What She Understood

They loved to fight, valiant horsemen with swords and horns and arrows. But did they fight for her? Sitting home, left behind to wait on a king who no longer thought of anyone or anything but darkness, watched by lustful eyes fueled in all his deceit by his selfishness – what good was it for strong men to fight if their homes crumbled in their absence? Would this be her whole life, waiting for people to die, watching decay and singing of dirges? How could a shieldmaiden ward off the subtly corrupting whispers that truly threatened her kingdom? An enemy manifest, however terrible, is easier to defy than ghosts in the shadows. And she yearned, for morning and for restoration and for love.

A brother she had, whom she loved. A king she had, like a father to her. A people she had, who would follow her. They that went with the puissant soldier on the paths of the dead went because they would not be parted from him. She stood alone weeping as she watched him go, but he from whom she could not be parted was her uncle. Where will wanted not, her way opened. Disregarding formation, she rode close to him. In the battle she learned that what she wanted more than death, more than glory, was to preserve the beloved lives of her friends. Alone she stood, facing death, shielding self and kindred from his icy blows.

And then she wasn’t alone. Her little companion, brought out of sympathy, stood up and began a change in the woman. Valiantly, for no other reason than that the desperate woman should not die alone, he reached up to stab at death. Together they brought him down. Together these two unlikely heroes suffered, both sleeping in the triage houses in the city. More came, not for glory or to make whole again their human weapons. The healers came to restore the broken, to call back the fevered wanderers.

She woke in the middle of a journey. No healer had she been; her hand ungentle, left to fight its own battles. And here at last beside her, appointed also to stay at home, stood a man who could outmatch any of the revered men of valor she had known. Yet he spoke not of the love of fighting, but of love for that he defended. He did not love being a ruler, but loved that which he stewarded. His own glory meant nothing, but he wanted to do what was wise and brave and therefore praiseworthy. He would forfeit his life to keep an oath.

Her reflection stood before her, cast in new light. She also fought, stewarded, took pity, and offered her life. Now she saw what it was for, and it went deeper than opposing the things she feared and hated. As the days passed, the man grew to love her. No more did she miss someone to stand for her, to speak for her, to plan for what pleased her. He was there. And her heart changed, or else at last she understood it: to be a shieldmaiden no more, but to be a healer and lover of all things that grow. Turned from the dark battle and dirges to the life that had been crumbling, she found peace and love and bliss.

To God be all glory.