Suffering from the Delusions of Others

Romance, Fantasy, Knights, Princesses, all that stuff is overrated. Sometimes people just get too swept up in all those old stories.

In a certain valley, in some certain meadow there lay no one of particular remarkability. She was enjoying the afternoon sun whilst reading some hard leather-bound tome. It was truly a lucky chance to be left with no work for one day out of the many spent harvesting grain day in and day out. She also had the high honor of being the one remaining female of her family, this meant that financial concerns fell under her purview of domestic concerns. It had been some time since her mother had died, and her father deemed that it was not a manly pursuit to learn reading and writing. Yes, better to leave it to the women to handle trading goods at the nearby town, stop them from getting stupid ideas of wanderlust and advancement. So she gained the singular advantage of becoming essential and being able to engage with the book in her hands.

This was no easy tome to handle. She had another singular chance to discover it after it had fallen off the cart of some wandering merchant. Even within the first few pages she encountered words she could only guess at and piece together from context. Still, it beat waiting around in the village with the fools she called her brothers. They and her dad thought nothing except how best to bring in the next harvest, how best to plough the fields, and who would be a wealthy targeted wealthy family for her brothers to marry into.

She took a pause to sigh at this thought, “unlucky is the woman who I get to foist Harold or Friedrich off onto.” The sun was listing lazily over the first peak in the east, granting her a better light. It would also tan her were she not already deeply tanned from her time spent traveling between her town and village and aiding around the house. She was good looking, as far as dirt poor peasant women were concerned. She lacked many womanly charms which her father insisted would make it difficult for her to find a husband. She also possessed fine fingers and lengthy golden hair, but that didn’t matter much for both were rather dirty and she had never found any great priority in maintaining their cleanliness. She bathed as much as the rest of her family, which is to say very rarely.

The tome itself was also very little to speak about. She had no way of knowing this, but this book was often used to educate children of the nobility who had reached the age of eight. Still, for a mostly self-taught peasant, none too bad. It just covered some basics of the kingdom’s history, heavily biased of course, depicting some long-dead king, who had existed before even her grandfather five generations back, as a hero. It could all be fiction for all she knew, not that it mattered to her much anyways. She knew just a few things well: basic numbers, sunny days, and the pleasant atmosphere of silence. Unfortunately all were in short supply this time of year. That is why this single instance presented such a golden opportunity and must not be squandered.

She lay carelessly on her back. Grass stains covered her simple garments and skin without much concern. “The lords all think we peasants bathe in mud anyways, why should I do anything to upset their expectations?” She knew her station, and was neither pleased nor upset with it. There was little to be done to further oneself in this kingdom, and that was a fact that had long been accepted. Her father had told her early in her life that her duty was to help the family and marry well. Really the second was an extension of the first, it was his way of pawning her off. This did not mean that he did not expect her to continue helping out, only that he would no longer be charged with her subsistence. 

She had just made her way to the bottom of the second page when she heard the steady beats of hoofprints. Knowing that her lovely alone time had just been squandered by some fool out for a ride, she quickly closed up her book and sat upwards, making a minimal effort to give off an aura that forbade interaction. To the north, coming down the valley and several stone throws from her (more like one, maybe one and a half for her eldest brother) she saw a strangely dressed man riding a plough horse. His clothes were common enough, shabby things made from coarse materials, if not for their unusual colors which were much brighter than she was accustomed. She knew common sense dictated that if one were to wear the same clothes for years at a time, muted colors were better to hide the stains. This idiot apparently had none of her sense. 

Shrugging off the damage that her dagger eyes had inflicted, her court jester continued his approach. He pulled on the reins as he neared, but made poor job at controlling his horse causing her to roll with her book pressed to her chest in order to avoid a slow trampling. He then attempted a leap off the horse, but only further his display of complete inadequacy by getting his foot caught in the stirrup and ploughing directly into the ground and being drug a few feet by his still unwieldy horse. He leapt up, seemingly undaunted, and gave a deep bow, slightly undercut by the freshly cleaved grass falling off his red and puffy face.

“My lady, I wish to profess my undying love for you. Surely, you are the fairest in the land, oh holy maiden.”

“Ah, so he doesn’t just play the part, he really is an idiot.” She thought to herself, but just continued her volley of arrows by narrowing her eyes. 

“I was just going about my knight’s training and exercising my trusty steed Achilles here,” he attempted to pat the horse but it siddled away as if aware of how poorly the woman would think of him if he were associated with this cretin. “But I saw you, my dainty darling, lying in this meadow as if expecting me. It is exactly as the prophecy foretold, that a lovely woman would be found in just such a meadow for me, the humble Sir Tremblay.” Despite the lack of reaction, he continued on as if encouraged. “You have likely heard of me, slayer of ogres, dragons, demons, enemies of the king,” he continued to ramble off a list of nonsensical enemies he had evidently defeated with his noticeably weak arms and clumsiness. “You see, when this kingdom was formed I was laid to rest along with the great king. However, I prophesied that I would return one day when the kingdom was in great trouble to be its savior. Unfortunately, my dearly beloved Kriemhild died before we could be wed. I knew that she too would be reborn and that we would share our nuptials in the next life. It is with great pleasure that I have at last found you.”

Well reason was clearly not the order of the day, she decided that a chiding remonstrance was the easiest way to get this fool on his way.

“I’m sorry sir, erm… what was it again?”

“Sir Tremblay.”

“Right, uh Sir Tremblay. I’m afraid I’m not the woman that you speak of. My name is Helga not Krimulia or whatever it was her name was.”

“No, no, you can’t possibly be mistaken for anyone else my dear Kriemhild. Songs have been sung of your great beauty and I find you here, reading a book. Surely you must be of the nobility as I prophesied. Perhaps your memories have not yet returned to you, but I’m sure after our imminent betrothal they will come back as fast as the great currents of the Trimbres and you will once again fling yourself on me and give me a lovely kiss for every year we have been apart.”

Helga’s pity and annoyance had quickly sunken to the bottom of her stomach where time is relative, and in which it had spent centuries being slowly refined into the utmost disgust and indignation. Who was this pockmarked, poorly robed, foolish boy claiming that she would be fawning on him. She had far from agreed to a betrothal, in fact her blood boiled to take that poor excuse for a sword and leave him bleeding in the field. 

“I see you have the great histories,” he said, much too loudly having glanced the book. “If you turn to page 357 you will find the beginnings of our wondrous little romance.” She did not much see the point in this, but decided that if she humored him, she would find the means to the destruction of his little fantasy and escape this wretched situation all the faster. While she was focused on handling the heavy book and opening to the correct page he moved, perhaps for the first time in his life, stealthily alongside her and lifted the book into his own hands. Finding it too much of a task to handle, he let it rest in both of their hands while she ground her teeth like a whetstone. He pointed to a specific part in the middle of the page. She was a little shaken to find that he was indeed right, there was a knight by the name of Sir Tremblay named. He flipped a few pages and pointed again, indeed as stated, there was a lady by the name of Krimhild listed and her coming betrothal to Sir Tremblay. 

Shocked that this boy was not quite the idiot his talents suggested him to be, but still beyond perturbed, she decided to continue indulging him, if only to continue in the book. 

“You see my lady, this book is a little scant on the details, but I remember them as if they were yesterday. Indeed, our courtship was that of legends, and indeed some of the other old texts hold a more verbose explanation than here, but as you can see, I am no liar. We are indeed the couple that is described in these well-weather pages of this tome.”

“You have proven only to me that these two existed, what gives you the right to stake this claim?”

“Alas, I am without further texts of our depiction at the moment. But as you can ascertain, I am a thoroughly accomplished knight. But indeed, those are the least of my talents. Surely at this moment you feel a strong attraction to me. Oh, how I would make the other knights jealous. I was known as the most handsome and gallant knight of my age, and my looks have hardly diminished of these centuries. And indeed, you always had your charms too. I remember how the other ladies would glare at you as we danced during the banquet and you would return to the sitting room with the most nonchalant look that had ever crossed the king’s hall.”

Frankly she was too impressed to respond. Too impressed by the utter absurdity of every single syllable he dared to throw in her direction. There were not enough rags in the world to stop the sewage which spewed from his mouth like blood from a slaughtered pig.

“Unfortunately, that also proved to be your end. The other women became jealous. Jealous of your beauty, and of course the coming of your wedding to me.” He placed a hand on his chest and raised his head back, as if proud, before bringing it to rest in his palm, as if greatly distressed. “It was truly a terror and a great weight on my heart. I searched for your killers the rest of my days, but alas I found no justice, for they were all ladies of great standing. They were inscrutable and all possessed good alibis. I would have enacted vigilante justice had I not sworn an oath to my king and foresaw that we would be reunited here. But now that you are at my side again I can rest easy.”

This conversation, on top of being taxing and distressing, was becoming rather tiring. She decided her previous tactic had been insufficient and took the smart path of ignoring this mad fool and walking away.

“My lady please. I know that you are overcome with lust and know not how to control yourself, but I only beg that you return with me so that we may be promptly wed.” She kept walking. “Ah, I see what sort of game you are playing with me, you always were fond of the coy approach. I remember how I would chase you around the castle and find all your little hiding spots. That one time you dressed up as a servant just so that you could enter my chambers unobserved, what great memories and what a fine lover you were. It seems that I must take the role of your dashing knight and lead the charge once more into the breach.” At this he grabbed her taut buttocks.

While intended to cause harm, Helga’s actions may have gone a long way in beating the delusions out of this young fool. Immediately as he grabbed her buttocks she spun with all her might and slammed the heavy tome into his ridiculous face, knocking several teeth out in the process. As he lay unconscious on the ground she decided that for good measure to beat him about with the book thrice more. She considered taking up his shabby sword and running him through then and there, but determined that it wasn’t worth the effort. She promptly left, day ruined. Sir Tremblay lay on the ground bleeding from his wounds, bruised and unconscious as his mighty steed wandered off to find a better grazing place.

She thought about everything her father had said as she walked back to the village and determined that perhaps he had been right. When he had said that reading would do no good for a boy’s mind it might be that he had struck a rare vein of right thinking. If the pitiful Sir Tremblay could give any indication, it seemed that boys had the terrible curse of getting a little too wrapped up in the literary pursuit and causing a right mess for everybody. She would have to be a little bit more considerate of her brothers from now on, they were stupid, but clearly she was blessed not to be the ridiculous buffoon that she must surely have been if she was blighted with bollocks. 

Author's Note

Looking for critiques anywhere. Everything is free game, if the dialogue sucks, the story is badly planned, there are typos, or it's just plain boring, feel free to rip it apart.