Reminiscences

"Escape with me, Diarmuid"

Diarmuid closed his eyes shaking his head bitterly, answering the request with a long sigh. Even after the hesitation he had had, he was so glad he did answer that plea priming with desperation.

A smile adorned the dry lips; the passion it carried was no less ignited than the blood they seeped with.

"Escape with, Diarmuid!"

Faced with the image of the inert walls, and the vacant space they held within, the bronze eyes widened like an orb, awakened by that distant call of helplessness but quickly dimmed lifelessly like the scene they were embracing. Blood and dust trickled through the locks of hair that fell on his forehead, black like the feather of a raven, and just like the misfortune that creature stored, he himself with his beauty had brought a similar fate of doom and distress to all whom he had once held dear; his king, his chivalrous comrades, and the woman he loved. At that time, innocent green eyes, lifeless and despondent like his now, stared at him deploring for a savior, and he responded to the call with the cruelty of his two spears, bringing the woman out of her despair only to introduce her to yet a more deep rooted one and when they finally believed they were reprieved for the crime of seeking a new hope, fate mocked both of them once again. 

She was not there anymore, and she will never be.

"Escape with me, Diarmuid"

"I wish I can."

The prisoner whispered laughing at his weakness.

"Honestly."

The shivering voice added in agony, as another wave of pain swept through the tortured body.

"Escape with me, Diarmuid!"

The voice that started to sound far, insisted. Its distant echo, gentle yet determined filled the prisoner's heart with hope and despair at the same time. Diarmuid closed his eyes again and then she was there.

In the dark void that dominates the sealed sight, a pair of livid green irises sparkling purer than the spots the moon reflects upon a tranquil river shone more brilliantly than ever, and the long strands braided by the blowing wind, entangled like a woven embroidery redolent with the intoxicating fragrance of the russet these locks carried its color. The gentle voice whispered warmly like a spring song. For instances, even the soft touches of the florid skin were sensible, soothing the scorching pain the gory whiplashes and had left.

"Grainne"

He called her name, held her, and kissed her youthful lips, many times. But right now, he wished he had done this another thousand more times.

Their love was not easy to fulfill to start with, he could have lost her at any moment, but they never allowed this to happen as they fought together to realize their dream, succeeding after walking a path bathed in blood and hailed by prayers.

They promised they shall never be parted, and held to that oath but in the end, he was the one to leave and although for the noble premise of protecting her and defending their peaceful life, he was still the one who left and failed to return.

"I pray you will be strong, Grainne"

The chained man whispered, knowing she will be. She had always been. Just like that night, when they first met, at his king's betrothal feast.

"Escape with me, Diarmuid!"

"I will."

Compelled by the elegance and majesty that composed the princess's eyes, only this response could be given.

She came to him that night, the arranged wife of the tribe's chief, giving the elite knight of her husband her first command.

Earlier that night, there was a huge celebration held to announce the engagement everyone was looking happily for, except the bride as it would turn out later. Wine was spilled like crimson rivers, savory food was laid on the large tables for everyone to enjoy the great news and the music played to accompany the merry verses of the court's poets. The king stared passionately at his new fiancée, and then proceeded to thank his loyal brigade of knights for their sincerity and friendship. Meanwhile, the princess's eyes could only see one man. Carefully, she asked one of her maids about the knight with the mole on his right cheek. That dark spot taking the form of a tear mirrored the tears she could not shed. Then, while everyone was asleep, her heart was more alive than ever.

She did not hesitate for she did not fear the future.

She trusted her heart and believed in her feelings.

She challenged everything, and had faith in her will.

Different to anything the first exalted knight of the tribe expected to see when the door was opened boldly, the promised wife of his lord came in.

"Escape with me, Diarmuid!"

She demanded, unwavering.

Diarmuid faced the woman, surprised and astonished.

It was a request beyond answer, how could a true knight betray the lord he pledged eternal loyalty to? But then, how can a knight turn down the plea of a helpless woman?

The wind stormed outside, imitating the way the two youngsters' hearts were beating in the agitation of conflicted feelings.

Eyes that can clearly see through glass do not necessarily always see through other things, but Diarmuid blazing eyes could see clearly through the broken glass these eyes hid beyond that strong tenacious mask.

There laid sorrow and loneliness.

There laid a desperate soul calling out the light of life.

How can her bury that scream? He possibly cannot.

"I will."

Resembling how the snow melts embraced by the warmness of the morning sun, the strong eyes fluttered vividly with hope and gratitude. Her frail body, falling apart under the unwanted burden of her designed marriage was held again together by that shimmer of hope she was given. Her lips breathed warmly against the lancer's.

They had their first kiss.

So simply, so spontaneously, for it was real.

Their affection for each other was born so fast yet it was born strong and unshaken, for it was true.

That love needed no words and no actions to maintain it; it grew emulating eternity, for it was pure despite all the degrading rumors to follow it.

The next morning, the other knights were hunting the two fleeing lovers, led by the betrayed king. He was betrayed indeed, in one night by his beloved betrothed and his dearest friend and knight. Diarmuid bore no grudge against the king because of his relentless pursuit of them, he was a traitor for sure and deserved punishment, but the king was not the only one who had to defend what is dear to him, the knight was also in the same position.

Countless nights were birthed under that restless hunt, spent sheltered in a forgotten cave, in a deserted cottage or bare under the rain and wind.

Fearing to trigger a war with the two escapee tribe, no other tribes agreed to accept the fugitive lovers, but they did not give up.

So much blood was shed during that chase, the red and yellow spear drank heavily from the blood of old friends and new enemies.

When it came to the assassins the king hired to track them down, Diarmuid did not hesitate to slay them but when faced by his brothers in arm, his old friends and faithful companions, that same resolve to kill had to be summoned. However, some of these knights secretly helped the two lovers while the others reluctantly refused to defile their code of honor and break their promise to their king. Those had to die, along with shards of Diarmuid's heart.

It was not just the king who had brought sorrow into the lancer's heart, Grainne also did but he could not resent her for this either. He truly admired her courage to throw away everything; her pride, her statues and comfort, all for the sake of her love. He could never fail her but the struggles of the continuous chase, the difficulties of living on the hunt, did not delay to show their marks on the esteemed princess, as exhaustion and weariness quickly bard their claws taking from the princess's beauty and glamour, leaving her once bright features tired and dull.

Finally, a tribe accepted to shelter them after witnessing the unmatched bravery the roaming lancer displayed against a band of thieves that attempted to plunder their village though he had no reason to. Hearing of the news, the king who could not forgive their betrayal, prepared to launch an attack but was delayed by the Roman who started terrorizing his properties.

It was in these days of war that the two lovers could finally find some peace, although it was never as constant or pure as the lancer would have liked it to be, as his heart longed to pay his debt to his betrayed king and fight by his side one more time. In the end, he was part of that tribe, he was their first knight and their beckon of hope who abandoned them.

"I love you, Diarmuid."

The sweet words shattered across the emptiness of the warehouse under the sound of the roughly -opened door.

"You are still alive you persistent bastard? But this is more suitable for me, you still have not paid your full share!"

Diarmuid was tossed to the ground, wondering if this would be this day would be the last day of torture. He wished this will come true, despite the unbreakable façade he was wearing, he realized to his dismay that he could no longer take that living hell that vengeful general was putting him through every day. That man enjoyed the sight of his splattered blood; he found entertainment by submitting his prisoner's body to different kind of tortures. If he was free to fight back, then he would not have felt that humiliation, but he was kept like a pet for his master's enjoyment.

"I am worried about your arm muscles; they will probably just get paralyzed if you keep trying hard to no avail!"

Diarmuid raised his head and stared smugly at the enraged general in an attempt to drive to the end point for both of them. But the latter answered his mockery with a whiplash to the over - confident face that seethed his rage more and more.

"You arrogant son of a whore, I will make sure you will not be able to speak anything but screams of pain and cries of begging today!"

Diarmuid did not answer; he had to maintain the little strength left in him to put up with today's round. He could not yield, he could not scream… he had to stay awake and never show weakness in front of his enemy. He will never allow him to obtain the scene of having the power over his son's killer that he was seeking. He had to act tough though he really was not anymore. That act of strength and pride he had to put on everyday became part of the hell his life was looping through.

He was in pain, he wanted to cry, he wished he could. Being beaten every day until he lost his sensations was terrible but not to the same degree as hiding his pain and restraining his cries. That act in itself invoked even more agony. He would act arrogantly and strongly in front of that obsessed general then the moment the later took his leave, he would just collapse and moans in unbearable misery.

A Silver drop quenched the longing of its lingering companion on his right cheek.

 "How much I wish I can escape with you again, Grainne."