Chapter Text
The Battle of Marlas.
The screeching of metal against metal sounded constantly across the battlefield. That along with the shouts and screams of battle rang in Laurent’s ears painfully, but he fought to maintain his composure. Auguste and his father looked stoic and fearless going into the fight, and he was determined to make them proud. Before riding into the field, Auguste had pulled Laurent aside privately and prepared him for what to expect. It was his first battle and Auguste had been very clearly concerned about his thirteen-year-old brother coming along. He tried for a week to get Laurent to stay home in Vere, but Laurent insisted he join.
He was less eager about tasting battle than he was determined not to leave Auguste’s side. Based on how his father would talk about it at Council meetings, he could tell this would be a ferocious fight and Laurent didn’t want to sit at home wondering whether his father and brother were coming back. He was going to see it through to the end.
His father shouted an order to his troops. The noise made it impossible for his voice to travel, but his General heard and the troops followed the lead regardless. Laurent looked up at him in time to see him give Auguste a curt order, but as he said it, an Akielon soldier got speared through with a sword and slammed into Laurent’s horse. By the time Laurent got control of his horse again, Auguste was riding away. Laurent moved to follow, but a curt order from his father stopped him.
“No!” he shouted. “Laurent, stay here!”
Pulling back, Laurent watched his brother ride away, wondering what his father had sent Auguste to do.
Damen and his father stood side by side, watching over the battle. It was going about as well as Damen figured it could. They were losing men, but no more, it seemed, than Vere. When Damen saw his father tense, he followed his gaze and saw the crowned Veretian prince galloping across the field, slashing through Akielons who were in his path.
“Let me fight him,” Damen said, “I can beat him.”
His father answered immediately. “Then go. Make me proud, son.”
Damen rode forward.
Auguste was nervous. He wasn’t scared to fight. He was trained for battles and the violence of warfare, but Laurent wasn’t. Laurent was smart. Unbelievably smart. Laurent actually surprised Auguste with how brilliant he was, but he wasn’t bred to fight. He didn’t have the discipline, not that it wasn’t for their father’s lack of trying. He couldn’t count the number of times he walked in on his father yelling at Laurent for missing a training session because he was hiding out in the palace library, or in the barn. Luckily for Laurent, Auguste knew how to talk their father down and lighten Laurent’s punishment, but Auguste always knew that his little brother was never meant to see a battlefield.
Despite his innate attentiveness to battle that had been ingrained in him, Auguste kept getting distracted, looking out for Laurent and making sure he didn’t stray from him or the King, but to Laurent’s credit, he did exactly as they ordered. He stayed close, a pace behind them and was constantly watching his surroundings.
His father called out a new formation and Auguste passed along the message to the other soldiers. When his father called his name, Auguste whipped around to face him.
“Cut through the front line. Find the crowned prince,” his father shouted at him, straining his voice to be heard over the ruckus. “When you find him, cut him down.”
Nodding, Auguste spared one glance to Laurent, whose horse had started to act up. Laurent didn’t struggle to regain control and as he did, Auguste raced off with the determination to find Prince Damianos and introduce him to the tip of his sword.
Auguste broke through the enemy line swiftly and with ease, slicing through any soldier who intercepted his path. His eyes scanned the field for the enemy prince. It turned out he was not going to be difficult to find. After yanking his sword out of yet another Akielos soldier, Damianos had found him. He stood a few paces away, on his feet, staring and squared off to fight.
Auguste got off his horse and unsheathed his sword. It was dishonorable to duel a man on uneven playing fields, so he stood on his feet.
Damen stared at Prince Auguste, the greatest warrior Vere had ever known and sized him up. He was confident that given the need, he would be able to better him in a sword fight and emerge the hero.
The two approached each other cautiously, the fights around them being drowned out as each honed in on the other warrior.
Auguste lunged first.
Laurent looked around the battlefield next to his father. His armor was jabbing into his neck and sides and it took all his willpower to resist shifting where he sat. He held his sword out, ready to defend himself if necessary, but he didn’t seek out the fights like the Veretian soldiers were ordered to. He did not want to fight. He didn’t like it, and he knew, given his age, size, and build, that he would be destined to lose.
Auguste must have known that too because he fought hard with him about letting Laurent accompany them to Marlas. The numbers on either side were dwindling. Laurent was concerned. Looking at the sky, he estimated that at least 2 hours had passed. Auguste should have come back by now.
Where was he?
Looking up at his father, he didn’t seem concerned. He watched over the fight and called out orders for his men to follow. Laurent’s eyes kept returning to the spot where he last saw Auguste, riding through the crowd.
Eventually, his father called a retreat. The numbers of their soldiers were dwindling and Vere was just beginning to lose.
As soon as he called a retreat, his soldiers began to back off. His father turned to Laurent and barked, “You heard me son. Go back to our camp.”
“What about Auguste?” Laurent asked. It was the only time he questioned an order.
“Laurent!” his father snapped, voice stern. “Go back, now!”
Laurent drew his horse back at his father’s tone and began to turn around. He had a bad feeling though and he turned his head one final time to where he saw Auguste disappear. There were many lying dead on the ground and around them, armor still clashed as the fighting began to dissipate.
He wanted to find Auguste. It would be too difficult navigating Laurent’s young horse around the dead, but Laurent was small and spry. If he got on foot, he calculated that he’d be able to make it through the fighting unharmed.
Probably.
Deciding Auguste was worth that chance, Laurent sheathed his sword and lept off his horse. He immediately dashed past his father and towards the battlefield. He heard his father call out,
“Laurent! Come back! Laurent!”
Laurent ignored him. He Unsheathed his sword again and raced through the fighting. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice or care about the small, blond boy darting around fights and hopping over the dead.
His eyes scanned everywhere for the blue and gold crest that would be on Auguste’s armor. The fighting continued to die down, but the battle was still far from over. Laurent wanted to call out for his brother but decided that it would attract too much attention. Not seeing him anywhere near the center of the fighting, Laurent moved to the far edges, scanning the areas by the trees.
That’s when he saw what was happening between Auguste and an Akielon soldier.