I had an idea/desire to write.

[hider=Text]The battle was going badly for the Iron Rose Knights and their allies. It had started in unfavourable conditions; the enemy was far more numerous than their intelligence had led them to believe and far more organised to boot. What was supposed to be putting down a peasant revolt blaming the church for a failed harvest seemed to have struck a chord with the extreme edges of the nobility who favoured taking power into secular hands.

Finding out that the peasants you expected to handily defeat had been given proper arms and were supported by magic and knights was a nasty shock. It was just their luck that the field of engagement was a magical hotspot on top of the numbers advantage being reversed.

The worst thing to happen so far was the enemy commanders’ realisation that killing the Knights’ captain would be a crushing blow in favour of their revolt. Normally, splitting her off would be borderline impossible without still having the entirety of an elite order to fight through. The magical hotspot was immensely useful for the revolt; their mages’ worked in concert to forcibly reshape the battlefield.

Elionne wasn’t on her own but it was a close thing—a mere handful of other knights and less than a dozen of the soldiers accompanying them had been close enough to form a barrier against the surrounding force. Out of those, it had whittled down to a single surviving knight.

And Tyaethe wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out. 

Her shield was cracked from repeatedly absorbing blows and the occasional that would have broken the bones of weaker men and her arms shook with the effort of even lifting her sword. The trail of corpses that marked the path from their abduction and back towards the other knights had stalled, with its latest addition being one of their own—a newcomer in her first battle.

With no forward progress happening, it was just a matter of time until she went down as well, from slipping up or—

Tyaethe’s body moved of its own accord, shield falling uselessly from her fingers as she pushed forwards in a last display of loyal strength. It didn’t seem to hurt as much as the paladin had been expecting, though the feeling of some liquid—[i]blood[/i]—running down her back was uncanny and seemed to have taken her hearing with it.

Despite the strangely heavy head, Tyaethe forced herself to look up, seeking out golden eyes. If she was dying, it was going to be looking into those, not the muck and gore of the battle. [i]Golden like the gardens in summer and as bright as the sun itself. So beautiful…[/i]

The only sound that she could hear was a dull pounding, slowing as the seconds dragged on, an eternity in an instant. The voice in her head could only be hers, then. [i]Rise, Sir Tyaethe. You cannot fail your sworn oath. [/i]

Her oath? Of course… she had sworn to protect Elionne for her entire life. Not until the captain stood before Mayon could she rest in her duties, no matter the difficulty in pursuing them. Mortal injury or not, hopelessly outnumbered or not, Tyaethe’s oath had been given. “Until the goddesses say otherwise, I, Sir Tyaethe Radistirin, will protect and serve Elionne so long as she may live.” Those were the words and even her own death couldn’t be allowed to interfere.

But the beating was still weakening, the pounding dying down to nothing and even her sword slipping out of her hands…

[i]Rise.[/i]

A chill ran through her, an ephemeral tingle that felt like the candle-lighting cantrip a friend had taught. Instead of exiting her body, it seemed to be pooling, in her heart but not in her body at all, tied deeply to something with no physical concept at all. What felt like it had been slipping away was being tied once more.

 The beat restarted.

With every thunderous pound ringing in her ears, cold fire pushed through her veins. Surety lost early in the battle returned. Tyaethe felt her strength return as the fatigue burnt away and brightness returned to crimson eyes still locked with amber.

Enemies stumbled as the slain paladin rose to full height and refashioned her ruined cape into a scarf. It was impossible. Nobody died and got back up. Whatever rose from the grave was always mindless, an abomination to put down. The undead didn’t tie knots, didn’t know to pick up their sword, didn’t recognise friend from foe.

Her killer only realised that he was too close when the weighty blade came swinging around, the air singing a song of death as it moved with deceptive speed.

Tyaethe had given her life for Elionne with no regrets but the battle was far from over. The paladin looked back at the one she had to protect and wordlessly pointed forwards. The captain was tired and she was not, would never be again. Tyaethe would cut a path back to their allies and regroup, then they would crush the revolt as intended.

Carnage followed. A harvest of death, her sword the scythe and soldiers the wheat. Attack after attack was ignored, even when one arm hung uselessly by her side and the charge reduced to a limp. With no shield to prevent herself or the captain from being overwhelmed, Tyaethe used her body instead.

As she raised her sword again, the soldiers in front of her cheered.

They had made it back to allied lines.[/hider]