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I remember much of the before. Memories like paint dashed upon the canvass rather than softly stroked with a horsehair brush. Sometimes nice, more often not.
I was young when I first laid eyes on her. She rode through my village on her black destrier, cutting down the town guard like a farmer cuts wheat. The fire in the town-master’s treasury shone off her ebon armour as we were shepherded into the town square.
“Hear me now!” She said, her voice booming like a hunting horn. “This village is now under the protection of Queen Darkmore.”
Her blade flashed, and the townmaster’s head fell. We were under her protection, and that protection came with expectations. The treasury was given back to us, and I saw people smiling for the first time in a long while.
I signed up as soon as I was old enough. Some objected to my aspirations, but our protection came with expectations. Not a draft, taking from the legs to feed the arm, but of respect.
I saw her again in my first battle. The alabaster host before us an equal match. It was there I saw her powers of sorcery. Great swathes of shadow swung with her blade, her steed was unmatched in speed, and the gold ichor that she drank from our enemies as she cut them down.
Promotion came quickly to me. I thank my training, lasting long into the night. Refusing titles became second nature. Glory was not why I had joined her army. She was everything. My dreams mirroring each other trifold as I sought to live like her example, serve her every command, and desired her in secret.
My heart shattered when the killing blow was dealt. The blinding light shone across the battlefield as Queen Darkmore fell. I was close. I fought my way to her, almost in the enemy camp, so far across the battlefield. The enemy regent cowered, clad in shimmering ceremonial quartz, as his honour guard of clerics and holy warriors looked on at the only person who had mattered to me in the world.
I fought them with all I had, charging across the field to her body. A hammer near collided with my head, and I dived. The sword I carried splintered as the blunt instrument struck it.
I reached for my queen’s body. Holding it close, tears fell onto her helmet.
A laugh reached my ears, and rage entered me. Rage and strength and her spirit. We wielded her sword together.
As we cut him down, victory assured itself. We raised the dark blade together to the heavens and our voice boomed over the battlefield.
“Queen Darkmore stands tall! The battle is won!”