Swordstory, ch. 1

[jesrosewater]

 Hey there, Dreamwidth! This is a story I had been posting on Tumblr, but now I am not on Tumblr, so it goes here! I'll be cross-posting up to chapter 3 and then chapter 4 will be put on here when it's done.

This story starts with a prompt. What if your soulmate could never harm you, even if they wanted to? No matter what they throw at you, there's no pain.

He stabbed me.

My god, he stabbed me.

My brain registered the fear and adrenaline of having a sword through my chest, but my body didn’t. There wasn’t a drop of blood.

The two kingdoms, Orona to the west and Fillire to the east, had been tense for centuries now. Both had conquered all the surrounding countries on their halves of the continent, and now only had one target left - each other. But it had really been the last straw when Orona suddenly cut off all trade, refusing to deal with their sole remaining neighbor. And since Fillire was a bit lacking in the seafaring department, well, that just wouldn’t be acceptable. Rather than letting their citizens starve, they declared war.
Better to die in battle than die starving.

The fighting had been going on for years, I myself had been a child when the war started. Vaguely, the memory of the radio announcement they played can still be summoned from the depths of my mind, though covered in cobwebs and a dusty soft sepia tone. I was very young.

Now I am an adult, fighting for my country. We’ve got to win soon. We have to win soon. There’s not much left to fight for.
It had been a perfectly routine morning. Wake up with the sun, don the armor and blue shawl denoting a friendly fellow soldier, rather than the bright yellow of our opposition. Go for a run, then for a quick breakfast, then combat training. Easy, simple, regimented.
It’s hard work being a soldier during war times, but something about the strict schedule is comforting. Like I don’t have to think for myself.

However, that quick breakfast had been interrupted by the clanging of the alarm bells, high in the tower the lookouts whipped those bellropes with all their arm strength. A raid.
Oats and water, bread and butter left behind in a dash, half eaten or not at all, to rush out and grab some weapons before the enemy arrived. Even with the warning, they were so close, a sea of yellow pouring over the hill like a living field of dandelions.
The battle was a bit of a blur. Some men couldn’t get to weapons in time and were picked off by distant archers. When you’re on the field in the thick of it, it’s sometimes hard to tell how a battle is going, but it was obvious that there were more of them than of us and we were caught off-guard. To my eyes, it didn’t look good.

I was both sure of my own death, and simultaneously at peace with it.

Though I was at peace, I didn’t quit fighting. Even if we were to all die here, maybe my actions could still save my country, maybe taking as many of these yellow-bellied bastards as possible would turn the tide.
And then I turned, and there was a sword through my ribs.

He stabbed me.

My god, he stabbed me.

My brain registered the fear and adrenaline of having a sword through my chest, but my body didn’t. There wasn’t a drop of blood.

Staring down at it, my vision went hazy, though there was no pain or any real physical effect. Just a psychological effect of terror at how I should be dying, but wasn’t. The blade started to slide out, but there was no pain - it did feel a bit strange, but not painful. And no blood, still, not a smear or a drop to be found.
The battle raged on around us, but it was like the world was ignoring the scene. I looked up slowly at my enemy, and he was staring at the sword still partly inside me, dumbfounded. My enemy, my soulmate.
Reaching for my belt, I unsheathed my dagger - useless for battles but good to have on you anyhow - and I stabbed him through one of his hands. He gasped, but just like my own body, there was no blood, and not even a wound when I withdrew it.

Finally he looked up at my face and we stared at each other.

I had always dreamed of a moment like this, but in a country - not to mention a continent - wracked by endless violent war, soulmates are few and far between. A soulmate is often killed or fled the continent before they can find their other half. Stories of soulmates have been reduced to children’s tales and fantasies. And what a place to find my own? I wasn’t sure if I loved him yet, but I knew I had to get the both of us away from this dangerous place.

“We’ve gotta get the fuck out of here,” I told him, shouting a bit over the din of battle.
He nodded at me, still staring with his wide, panicked, a bit deer-in-headlights eyes. Oh dear.