Memories

Further reminiscing on the part of our favourite Knight-Lieutenant!

Anger takes over carelessly; I thought I knew better than this. Instead of helping the other Knights, I run over to the blood mages. Malicious sinners, I demand vengeance! With a swing of my Order-issued greatsword, I try to take revenge for the man who hasn't yet fallen entirely.
Leto has more mercy than a desperate man, but I'm not the one fighting to breathe. I'm fighting to help him keep his blood, but the maleficarum and Captain coughing up the precious substance are not helping. Mentally, I vow to keep him safe,I vow to slay those creatures " they're not even people to me anymore. They're parasites; stealing blood of an innocent to maintain their foul and corrupt power.
The other Knights join me, having finished with the small cluster we had dealt with together earlier, and I leave them to fight off the mages so I can see the result of the Captain's injuries. His armour (a little more ornate than mine, with much more embellishment on the Sun " the holy sign of Leto " on his breastplate) is pierced at the middle of his torso.
He coughs up more blood, but some of it stays on his bottom lip. Oh Leto, how could they do this?
"Redd," The Captain says in a rough, yet quiet, voice, "Kill me,"
"No! You will not die here, not like this " not cowering in pain," I declare, as if it's my place to do so, "You shall die a Knight of The Order, a Captain, and hopefully not here,"
"Ever the optimist, Redd; stay brave Lieutenant." He coughs, heaving and grunting in pain, "Please pray for me, and kill me."
"No Captain! You shall not die - not here, now and certainly not by my hand." But he smiles and continues to protest.
"I don't want them to have the satisfaction of killing a Knight-Captain." I take my sword in hand, my quaking hand, to pull it closer. I feel sick with myself at contemplating this, even arousing the idea; his eyes beseech me, "Please, do this, Tristan."
I swallow, though my throat is dry " at very least, I swallow my pride, nerves and ignorance. The Knights, who had stopped fighting the final piece of magic-using scum only moments prior, bow their heads to him as they stand over us; their bleeding Knight-Captain, and their sorrowful Knight-Lieutenant. Raising the sword, they bade him farewell, whereas I look at him with guilt-ridden eyes.
"Farewell, Captain." I gulp; he replies "Farewell, Tristan." I push the blade deep into his chest. The Knights behind me begin to talk, one taking the lead in the affair, as I shut my eyes to reflect.
"Leto, guide this man who served you well to the next world; shine your light upon him, to guide him and to honour him. Faithful he was, and we shall forever be; a hero he was, and we shall strive to be; fallen he is, and we shall one day be. Forgive us for our acts of justice and mercy, and allow him to be free " Forevermore."
"Forevermore," The remaining of us say, but my voice catches. I withdraw the blade and sheath it; I stoop down to pick up his corpse.
The Captain and I go all the way back to moments after my first mage, Traynor. He wasn't soft on mages… or Knights now that I think of it. Captain Luke, or Luke Reynolds to a select few, managed to keep everyone in order. He was always a rank above me, and about a year older. Luke was there for me when I was confused about the Order, about the whens and whys. 
Our first meeting occurred a few days after my first proper memory of being a Knight. He… I gave him no reason to remember me. Well, that's not exactly true, I gave him a lot of reasons to remember me " but in a distasteful way, looking back at the memory with shame, pondering what the Order was coming to when recruiting people like me.

In short, I got into a fight with another recruit. I almost killed him. This was, like I said, little after my first proper task involving a mage. Everything happened in the Tower Courtyard, and it was just a one-on-one fight. We gave no consideration to those around us; not the Knights, not the mages, not even the Sisters from the Hall.
        "Why the hell do we let scum like you here?" One recruit, Myron, asked with venom in the words he spat at me; it was unprovoked, to most people, but between me and him it was concluding unfinished business from the night before, when we were on the Upper Vallen patrol together.
        "Scum like me?" I replied, squaring off to him, "That's a pretty bold comment,"
        "The Order can find better people than you. We don't need you, Redd! So get lost, pack up your sword and go home crying to your mother," He growls, but it doesn't last for long. I put my sword to his throat, and he stared down it looking me in the eye. "Hit a nerve, Scum?"
I hit him with the flat of my sword, it knocks him back. I retort, "No, you're playing on the last one."
        "You held a bloody sword at my throat! What kind of Knight responds with violence?" 
        "What kind of man calls another scum?" I growl
        "An honest one," He draws his blade, a longsword of standard issue, "But we'll play your way,"
He lunged, and I parried. I pushed his sword away, he swung for my legs. He scratched my armour with the tip of his blade. The fight drew in a crowd, some gasp, some cheer, others join and whisper about it, but few are silent, watching us counter and block, the occasional scratch being made in our amour. Our swords were crossed, and we exchanged looks " nay, we exchanged glares - of arrogance and dominance.
The silently-initiated competition was interrupted by two Second-Lieutenants. A red-head and a brunette pulled us apart, one was snarling " the red-head with Myron " and the other grimaced " the brunette, with me, called Luke Reynolds. He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the courtyard as our audience disbanded. His grip was tight around my armoured wrist.
I explained everything, I was honest " I started a fight after a remark he made, and he didn't understand why I reacted in such a way. Luke stared at me, contemplating what the next course of action would be. He mentioned talking to his fellow Second-Lieutenant to come to some sort of agreeable story where neither I nor Myron would get dismissed.  He returned to me an hour later in the dining hall with news " double patrols, apprenticed to him, and if I made any mistakes like that again I'd be transferred or at worst dismissed.
Luke wasn't happy about it at first; he had a troubled teenager on his case, who wants that? As we went out on patrols, to arrest when we got tipped off, he realised I wasn't useless. I could fight, it's what I did. I protected him most of the time, like a bodyguard he didn't need to pay. When you spill blood with someone you find a bond, different to any other relationship beforehand. It's not like brotherhood or a friendship, and it's anything but romantic. Perplexing and strong, we stuck together. He became a First-Lieutenant (more commonly called Lieutenant) and I became a Second-Lieutenant (or S-Lieutenant). He became Captain, I became First-Lieutenant.

In the time between, we'd gone off to The Sword and Staff in Lower Vallen for a drink and stumbled back singing drunken folk songs. We couldn't sing. We'd gone on more patrols together " the levels of trust between us were immense, there was almost no other option in group choices.
The bond grew deeper, he was the closest thing to a friend I could have made. A friend I… I killed. I killed him. He drew breath and now… Well. He doesn't now. I made sure of that. How could I deny my friend his last wish? What Knight would let his commanding officer die at the hands of some unworthy criminal?
'Leto, guide this man who served you well to the next world; shine your light upon him, to guide him and to honour him. Faithful he was, and we shall forever be; a hero he was, and we shall strive to be; fallen he is, and we shall one day be. Forgive us for our acts of justice and mercy, and allow him to be free " Forevermore.' The words ring in my mind, over and over, even now we're back in the Tower.
And now it dawns on me that I shouldn't fret about killing him " it was his final request. Instead, I should mourn him. But it shouldn't be this way, should it? It should be me grieving his loss, it should be him grieving mine. I should have died, not the Knight-Captain.
        "Lieutenant," A lower officer says to me, his voice reeking with confidence "Commander Grind wishes to speak with you; a report on the night, an issue occurred."

I don't move, I say nothing. "It's urgent." He adds after an odd pause of intense and hostile silence.
        "Fine," I nod, "I'll see Grind,"