The Vow Scene

This is a scene from a book I'm writing. Let me know what you think of it.

    “Ask it of me and I will go to that place.  Where men are made and boys are lost.  Where hearts break and bows sing.  Ask me to, and for you I will go to war.”   Marshall knelt before her, one hand gripping her arm above the elbow, the other resting lightly on  the hilt his of sword.  It was always thus between them.  Her first, the sword second.
    “I would never ask one such as you.  A poet does not fight, and artist’s feet do not tread the killing fields.  We both know you cannot stand to hurt another person.  You have proven it to yourself.  A life of devotion to the faith and the sword have forged your body into a weapon, but that does not change the fact that in your heart you are a pacifist.”  Her face was dry and stern with worry, but Marshall could hear tears falling in her voice.
    “And if I could make the difference?  If my sword and my heart could turn the tide?   What then?  What if it were I who saved us all?  Would you ask?”
    “I cannot.  You know that I can not ask you to go.   What if…  What if you didn’t come back.  I have seen what you can do.   I know your skill.  But what if it does not suffice and I lose you?   You are my world.  What price to risk the world?  I could not bear it.
    “Then ask me to stay.”  He stood swiftly, back as straight as his sword, feet planted and shoulders high.  He stood as a man awaiting sentencing.
    “You will do as I ask?  Though it cost you your honor?  Your very soul?  You would stay if I asked you?”
    His jaw clenched, the muscles bulged and taut.  His eyes hardened and turned  inward.  “I will”
    Now the tears that had been hiding behind a life of courtly manner ran unheeded down her face to drip from a chin that quivered at the cost of holding in so much grief. 
    But no hint of this invaded her voice as she said, “Then hear me now and know that this my final word on the subject.  You will go and wage war on the foes of your God and your country.  But you will not do it for them.  You will kill and hurt and maim and though their army outnumbers ours by a thrice you will be victorious.  But you will not do it for your brother Knights or soldiers.  You will be a force not lightly put aside and a sword of fury that will haunt the survivors of your wrath until the day they die. You will do all of this not in your name, nor in the kings, nor in God’s, but in mine!  In the name of our love and the life we will have together.  You will kill though it stripes your soul to the marrow and when its over, and enough men have died, you will come home to me and we will bear the burden of what you have done together.  Together, Marshall.  We will be together and I would have your word on it.  As a Knight in the service of the One True God I will have your word that you will return.”
    A moment passed as the balance between love and honor shifted inside a man who had so much of each. And then. 
    Marshalls' knees crashed to the floor as his sword leaped from its sheathe with a sibilant hiss.  He held it straight and true, blade down, with the cross in front of his face.  His voice was rough and husky under the strain of the words that it had no choice but to say.
    “I, Marshall, Knight of the Faith and of the Crown do so swear in the name of God and my love.  I will return.”
    Denela grieved for what she had forced upon her love.  She could scarcely contain the pain of having made him choose between what he was and what he loved.  But it was the only way she could be sure that he gave his all in the fighting ahead.  He would not do it for himself, he was not a killer.  But she knew he would do it for her.  He would do whatever he could to honor the contract of both love and honor that she had placed on him.  If only she could live with herself. 
    She looked away in shame, shoulders shaking as suppressed sobs wracked her small frame.  If only this war had not been forced upon them.  If only Marshall had been something else.  A nobles son, or a farmer or anything besides a knight of the line.  But no.  She would not have wanted him to be anything else.  He was exactly what he was and she loved him because of this, not in spite of it.  It was all to hard.  She could not bear it.  And in this she could not borrow Marshall’s strength, he was taxed to his limit.
    Denela looked back at the face of her hearts joy, half fearing what she would see there. Condescension, guilt, anger?  It was none of these things.  She knew in that moment that she had no idea where his limits were.  Marshall smiled, and in that gesture gave her everything she needed and more.
    It was always thus between them. 

 

Reviews

[Tucker]

I love how detailed your writing is. You really bring out the emotions and features of your characters, which is amazing.