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Albrecht is a former mercenary captain. Aline is a former hunter of the undead. They are both about 40 and rather worn-down, and only met a little while ago. They have helped a group of villagers, including Meg and Louis, defeat a band of fanatics (the Forbidders). The danger has passed, but Louis has been killed. Meg, it should be pointed out, is a “wise” older woman who has never married or shown an interest in doing so.
The aim here is to start building up the relationship between Albrecht and Aline, and eventually to get them together (I’ve got quite a few pages to do so). But they are both pretty damaged: Albrecht is recovering from magical damage to his mind, and Aline, whilst kind and good, is very poor at understanding other people. Any thoughts would be welcome, especially regarding the relationship of the two leads.
Louis was buried on a fine spring morning. Albrecht stood beside Aline in the church, and the priest spoke the old Quaestan words as if reciting a spell. Then they carried the coffin outside, lifted the wrapped body from it, and lowered it into the ground.
Albrecht had seen a lot of his own men put into the earth – and plenty of others just abandoned on the battlefield – but Louis’ death felt especially harsh. He hadn’t liked the man, had thought him bitter and coarse, but for some reason it was an effort to stand there, stock-still, watching the proceedings and hoping that it would be finished soon. Albrecht kept his expression level, in what he hoped was the kind of stern sadness that people expected of a man at times like this.
A breeze blew through the trees, setting the leaves rustling. The priest raised his voice, and spoke the last few words. Albrecht wondered if anyone here understood what he’d been saying.
Women escorted Louis’ wife away from the grave. Aline turned and looked at Albrecht: her face was hard and determined, the way he reckoned his must be. She offered him no smile, no friendliness.
Raised voices on the far side of the grave. “What would you know about a husband? Get away from me.” Louis’ wife pointed, and Meg stepped back from the other women, palms raised.
Under her breath, Aline said, “That’s no way to carry on.”
“You never had a man. Never wanted one, you witch –”
If was a low thing to say, Albrecht thought, a spiteful comment born out of grief and best ignored. Best get the fellow buried in peace. But Aline was moving, now, walking around the edge of the grave, going towards the other mourners.
Oh, Hell.
“Aline,” he said, but she wasn’t listening.
“Now look here,” Aline began, “Louis was a good man, and it won’t do to quarrel about it. He was a good friend to Meg and I –”
“You,” said Louis’ wife. “You’re the worst of them. You come here, from your fancy house, telling people what to do. You don’t care what happens, none of your sort ever do. If it wasn’t for you, he’d be alive.”
And then, very carefully and deliberately, she spat at Aline. The spittle hit Aline’s breastplate. Albrecht stepped in quickly, ready to grab Aline and pull her back. But Aline just looked tired. She turned and walked away. Albrecht saw that the threat was over – Louis’ wife was crying again – and he followed Aline back towards the chapel.
They stood behind the church. The grass was thick and springy around their boots. Aline leaned against the stone and crossed her arms. “What a bloody day,” she said. “Think I’d rather be fighting revenants than doing this.”
“Me too,” Albrecht said. “Maybe.”
“You think she was right to say that? About me being the worst of them?”
“Of course not. She’s just grieving, that's all. People say all kinds of things when they’re in that state. Besides, she’s wrong. If you hadn’t come along, Louis would probably have got killed by the Forbidders a long time ago. He had to fight – they all did. The only difference is that you taught him how to fight well.”
“I do care, you know,” she said. “About people. I can’t understand them, but I really do care.” Her eyes became unfocussed, then wet. She reached up and wiped her finger under her left eye, looked at the water on it as if surprised to find it there. “I care too bloody much.”
“I know you do.” Albrecht sighed. “Everyone knows you do. It’s just that – well, she is his wife, after all. Was.”
“Losing people is s**t. Caring about people is s**t too.” She looked away and muttered something that sounded like “How do they do it?”
“How do they do what?”
Aline glanced at him. “What?”
“You said something. ‘How do they do it?’”
“Oh. Well, I meant families, husbands and wives. How they stay together. I mean, God rest his soul, but Louis really was an arsehole most of the time. Who the hell would want to live with that? And yet, from what I’ve heard, he and Anne-Marie back there have been together all their lives. Bickering all the time, apparently, but still together. How do people do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you ever married?”
“No,” he said, but the question had done its work. He thought about Hannah from the old days, her lopsided smile. He remembered the feel of her lying against him, the sensation of her hair on his cheek as they'd lain in her tent, the summer light warming the air and making the tent roof glow. He felt a longing sadness, deep and tranquil, a sense of mourning far stronger than he’d felt at Louis’ grave.
“I had a woman,” he said. “She was one of the camp followers – a laundress. It sounds stupid when I talk about it, but... I meant to marry her, I suppose. I guess people would call her a whore – she was, really, they all were – but she wasn’t, if you see what I mean. I thought I’d marry her and make an honest woman of her. Truth is, she was honest all along.” He turned to Aline, pulling his mind back into the present. “How about you? Were you ever married?”
Aline burst out laughing. She threw her head back and bellowed with laughter. Her gloved hand slapped the stone flank of the church. “Me? Married? God no!”
Her laughter puzzled him, but it was infectious. “I was just asking,” Albrecht said, smiling.
“Well if you’re going to ask, you ought to be down on one knee! You got a ring for me, then?”
Albrecht laughed now. They both stopped laughing. Nobody said anything.
“Come on,” Aline said. “Let’s go and find Meg, make sure she’s all right.”
The aim here is to start building up the relationship between Albrecht and Aline, and eventually to get them together (I’ve got quite a few pages to do so). But they are both pretty damaged: Albrecht is recovering from magical damage to his mind, and Aline, whilst kind and good, is very poor at understanding other people. Any thoughts would be welcome, especially regarding the relationship of the two leads.
*
Louis was buried on a fine spring morning. Albrecht stood beside Aline in the church, and the priest spoke the old Quaestan words as if reciting a spell. Then they carried the coffin outside, lifted the wrapped body from it, and lowered it into the ground.
Albrecht had seen a lot of his own men put into the earth – and plenty of others just abandoned on the battlefield – but Louis’ death felt especially harsh. He hadn’t liked the man, had thought him bitter and coarse, but for some reason it was an effort to stand there, stock-still, watching the proceedings and hoping that it would be finished soon. Albrecht kept his expression level, in what he hoped was the kind of stern sadness that people expected of a man at times like this.
A breeze blew through the trees, setting the leaves rustling. The priest raised his voice, and spoke the last few words. Albrecht wondered if anyone here understood what he’d been saying.
Women escorted Louis’ wife away from the grave. Aline turned and looked at Albrecht: her face was hard and determined, the way he reckoned his must be. She offered him no smile, no friendliness.
Raised voices on the far side of the grave. “What would you know about a husband? Get away from me.” Louis’ wife pointed, and Meg stepped back from the other women, palms raised.
Under her breath, Aline said, “That’s no way to carry on.”
“You never had a man. Never wanted one, you witch –”
If was a low thing to say, Albrecht thought, a spiteful comment born out of grief and best ignored. Best get the fellow buried in peace. But Aline was moving, now, walking around the edge of the grave, going towards the other mourners.
Oh, Hell.
“Aline,” he said, but she wasn’t listening.
“Now look here,” Aline began, “Louis was a good man, and it won’t do to quarrel about it. He was a good friend to Meg and I –”
“You,” said Louis’ wife. “You’re the worst of them. You come here, from your fancy house, telling people what to do. You don’t care what happens, none of your sort ever do. If it wasn’t for you, he’d be alive.”
And then, very carefully and deliberately, she spat at Aline. The spittle hit Aline’s breastplate. Albrecht stepped in quickly, ready to grab Aline and pull her back. But Aline just looked tired. She turned and walked away. Albrecht saw that the threat was over – Louis’ wife was crying again – and he followed Aline back towards the chapel.
They stood behind the church. The grass was thick and springy around their boots. Aline leaned against the stone and crossed her arms. “What a bloody day,” she said. “Think I’d rather be fighting revenants than doing this.”
“Me too,” Albrecht said. “Maybe.”
“You think she was right to say that? About me being the worst of them?”
“Of course not. She’s just grieving, that's all. People say all kinds of things when they’re in that state. Besides, she’s wrong. If you hadn’t come along, Louis would probably have got killed by the Forbidders a long time ago. He had to fight – they all did. The only difference is that you taught him how to fight well.”
“I do care, you know,” she said. “About people. I can’t understand them, but I really do care.” Her eyes became unfocussed, then wet. She reached up and wiped her finger under her left eye, looked at the water on it as if surprised to find it there. “I care too bloody much.”
“I know you do.” Albrecht sighed. “Everyone knows you do. It’s just that – well, she is his wife, after all. Was.”
“Losing people is s**t. Caring about people is s**t too.” She looked away and muttered something that sounded like “How do they do it?”
“How do they do what?”
Aline glanced at him. “What?”
“You said something. ‘How do they do it?’”
“Oh. Well, I meant families, husbands and wives. How they stay together. I mean, God rest his soul, but Louis really was an arsehole most of the time. Who the hell would want to live with that? And yet, from what I’ve heard, he and Anne-Marie back there have been together all their lives. Bickering all the time, apparently, but still together. How do people do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you ever married?”
“No,” he said, but the question had done its work. He thought about Hannah from the old days, her lopsided smile. He remembered the feel of her lying against him, the sensation of her hair on his cheek as they'd lain in her tent, the summer light warming the air and making the tent roof glow. He felt a longing sadness, deep and tranquil, a sense of mourning far stronger than he’d felt at Louis’ grave.
“I had a woman,” he said. “She was one of the camp followers – a laundress. It sounds stupid when I talk about it, but... I meant to marry her, I suppose. I guess people would call her a whore – she was, really, they all were – but she wasn’t, if you see what I mean. I thought I’d marry her and make an honest woman of her. Truth is, she was honest all along.” He turned to Aline, pulling his mind back into the present. “How about you? Were you ever married?”
Aline burst out laughing. She threw her head back and bellowed with laughter. Her gloved hand slapped the stone flank of the church. “Me? Married? God no!”
Her laughter puzzled him, but it was infectious. “I was just asking,” Albrecht said, smiling.
“Well if you’re going to ask, you ought to be down on one knee! You got a ring for me, then?”
Albrecht laughed now. They both stopped laughing. Nobody said anything.
“Come on,” Aline said. “Let’s go and find Meg, make sure she’s all right.”
