A very short story I wrote for a random contest a while back. Never heard back from the person, so I guess I didn't win. WARNING: Contains mild nudity and implied sex, just in case you're that much of a prude.

After the Battle

The heavy oaken doors latched behind Ceilidh, shutting out the din of mingling nobility in the great hall. She'd had her fill of hollow flattery from lecherous old aristocrats, and sought nothing now but the silence and sanctity of her room. She yanked at the buckles of her armor as she trudged toward the bed, leaving a trail of metal livery scattered about the floor. She sighed, draping her nude form over the silken sheets and basking in the feel of the rich fabric. Unfortunately, the lack of movement reminded her muscles just how strained and sore she truly was. She winced slightly, doing her best to stretch the discomfort away while her thoughts roamed at will.

Her mind wandered to the last skirmish on the border. That was the last time she saw him. She knew the chances were poor that he survived, but for reasons she still didn't fully know, she hoped that he had. Such feelings were alien to her--shield maidens were not allowed to bond with others. It made them far more efficient in battle, and left no room for heartache or loss. But she could not deny what she felt, and he was the only one that ever inspire such feelings within her. What stung her the most was that she knew almost nothing about him, nor was she given the chance to learn.

Logic told her that she would never get that chance--the odds were stacked against his survival, and she herself had barely made it out alive. Her training told her to dismiss him as a weakness, a liability, and that she should thank the Goddess that he was no longer in her way. But her heart... her heart told her that his memory would never be something she could just discard or push away. The reflection on her shield told her that her cheeks were streaked with tears, though she hadn't noticed she was crying until then. She reached out to turn the shield away, and saw that her hands were trembling. She clasped them to her chest, but the tremble seemed to spread through the rest of her body. Her breath grew short, her throat constricted, and her entire frame shuddered dramatically. Her chest spasmed, and a loud sob escaped her lips. And another. She snatched a velvet pillow to muffle the sounds, but could no longer stop them from coming. Soon she was bawling like an injured pup, sorrow tearing at her insides as she loosed years of pent up emotions.

But mostly, she cried for him.

For what seemed like hours, Ceilidh cried into her pillow. So intense was her grief that she failed to notice the additional presence in her room until she had cried herself out. She felt lightheaded, but her sharp ear caught the sound of another and she leaped out of bed with blade in hand to face the intruder. A soft chuckle flowed from the shadows in the far corner of the room--and the sound made her gasp. She knew the sound, and knew the man who made it. But it wasn't possible, he couldn't have...

"Hello, Ceilidh." A tall male figure stepped into the candlelight, and the shield maiden felt her knees go weak. It was him. He survived. He came back for her. She wasn't certain what to feel, what to say... so she let her mouth speak for her.

"You're alive," she breathed, her voice sounding faint in her own ears.

"So it would seem," he replied, and smiled wryly at her. "I must ask: do you always fight in the nude, or am I a special case?"

Her attention was abruptly drawn to her state of undress, and she turned crimson. "Oh! I... oh my... I'm sorry..." she stammered, attempting to cover herself without much success. The male strode toward her, clasping her hands in his and forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Don't," he whispered, his eyes radiating so much warmth and understanding that Ceilidh felt her own eyes blur with tears again. Her sword clattered to the floor as she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck as she cried again.

"I... was so afraid... that you'd been hurt or..." she sobbed, holding him as tightly as she could. His arms encircled her as well, and she felt her heart dance with joy within her chest. He was really there. She was in his arms again. Her defenses melted in his embrace, just as they had that night before the skirmish. Nothing mattered except that they were together again. Her tears subsided, and she pulled back enough to smile at his handsome features.

He smiled back. "My beautiful Ceilidh, there is something I have to know. This question has burned my mind since I last saw you."

She stared up at him with liquid eyes, nodding. "Anything. Whatever you wish."

He paused, as though gathering the courage to speak. "Did you mean what you said that night on the battlefield? Or was my journey here for naught?"

Ceilidh gaped at him for a moment, unsure if she had heard him correctly. Uncertainty became incredulity, which became unbridled happiness as she realized the motivation behind his words. "Every word, my love. Always."

An incredible smile nearly cracked his face in half. He laughed, grabbing her up by the waist and spinning her around while she laughed along with him, her heart full to bursting. He set her down again, and without warning pressed his lips against hers. Her moment of surprise faded just as fast, and she kissed him back with a passion that rivaled their tryst on the fields of war. He reluctantly broke the kiss, and she raked his tongue with her teeth as though pleading for it to stay with her forever. He smiled.

"Then so it will be. Tomorrow, I will make my intentions known to your commanding officer, and we will be wed before the next full moon. And I," he muttered, leaning his head down to n** her neck, "will never leave you again."

She whimpered and pulled him into another kiss, this time with more urgency. Their pulses quickened, and their bodies responded with heated intensity to the scent of their arousal. In a single fluid movement, he swept her lithe form into his arms and carried her to the bed. He only pulled away long enough to whisper a single phrase into her ear.

"I love you, Ceilidh." For the rest of the night, no words were necessary.

(c) Kaiwyn the Bard. Ceilidh is (c) Jessica Elwood.