Ivory Up

Heaving a hot sigh, he proceeded with the stomping of his sabatons against the beige tiled floors of his bedchamber. He paced across the room - back and forth - along the lines of books he'd removed the night before.

He plucked a grape off the bunch from the basket and flicked it at the glass of wine atop the desk, causing it to topple over, spilling its contents all over the pages of the book lay open. It stained the story a gaudy red.

After a while of gazing at the wet sheets, he shut his lids close and clasped his hands behind his back. Sounds of metal clashing against metal filled the room abruptly as his gauntlets hit his culet at the action.

His hands shook with affright as he removed his burgonet, and put it back on with similar speed as an armored man barged in, unannounced.

"Sir Williams, you are sum-"

"I'll be there in a minute." His disrespect towards the younger soldier, in his defense, was his fear and frustration peeking through. The lad left the room in silence, preceded by an anxious nod.

His lips trembled in sync with the click of the door. But he straightened himself and murmured words to himself.

"Ivory up, General."

With that, he walked out the door, stiffening his eyes and constricting his brows into a frown as he walked down the hallway and outside the camp.

"Make haste, soldiers!" Grant ushered the scrambling youth forward with quick movements of his arm. With one arm still folded behind his back at a perfect right angle, his spine straight as a pole and his hardened expression, he could capture any artist's heart. And that was because the Rocleaus were incomparable in terms of discipline and uniformity, not to speak of strength when it came to the army.

"Sir Williams! Sir-"

"You don't have to shout, Helewys." She looked down in shame as he shushed her for her antics. After a long pause of silence, she broke it, with a rather informal and frank question.

"Does it still hurt you? - her decision, I mean." He gave her a sharp sideways glance, one of pain and anger. He continued walking briskly, with her miserably trying to match her stride with her General's.

"Although I wouldn't like to admit it, yes, it still does," he admitted, with a pink tint to his cheeks. A slight smile had slipped onto her lips, conveying her sympathy towards her superior. "But it was for the best."

These words brought her to a halt; her steps slowed as her jaw slacked a tad. She never felt that he would swallow his pride ever-so-easily. But she looked up to him even more now. She admired this God of a man.

"Well, what are you waiting for? I said 'assemble'!" She jogged along with the others and joined the little squad of girls near the exit of the field, a proud smile still lingering on her lips.

The made battalion was a sight to look at. Williams led the numerous soldiers lined up behind him. Women took the place of only the first five rows among the twenty, making them the minority, but they were equally strong to their male counterparts.

Soldiers danced their swords on their hands swiftly; they glided through the air as though they were scarves on a windy day. The army, on this day, reminded the giggling boys and girls amongst the crowd of circus jugglers, and not strong brave warriors who fought for their country.

The masses of civilians had blocked streets to witness the act that day, and except for the occasional hue and cry of the infants, the mobs had been maintaining a pin-drop silence.

The weapons sliced the air, going whoosh every time it swung. It was satisfying and oddly patriotic, it played with their feelings.

Whilst this was happening, Williams' mind was elsewhere. He was lost. He only wanted to see her - one last time.

His eyes, exactly at that moment, fell on her. She looked majestic, like a lioness in the wild, baring her teeth.

Edward had managed to maintain a calm and ruthless look for the entirety of the session, but she couldn't hold herself in when she looked at him.

Her eyes welled with unshed tears. She was determined and prideful about her decisions. She wasn't going to back down this time. She will not give in to her wishes.

The heart may want what it wants, but I won't give it to her this time.

She would always say that before, in an attempt to sound wise or keep her feelings at bay, but her Grant would always retort with the same answer: Oh, but she doesn't need your help, love.

Her jewels glowed in the light, even more so when droplets of sweat rolled down her neck and stopped on the stones' surfaces.

She contained herself.

"I won't budge this time, sweetheart."

Meanwhile, Williams was struck with her dress. From the way, her muslin eyes looked at him, to her almost nylon hair that radiated under the sun.

He contained himself.

He turned his head back to the front and continued with the dance.

He'd tried countless ways of reaching out to her, but it all went in vain. The poor man didn't understand that she was the queen of her kingdom. If someone caught her messing around with the General of their rival nation, they'd have her executed publicly.

But, both of them contained themselves.

Finally, the session came to an end, there was only one scroll to read out until Edwarda's father made a nasty comment about the king sitting beside him, loud enough for him to hear and the former be slapped subtly on the thigh by his queen.

The events took place in a rather messed-up chronology, though.

The time had come. It was time to being the gates together, to finally separate as two different nations. It was a time of freedom to the victims, warning to the onlookers and despair for the lovers.

The last word of separation had been read from the scroll until it was rolled back tightly and the speaker got off the made stage.

Two guards had made their way towards the gates and pulled then in the front. Williams was behind the gates while Edwarda was in the front.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I love my country far too much."

By God-knows-which supernatural forces, Williams had read it and mumbled an 'it's all right'.

The two gates finally came together, and the masses, armies, and families were divided. The pain in the lovers' hearts remained, but it could do nothing worse than the love had done to them.

It surely brought them a period of happiness, one of trust, faith, and sharing, but it all faded quickly, the saddest part being - there was no one left to blame. They could've sought a strategy - one that allowed them to be together and reunite the nations, but they chose the easy way out, and it was only their fault.

A last-second lingered, where they could've fought and had a possible life together, but they let it be because they thought it was better this way.

And just like that, the locks were sealed, as were the gateways to each other's hearts.