D' Arc || The King

Chapter IX

The sky above the English troops was a dark soupy grey, reflecting Henry's mood as he eyed the colorful French standards snapping in the wind from a distance. Isabel was checking on his wound, pursing her lips as she turned away from the raw skin. Her eyes were downcast and avoiding Henry altogether as his servant put on his armor. She paused, her back facing him as her hand ran over the scabbard of his sword. Her face was neutral when she turned around, holding the sheathed weapon in her hands.

"Stay safe, Henry," she said in a voice so low Henry was fairly sure he was hearing the wind instead of her voice. He turned his gaze away from the opposite side of the field and to Isabel. The blue eyes that Henry looked into were pools of smothered concern and fear. "Isabel-," he started, but she cut him off saying, "Promise me," forcefully.

"No getting impaled or crushed, Henry Lancaster," she commanded, and he chuckled, taking her face into his hands.

"I will see you again, so you must stay safe as well, Isabel," he said, attempting to reassure her and she smiled up at him, despite the cold touch of leather on her skin.

"I'm not going anywhere, you're taking the danger with you," she said and they laughed together. Isabel's smile faded first and she nipped at her lip before pulling abruptly away from him and holding out his sword.

"Good luck, Your Grace."

Henry let out a sigh as Isabel turned on her heel stiffly and marched away. He gripped his sword before strapping it to his side. Covering his face with his hands, Isabel's face still plagued the back of his mind. Letting out a groan, he let his hands drop to his side as he looked up at the sky, relishing in the cool breeze that signaled the coming winter and carried the familiar smell of a coming storm. Whether it would be snow or rain, he didn't know, he only hoped that it would don't bring down any kind of bad weather while they fought.

"Henry," John said and he snapped his head in the direction of his brother's voice. His three younger brothers stood together, looking at him, their usual merry faces were solemn and grim. 

"We're ready," Humphrey said and Henry nodded, attempting to memorize every detail of his brothers, knowing that there was no guarantee that they would come out of the battle alive. It would be like this until they were safely in England, but even there, there was no guarantee that they would live because the Yorkists were hissing like cats.

He sent up a silent prayer to God before stepping forward and lifting his chin. "Then let us begin," Henry said in a cold voice.

Isabel watched from a distance as the men she had known for almost two months move towards their king like a river. She felt a wave of dread when she saw her own people, the French, moving forward to meet Henry's army.

Cursing herself when she realized she couldn't see what was happening, Isabel looked around before finding a nearby hill. She picked up her basket as she made her way up the hill. Finally, when she reached the crest of the hill and was able to look down at both armies, Isabel could practically feel the heaviness that hung thick in the air.

There was a gust of wind and the tension broke as a wave of arrows rose into the air on the French side. To Isabel's dread, the strong flurry carried the storm of steel through the air and down on the English with a passion. She wanted to cover her ears as the sound of screams of men in pain and steel sinking into flesh reached her. Isabel doubled over, clutching her stomach and holding a hand over her mouth. She shut her eyes as she forced herself to swallow down her bile. This was not the time.

She composed herself and looked back up. The two opposing forces collided, melding into one writhing mess of blood and death. "Henry," Isabel breathed in horror as she found that he was nowhere to be seen. He'll be fine, she told herself in a scolding voice, but it didn't stop the worry from eating her up slowly on the inside.