Wind — Alain & Ysabella (Patreon)

Wind

Rushes past your ears, hollering in a screeching yell that makes your eyes sting and your cheeks wobble. You're slumped over the saddle, holding onto the reins with all the strength left in your body.

Your side screams in agony with every gallop, but you grit your teeth and spur the horse to go even faster.

The castle is just around the corner.

"Hey-ah!" You command, voice driven away by the wind. Your breathing is labored, pained, as your right-hand clutches the bolt stuck deep under your ribs. Blood sweeps over your fingers, seeping down onto the ruin of your pants. It's bright red and warm. It's so warm, but your fingers are cold, and so are your feet and lips. Coldness closes in, and the horse runs with all his might, but you shiver on top of it.

You need to get there. You need to see...

Crack!

The horse breaks a twig in two, and you snap your eyes open at the sound. Your hand was slipping down his neck, your grip loosening, but you shake yourself and hang on. A large hill to your right blocks the view, but you know you're close. You have to be. Your thoughts are slow and heavy, and your eyelids fight to join together, but you can't. The horse sprints, and the wind hollers.

And, finally, you see it – shooting as if from the depths of the earth, a stronghold with two twin towers, a tall, hefty wall, and a gate barred by iron. On the left tower, a lone banter sways in the wind with the green and gold colors of the Theers.

You spur your horse one last time, almost slipping out of your saddle. Letting go of the crossbow bolt embedded in your gut, you hold the horse on the other side of his neck. Your palm leaves a stark red handprint on his brown coat.

- - -

Alain.

Your eyes are stuck on the gate, willing it, pleading for it to open. I want to say goodbye.

You're so cold. So, so cold. It's so cold that it numbs the pain, and as your teeth rattle on each other, it numbs you too. You're shaking all over, but you're also falling into a dark, still pond. And for every meter you fall, the temperature drops another degree.

"Alain..."

The name is taken by the wind. Your eyelids lower, but you fight to keep them open. The gate is still closed. Alain... You blink again, slower this time. The world loses focus. Your ears can barely...

HUMMMMMMMM

A horn splits the skies in two.

Distantly, you hear the sound of heavy chains being dragged, and the gate starts to lower. Your horse gallops forth, desperate, as if he too understands the urgency, and right before you close your eyes, right before you can hold no more, you see him.

You see Alain bursting from the gate in clothes of green, running faster than the armored guards by his side, shouting words you will never hear.

And you don't know if there is a God, but you thank Him for letting you see Alain one final time.

Your eyelids finally win the war, and as the world closes in darkness, you slip from the realms of mortals.

.

.

.

Alain runs as if his soul has jumped through his mouth, and he's doing his best to catch up.

The brown horse thunders towards him, but the nobleman isn't worried about being trampled under the hooves. He only has eyes for you. You're slumped over the beast's neck like a sack of potatoes.

No. There's blood. There's a lot of blood. Your face is drained of all color, and he's been a terrible servant, but God, let you not be dead. Let you not be dead. Let you...

It's funny how panic works. His mind is stuck on a pleading loop, but his body works on its own volition. "Stop the horse!" He orders the guards, but they're behind, and they're useless, so Alain does it himself. He opens his arms wide and jumps in front of the frantic beast. "Calm down! Calm down."

The horse is getting closer and closer. Alain can only look at you.

A trickle of blood pours from your lips.

He has never had his heart broken, but he feels something breaking now. He feels his whole chest caving, and he's panicking, but his body refuses to listen. "Calm down."

His voice comes out as if there isn't a cord wrapped around his neck. It comes out calm, and authoritative, and Alain doesn't think horses understand human language, but the horse comes to a stop right in front of Alain.

With the halt in movement, you falter... and then start to slide to the side.

Alain jumps, faster than he's ever been, and catches you mid-air. "Uff," he grunts but holds you safe in his arms. He pulls you closer, one hand supporting your upper back, and you're so close now that the stench of blood makes his eyes sting.

No.

He sees the bolt jammed into your side. His knees buckle. His arms refuse to panic. "Little sparrow," he whispers, and his voice breaks now. He wants to cup your cheek, to shake you awake, but he can't let go of you. "Little sparrow, open your eyes. Open your eyes for me."

You don't.

"Please," Alain whispers. He has never begged before, but he does it now. "Please, open your eyes."

"My lord!" Alain snaps his head up when the three guards reach him. They have sweat covering their faces, and two of them look with wide, panicked eyes at you hanging from his arms. "My lord is..."

One of them walks forward, raising her fingers to press them to your pulsing point, but Alain turns violently away. "Stay back," he barks, his voice dark. He would have slapped her if he had a free hand. "Don't touch him/her."

You're alive. There's no need to confirm it — it's an insult to. You're alive.

Alain regains his composure. "Have a clean room prepared," he orders her, voice a stone of cold once more. The guard hesitates, then nods and takes up running.

Alain turns to the second guard. "Call the healer. Pull her from her bed if needed. If she's not in the room when I get there, I'll have you both beheaded."

The guard, a young man, jumps and sprints back to the castle.

He turns to the last guard, a seasoned man with a dark, bushy beard. "Take the horse to the stable. Make sure they take care of him."

"Will do, my lord," the guard says but doesn´t rush to obey. Instead, he looks Alain in the eyes. "And then?"

Alain starts to walk, hugging you close. "Then get a party and find who did this," he says over his shoulder. He cradles your head against his chest. You're so cold. "And bring me their heads."

The guard spits on the ground and grabs the horse's reins. "Will do."

Alain walks with you in his arms, praying to a God who has never listened. My wealth for their life. My title for a breath.

.

.

.

You awake to warmth.

Heavy furs and mantles pack on top of your bed like the prime stand at a flea market. You twist your neck and see colors of all the hues of a rainbow spilling from your bed onto the floor, but most of all, crushing you with its multicolored weight.

Red, blue, yellow, gray, and jade bright green. You try to move your arms but find it impossible. You're crushed. Smothered by a mountain of silk, pelts, satin, and cotton.

Blinking away the heaviness in your eyes, you turn your head again and try to discern where you are. Dim sunlight shines from the edges of heavy, gold-trimmed curtains, and you can see the glow of a nearby fireplace. The ceiling is impossibly high with intricate moldings, and you don't need to see the mahogany bedside table to know you're inside the Theer's stronghold.

You made it.

"Uh..." You try to speak, but your voice cracks.

Your side is numb, your mouth is dry, and you're starting to feel extremely hot. Your cheeks are warm, and the back of your neck builds a thin layer of sweat. "Someone... Alain?" You try again, and while words come out, they're too feeble.

Heat is starting to overtake your body. You're sweating at the small of your back, and you try to wiggle free again, teeth clenched and eyes narrowing in absolute determination. You grab the silken sheet beneath you and drag—

"Are you that eager to leave my bed?"

A voice makes you halt. You let yourself fall on the mattress as you see Alain appear over the mountain of mantles. He is...

Your breath gets caught in your throat.

Alain looks like an absolute disaster. His curls fall in disarray over his forehead, tossed and wild. His golden skin is pale and lacks the usual shine. There are deep, sunken circles beneath his eyes, and the brown is washed out and... tired. His clothes hang from his body as if he lost a couple of pounds, and Alain looks extremely tired.

He grins at you, his pearly white teeth shining in the gloomy bedroom, but even it looks off. "You usually like to linger. Is it something on my end?"

Your heart breaks when you see him. But he's here, and so are you, and joy borrows strength to your broken body. "Alain," you say, and it's not weak now. You free a hand out of its prison, seeking him.

Alain steps forward. "That's my name," he murmurs, the tone gentler than you ever heard him. He grabs your hand in his, his fingers barely squeezing yours as if he's afraid you'll break.

You squeeze his fingers, and Alain smiles down at you. His face is still haggard, but at last, it's a smile you're familiar with. You want to hug him close, but the heat makes itself known again, and you pull on his hand instead. "Alain, I need... I need you to get this off."

Alain's brow furrows in confusion, but then he looks at the furs and the frown deepens. "Are you sure? The healer said you needed to stay warm."

"I'm sure," you croak out. You're burning up. "Also, kill the fireplace, please."

But Alain stays put. "Sparrow, I— You were so cold," he says, and you would break at the pain in his voice if you weren't being cooked alive.

"By the Gods, Alain, I'm not anymore," you counter, bringing his hand to your forehead.

Your nobleman's face changes in a heartbeat. "Shit," he hisses when he flattens his palm on your heated skin.

You can't help but laugh. The sound comes out cracked and feeble, but it feels so good to laugh. "Hurry," you plead.

Alain does. He grabs handfuls of the blankets and throws them to the ground, taking the weight off you layer by layer until nothing but a thin sheet covers you. He then extinguishes the embers of the fireplace with his foot, stomping on it.

A light breeze comes to kiss your skin when Alain throws back the curtains and opens the windows wide. You breathe out, closing your eyes to enjoy this simple pleasure. Wind on your skin. You're alive.

Your eyes start to tear up. Alive.

When you open them again, you find Alain frozen in the middle of the room. He's breathing hard from the exertion, and he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. He's staring at you, face uncertain.

But he's quick to grin when he catches you looking. "Done, just as you asked," he quips. His voice is off, too strained. "Do you need anything else? A drink? Might as well take advantage now, sparrow, I'm not going to be your personal servant again."

You shake your head. "I'm alright," you say. You lift your hand again, beckoning him closer, but Alain stays put.

"What about something to eat?" he asks.

You shake your head again. "No, Alain, I just want—"

"A bath? I can do that. Unless you don't want me to give you one. I can call a servant."

"Alain."

"A man or a woman. You pick. I don't..." He takes a breath, steadying himself. "I should call for the healer. She should know you're awake and—"

"Alain!"

He jerks but finally looks at you. "I don't want anything but for you to come here," you tell him. You can feel your tears falling down your cheek. "Please."

"Don't you do this to me, Sparrow," he says, but he comes. His smile has dropped, and now his lips thin.

"Do what?" you ask as he grabs your hand in his again. He holds it tight now.

Alain falls to his knees beside the bed. "Don't you start crying, because I..." He swallows. You can see his eyes moistening, but you don't mention it. "God's nails. I—"

You hold his cheek and lean until you kiss him on the forehead. "I'm so glad to see you."

When you pull away, Alain stares at you for a moment. And then, he falls down, nestling his face against your chest. "I am too," his muffled voice says. You hug him tight, teeth biting into your lip, and eyes closing.

He’s warm and close, but it’s nothing like the warmth that almost suffocated you and keeps away the memory of the cold that almost took you.

- - -

Ysabella.

Your eyes are stuck on the gate, willing it, commanding it to open. I want to see you before I go.

You're so cold. So, so cold. It's so cold that it numbs the pain, and as your teeth rattle on each other, it numbs you, too. Your whole body shakes, and you feel yourself losing control. You can't move your right leg while your left hand has stopped answering. You're riding for your life, but you're also falling into a dark, still pond, and you don't know yet which one will win.

"Bella..."

The name is taken by the wind. Your eyelids lower, but you snarl and keep them open. The gate is closer but closed still. Bella... The world starts to lose focus. The pond is tempting, you feel its stronger pull...

HUMMMMMMMM

A horn splits the skies in two.

Distantly, you hear the sound of heavy chains being dragged, and the gate starts to lower. Your horse gallops forth, desperate, as if he too understands the urgency, and right before you close your eyes, right before you smash into the black waters of the land beyond, you see her.

You see Ysabella in a burst of color. Her dress flies everywhere as she runs, trying to keep up with the faster guards shooting from her side. You can see her mouth moving, but it's words you will never hear.

And you don't know if there is a God watching over, but you thank Him for letting you see Ysabella one final time.

You hit the still water, drowning once again, but it's quiet this time. It's peaceful as you sink away from the realm of mortals.

.

.

.

Ysabella curses her useless dress.

"Stop the horse!" She yells as she runs faster than she ever did, but her legs keep getting tangled in stupid frills, and she almost falls for the third time. Ysabella refuses to meet you with her face caked with mud. Because you will smile that crooked smile and say a quip, and she doesn't...

"Hold it!" she yells again, and a part of her is ashamed of how shrill her voice has gotten. Ysabella runs, falling behind her guards, with her hands grabbing the front of her dress, her curls flying behind her head, her heart thundering in her ribcage, and shameful, weak tears falling uncontrollably down her cheeks.

Her shoes are long gone, and her bare feet sink into the mud. She can just imagine how you'll look at her, see her state, and open your dearest lips to say something that'll embarrass her in front of her guards.

Oh, please. Please, make it true. I ask so little of you, Lord, so give me this. Give me this.

"Halt, boy!"

Up ahead, the guards get a hold of your horse. Ysabella's heart jumps, and she runs faster, she's so close now. Her eyes are on your face—

A dread darker than a starless night wraps around her chest.

She stops in shock. Your face is drained of all color, and your eyes are closed, and... you start to slide down the saddle.

"NO!" The shout is torn from her throat, and she jumps the last few meters to catch you. You fall right into her arms, but you´re too heavy, and you both go crashing to the ground. Ysabella clutches you tight and makes sure to soften the fall for you.

"My lady!" a guard shouts, but Ysabella doesn't care about the pain in her spine. She scrambles beneath you, feet kicking the dirt, to get a hold of your face.

"Darling?" she asks, her bottom lip trembling. You're cold. Ysabella’s shaking hands find the bolt stuck in you, and she feels a scream coming up her throat, but she closes her lips and keeps it inside. Tears fall down like a waterfall, and she shakes. She shakes so much when she sees the blood pouring from your lips.

You're both drenched in mud now, and all she wants is for you to open your eyes and make light of it. But you don't, and she won't plead either. That's not what you need.

Ysabella closes her eyes. She bends down, kisses your temple, and hugs you to her chest. "I will take care of this," she whispers beside your ear. When she lifts her face, she is Bella no more. She is Ysabella Theer.

"You," she talks to the guard on the left, a young blond man who seems out of his depth. "You're the faster runner. Run back to the hold and ask the head housekeeper for a clean, secluded chamber. After that, go fetch the healer, will you? Show her to the chamber being prepared."

"Right away," he says, seeing relief to have something to do, and takes off sprinting.

"My lady, please, allow me to help you up," a female guard asks, but Ysabella shakes her mud-caked curls.

"You will take this poor horse to the stables. Speak with the horse master yourself, Sofia, and make sure he gives this horse the best care." You're breathing very faintly. Ysabella's hand on top of your chest curls. Oh, she wants to break. She wants to wail. She will not. "Understood?"

Sofia hesitates, looking at you in her arms, but she wisely doesn´t voice her objection. "Yes, my lady," she agrees and takes the darling horse's reigns into her hands.

The third guard, Ralf, doesn't need an order. He wordlessly bends down and, with a grunt, takes you into his arms. Ysabella rushes to help support your head. "Careful," she says, cradling your cheeks. You are so cold.

Ralf nods and starts to walk towards the keep with Ysabella in tow. His steps aren't rushed but, they are sure. He will not let you fall.

"What am I to do next, lady?" Ralf breaks the silence when the gates loom close.

Ysabella kisses your temple. "Round your most trusted men and women," she replies, never taking her eyes off you. "Search for whoever dared to do this. When you find them, either break them there and get me their leader's name or bring them in and throw them in a dungeon. I want the one who gave the order."

Ralf nods, stepping inside the courtyard. "Will do."

Ysabella kisses you one last time before she must pull away to give more orders. And when her lips press on your freezing skin, she speaks to a God who has never listened.

All I know of You is Your cold shoulder. But this time, just this once, please, listen. Give me this, God. Just this.

.

.

.

You awake to a gentle trickle.

Water splashes on water, and then, a cooling touch dampens your forehead. Water now trickles down your eyes, past your cheeks, and falls in little droplets to your bare shoulders.

Your body feels heavy and broken, but your ears are blessed with the gentle sound of crystalline water, and the soothing timber of a light, beautiful voice.

"Things fall apart."

Your lips quirk, for while your eyes are still closed, you immediately recognize the voice. Ysabella sings in a whisper so low that it's almost a hum, but wherever you are, it's dead silent, so you hear it as if she shouts.

A linen sheet covers your body up to your waist, and when you shuffle to the side, you feel the bandages wrapped around your middle. You don't feel any pain, but your tongue is dry and numb, your thoughts come slow and dragged, and you know you must be under the effect of some kind of drug.

Not that it matters. Because Ysabella keeps humming. "But nothing breaks like a heart," she sings, the trickling water accompanying like a band, and then, a wet, cooling cloth comes to press gently against your forehead. Bella hums, and pads your neck with little, tender touches. "Nothing breaks like a heart," she repeats in a lower, weaker voice as she cleans the top of your shoulders.

It feels so good, and sleep lulls you into its peaceful embrace, but at the last sentence, you snap your eyes open. Bella's voice sounded as heartbroken as her song, and that cannot be.

Light is scarce and warm. The final moments of a deep red sunset paint the two large windows that face the West. A white marbled fireplace has orange embers burning, and the door is wide enough to let two people walk side by side. But it's closed, and no one else is in the room except you and Ysabella.

"This world can break you," she whispers, turning away from you. She sits beside your bed on a simple, backless stool with three legs and a padded surface. She doesn't wear one of her long, beautiful gowns, but chooses instead a plain cotton dress that stops at her midcalf and has a deep round neckline. Her jewels are gone, her hair falls naturally down her golden skin, and from her profile, you can see that her lips aren't painted but are of her natural brownish, red color.

She leans over a thin table set beside her where it is an azure water basin, a fresh batch of bandages, and a yellow bottle of some kind of liquid. "It cuts you deep and leaves a scar." At the word scar, your noblewoman's voice cracks. Your chest clenches when you hear a sniffle, but Ysabella’s graceful hands don't falter.

Gently moving as if she dances to a trained routine, Ysabella brings the light blue towel she's cleaning you with to the basin and soaks it anew. "Things fall apart," she says, turning it carefully over. You wonder if the water turns red.

You wonder if her tears mix within.

Ysabella turns to you, and you can finally see the face of the world's most beautiful woman. And it looks exhausted. "But nothing breaks—"

Ysabella's eyes catch yours.

“Ah.” A gasp and the towel falls from her hands.

You have so much you'd like to tell her. But, when you crack your lips open, all that comes out is a stupid joke. "Am I in heaven?"

At the sound of your voice, Ysabella starts shaking. "You—you're not supposed to be awake yet," she says, dragging her chair closer. She lifts a hand towards your face but stops mid-air, brown eyes searching every inch of your face. "The healer said you'd sleep for at least three days. If— if you were ever to wake again."

"Damn, then it's good that I did, no?" you rasp out. Talking proves hard, especially with your numb tongue, but you want to soothe her.

Bella blinks, and tears fall down her cheeks. "You're not supposed to yet."

She's staring at you, her eyes glazed. Your smile dies when you realize she's in shock. With clenched teeth, you kick pain in the jaw and raise your hand towards her.

Ysabella catches it, her slender fingers warm and soft. You grab them as tight as you can because you made it. You're here, with her. "Bella, how long was I gone?"

She shakes her head. "You were never gone."

You curse yourself and try again. "How long was I asleep, beautiful?"

"Less than five hours," Ysabella answers, glancing at the window.

You smile. "I had to come back for you."

She snaps her eyes to yours and stays still for a moment. Her hand between your fingers, her skin warm against yours. You stare right back...

And Ysabella Theer breaks.

You see the moment it happens. A short inhale, a soft exhale. Her shoulders slump, and she falls forward, wrapping her arms around you. "Hm," you grunt as her head falls on your chest, but you cradle her, fingers sinking into the thick mass of curls.

She smells of soap and a fruity perfume. You close your eyes and hug her close.

Your Bella breaks, and you let her sing her grief to the world, taking in her cries and wails. No one is here, and you have her. You have her.