the forefront, I thought about how different things were now, how the trees in the grove were beginning to lose their leaves to autumn gusts, how I had abandoned my lifelong commitment to the princess not even 24 hours ago, and how Elora was facing me, rage and tears in her eyes. I thought about how she used to look at me and I felt my stomach drop. I’d give anything for her to look at me like that again, eyes full of trust and laughter and friendship. Elora swings her sword at me, clearly having lost any of the basic sword skills I had taught her to her unquenched anguish. I easily deflected the blade and stepped back. The waltz was back to the melody, dominated by fast, furious strings.
“I’m sorry—” my voice caught in my throat “I’m sorry I ran from you, Elora” The sound of strings swelled in my mind again as Elora surged forward, seemingly incensed by my apologies. I deflected again, this time stepping into Posta frontale ditta corona, the crown guard, as I pushed forward. I couldn’t hurt her, and even seeing her startle as I pushed her back, balancing the strings and horns that played their waltz in my ears.
Vivace.
“That’s the part you’re sorry about?” Elora yelled, her throat raw. I let my guard fall a bit, unintentionally, as I recalled back to the night I left. Had I forgotten something I had done, my mind frazzled by love and loss? I played back the steps rapid-fire in my mind as I heard the horns of the waltz play chunks of the countermelody. I remembered how it felt to look at Elora, and how it felt to look at him. The realization replayed in my mind, the sting of realizing I could be Elora’s protector no longer because I was selfish and upset and all i could think about was her soft lips against mine and her raven black hair falling through my rough hands. I thought back to how, after this realization, I had carefully walked Elora up the grand staircase, her body heavy with exhaustion. I tried not to think about the feeling of her warm breath on my neck as she leaned on me. In the present, Elora surged toward me again, bringing back the melody of the battle as she forced her way into a closer measure. I tried not to look at her face, red with anger, wet with tears. Elora wasn’t having it though, as she slammed her sword against mine, more as a warning or a threat than an actual attempt to harm me.
“You can’t even fucking look at me anymore? Must be hard not getting what you wanted” she spat. I looked at her, confused. How did she know what I had wanted? I had kept it so secret for so long, how had she found out once I was gone? My sudden shock gave her the advantage she needed, and the sounds of the brass were suddenly silenced as she brought her sword to my throat, digging in against my gorget. I felt my face flush as she stepped closer to me. She was a mess, her hair roughly tied up, dirt smeared on her face and hands. Elora had been undone, apparently freed from the constraints of nobility, and she looked good.
“You did this,” she shouted at me, pulling down part of her collar as I felt my heart drop, the waltz stopped momentarily by the deep sound of a timpani. Under her collar, stretching from her jawline to somewhere obscured by her gorget, was the angry red line of a newly healed wound. A wound that looked a few days old. Its healing progress allowed me to estimate when she had been hurt, and it aligned perfectly with when I had departed, probably within a few hours of her wedding.
Sforzando.
“You did this and now you won’t even look at me? If you’re going to kill me, fucking do it. Stop toying with me, you’re a better swordsman than this and we both know it!” I felt like my heart was breaking again. How could she think I would ever do that to her? Why did she believe I had the desire to harm her, much less to kill her?
“You got hurt.” I softly stated the obvious, guilt flooding my heart. “You got hurt, and I wasn’t there to protect you.”
Tenuto.
Elora paused and the countermelody surged to the forefront, thrusting me back into memory. I had taken Elora upstairs, after the party, helped her into bed, and ran my fingers through her hair as she fell asleep. It was definitely unnecessarily sentinel, but I needed her to know that I cared for her before she woke up and I was long gone. I got lost in my thoughts, thinking about the man she had spent all night with, the way she shot glances over to me to let me know what she was feeling. I thought about how lucky he was, and how he didn’t even know it.
“Harpe?” she had whispered, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Yes, my lady?” I said, partway teasing, but also realizing tonight was the last night Elora would be my lady. She had giggled sleepily, before putting her hand on mine.
“I love you.” Her words were slurred with sleep, and probably a bit too much wine, but I felt my heart stop nonetheless.
“I love you too, Elora.” I had replied, my voice hollow, knowing that she could never love me the way I loved her.
The words were heavy in my mouth, because I did love Elora, I had loved her for so long I had forgotten what it was like to feel anything else. How was I supposed to watch her get married to that fucking prince without my heart breaking? There was no answer to that question, because I couldn’t.
Elora’s voice in the present pulled me back from the memory.
“Of course you weren’t there! I know you sent the assassins to my wedding! Why else would you have left me to him?” She was still speaking with power and anger, but this time her words were laced with doubt and uncertainty, and Elora’s voice cracked as she mentioned her political fiance. Seemingly to shake off this doubt, Elora clashed her sword against mine again as she drew her sword back. I could tell she meant it as an act of aggression, but it highlighted her insecurity even further. Why would take her sword away from my neck? She wanted to fight me, so she could get angry, so she would be hurting her attacker instead of her friend. I decided to entertain this taste for battle. I liked watching her fight. She wasn’t good, by any means, but I had missed watching the way she moved, the way she furrowed her brow when she was focused, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed heavily, tiring quickly from the combat.
“I didn’t call any assassins, Elora please believe me!”
“Why did you leave me, Harpe? Why did you leave me all alone,” she said, her voice cracking.
Coda.
My heart, which I had thought couldn’t feel any worse, dropped again. Elora pulled herself into a nearly perfect Posta breve, a short guard, and despite the fact it was certainly not an effective counter to my ribbon cut, it made me falter as I remembered when I had taught her it. It was an uneventful afternoon in autumn, about two years ago. I was watching Elora sketch various flora and fauna in the garden, my hand resting comfortably on the hilt of my sword. She had come up to me after giving a frustrated huff and throwing her sketchpad and charcoal on the bench she was sitting on.
“Harpe, I’m bored,” Elora groaned, wrapping her arms around my neck. I tried to keep a straight face, both literally and metaphorically, as she sighed up at me. “What do you do when you’re bored?” Think about you, I thought, as I explained that I frequently did solo sword work when I had nothing else to do. Her doe-like eyes had lit up, sparkling with excitement. “Can you teach me some?’ Oh hell. I definitely wasn’t supposed to do that, not only because I was the only sword she would ever need, but because swords are dangerous, and fighting is not something nobility is permitted to do. It was above them. But to Elora, I was weak. “Pleaseee? I promise I’ll keep it super secret.” I sighed, letting my emotions win out over logic.
“Fine. We’ll just need a secret place to pr—” The end of my sentence was cut off as she grabbed my wrist, dragging me away. She had taken me to a small shaded area of the meadow, obscured from onlookers by a smattering of trees.. I unsheathed my sword, feeling the familiar weight in my hands. Elora gasped, and I looked over to see her cheeks colored a soft pink.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to— I mean— I think your sword is really cool!” she stuttered, and I laughed, making her blush even harder. “Harpe! Don’t laugh at me!”
“Your wish is my command, my lady” I teased, stifling my laughter. I beckoned her over, “do you want to see what it's like to hold a sword or not?” She took the sword from me, trying a few times to swing it. “Woah, woah, Lady Elora, be careful!” I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her wild swinging. “Do you want to see what it's like to hold a sword like a real swordsman?” Elora nodded excitedly, and I wrapped my arms around her, holding her right hand with mine, near the guard and our left hands on the pommel. I felt her soft hair brush my cheek, and I felt realization hit. I was in love with Elora. I’d been explaining away my feelings for months now, rationalizing my desire to spend all my time with her as part of my duty as her sworn sword, the blushing as shyness, and the staring as… Well, I hadn’t really rationalized that one. I just liked to look at her. It was all excuses. I loved Elora, and I couldn’t fool myself any longer. The memory flashed before my eyes as my brain went on autopilot, disarming Elora and pressing her further back, until she started to fall backwards, having tripped over a log.
Ritardando.
I instinctively reached my hand out to her, and she clasped her hand on my wrist. With her other hand, I realized she had pulled out a dagger that was now pressed to my chest.
Tension swirled thickly in the air between us, as I spoke softly, honest and scared and tender, “Elora.”
“Harpe.”
Fin.
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