The Vampire & Her Witch

The copse of trees fell silent after Milo’s fierce declaration, save for the crackling of the fire and the distant rush of the stream. It was the kind of silence that came after a storm had passed, when the world itself seemed to be catching its breath and taking stock of what remained in the aftermath.

Sir Bedwyr stood a respectful distance away from the two men, the two brothers, who clung to each other by the fire. His young face wore an expression that was equal parts awe and confusion. The dem-, er, the Eldritch man holding Sir Ollie and sobbing was nothing like the raiders he’d fought outside of Riverstone, and neither was the horned soldier hovering protectively nearby.

But then, had he ever once tried to talk to the Eldritch? Offered to feed them after a harsh winter, or allowed them to carry water from the river during a harsh summer drought? If he’d struggled alongside them, the way Milo and Harrod had struggled alongside Sir Ollie to save Lady Cerys... would he have formed bonds like this himself?

He had been trained since boyhood to recognize acts of heroism. His father had filled his head with tales of knights who charged into battle against impossible odds. Men who stood alone against hordes of ’demons’, who gave up their lives to hold the line so their fellows could survive to fight again. Men who faced certain death with nothing but courage and steel. Heroism, he had been taught, was about the willingness to draw your sword and face death without flinching.

But what he had just seen... that had been heroism too. Sir Ollie stood in freezing water, enduring unimaginable pain to save a woman who had fled from him in terror. Milo dove into the current to rescue his friend, and then refused to let him slip away into death even when Ollie himself had seemed willing to go. And even Harrod, despite his small stature, had stepped in at every opportunity, giving his all and refusing to give up on the knight he served.

None of them had drawn a sword. None of them had slain an enemy. And yet Bedwyr was certain, absolutely certain, that he had just witnessed several acts of courage that would put most battlefield heroics to shame.

How did you fight an enemy that lived inside a friend’s own heart? How did you defeat despair with nothing but words and tears and a wooden carving? How did you drag someone back from the edge of death when the person you were trying to save didn’t want to be saved?

He didn’t know. But somehow, Milo had done it. Somehow, that strange Eldritch warrior with the wide, flat tail and buck teeth had fought for his brother’s life and won, not with strength or speed or skill at arms, but with love. Pure, desperate, unrelenting love that refused to accept defeat.

Sir Bedwyr thought he understood heroism. He’d just gotten married, and he’d been eagerly looking forward to starting a family of his own. He thought he knew the kind of hero that he wanted to be, so his son would have a father he could be proud of. He thought he’d known the lessons he needed to teach his son so that he could grow up to be a strong, heroic knight like Bedwyr’s own father had been.

Now, Bedwyr was beginning to realize he didn’t understand heroism at all. But if there was anyone he could learn from, Sir Ollie and his men were very likely the truest heroes he’d ever met...

Beside him, Sir Cynwrig knelt with Dalwyn still pressed against his chest, one hand stroking his son’s hair while his eyes remained fixed on Sir Ollie’s trembling form. The relief that washed through him was so intense it made his hands shake, and his vision blur with tears that he was too exhausted to hold back.

Ollie was going to be alright. The young knight had rounded the corner, had been pulled back from whatever dark place he had been staring into, and now he was here, alive, crying against Milo’s shoulder but undeniably, unmistakably alive.

And if Ollie was going to be alright, then Cerys was going to be alright too. Her wounds were closed, and her bleeding had stopped. Even though her arm and leg were still broken, she was breathing steadily, and her color was slowly returning to her features as the warmth of the fire seeped into her body.

She would recover. She would live. She would be able to hold their children again, to scold Dalwyn for tracking mud through the house, to laugh at Cynwrig’s terrible jokes and roll her eyes at his attempts to woo her the way he had as a much younger man.

She would live, and it was all because of the young man who was currently sobbing in his friend’s arms, who had nearly killed himself trying to save her despite her hatred and fear.

Cynwrig didn’t know if Cerys would understand what Sir Ollie had done for them. He didn’t know if she would be grateful or horrified when she woke and learned that witchcraft had saved her life. But he hoped, desperately hoped, that she would see past her fear and the teachings of the Church long enough to recognize the sacrifice that had been made on her behalf.

Sir Ollie had stood between his wife and death. He had taken risks that should have killed him, and in the process, he had endured pain that Cynwrig couldn’t even begin to imagine. And he had done it all for a woman who had called him a demon, who had begged to be allowed to die rather than accept his help.

That kind of selflessness deserved recognition. It deserved respect. It deserved gratitude, even if the very thought of offering thanks for witchcraft made a part of Cynwrig’s heart go cold with dread at the notion of how the Church would react to one of Lord Dunn’s knights giving thanks and paying respect to a witch.

But Cynwrig had seen a miracle today, and it was a miracle that no amount of gold or silver given as ’offerings’ at the temple could ever have secured for his family. Even if he’d given all of his wealth, the Church could never have done what Sir Ollie did.

Silently, Cynwrig resolved to make Cerys understand. Somehow, he would find the words to help her see past the Church’s teachings to the truth of what had happened here. He had to, because the alternative, the thought that his wife might reject the gift of life that had been purchased at such a terrible cost, was more than Cynwrig could bear.

Sir Ollie was the hero who had saved their family, and he’d asked for nothing in return... If that didn’t deserve their respect and gratitude, and if Cerys couldn’t understand that... then he didn’t know how they could continue to live together as a family.

”Remember this moment, Dalwyn,” Cynwrig said softly as he kissed his son on the crown of his head. ”Remember everything that happened today, because Sir Ollie is a great knight and a great hero who saved our family. Some people might tell you that he isn’t a knight or a hero, because he’s a witch, but don’t you dare listen to them, because you know the truth,” he said sternly.

”And the truth is that witches can be knights and heroes,” Cynwrig told his son. ”And the Eldritch can too...”