I kind of sort of deviated from the Knight/Hermit part, but I did keep to the Medieval/Fantasy part. This fic is turning out longer than I expected, so I’m breaking it up into parts. I hoping three, but knowing me I’ll end up having it be forever and a half long because dammit plot bunnies go awaaayyy.
Anyway, here you go, dear. c: I hope it’s to your liking.*
It’s a sickening feeling, feeling absolutely useless. It’s not like I’m actually laying about like a bum, I am oftentimes occupied throughout the day with my job. However, living a calm, peasant life is empty and lonely. It’s far from relaxing; I am unsteady, antsy, and uncomfortable.
Flashes of nightmares were all that remained anymore. In the small hours of the morning, I would wake in sweat, throat raw from bone-wrattling fright. The final images of these nightmares always remained burned in my retinas following my wakening; my white tunic stained dark red, the body of our squadron’s general limp in front of me as I try to coax his fading life force from slipping away. Sudden explosions, shrieks of agony, more red, a towering dark figure looming over my hunched figure, the sharp singing of a drawn sword, then unbearable pain in my shoulder.The battlefield is where I belong. The war cries of foot soldiers marching into war; the clangs of sword and shield; the beating of horse hooves; the flashes of magic exploding in the air; the hot air saturated with blood; the freezing cold from the breath of frost giants. I find myself thinking back to the days where I was mounted high on a dressed horse, clothed in brilliant white with my red cloak draped on my shoulders, my staff in hand as I came to the aid of my fallen comrades.
Reblog from main account. Oh look, Sherlock fanfiction!