Now: Forty Eight

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A/N: Do you trust me?  Come on now, bring it all in for a group hug. I'll update again today, at least once. These are short.

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Huddled in shawls and blankets, we trudge our way out to the main gate. The mass of soldiers gathered there seems endless.

Horses whinny and stomp their displeasure at being packed all together so closely as the army assembles. The sound of armor and shields clanging against each other is grating. The sobbing of wives and daughters is a rhythmic pulse in the background.

Liam sits atop his horse, calmly surveying his men. He glances to me, and to Mary at my side, nodding once.

My sister bends at the middle, collapsing into my side. I know this pain she feels: it is as if she is being cut in half from just beneath her ribs.

Galloping up to the army and sitting atop his large brown steed, Harry circles the masses, crying out to them: "Men! What I've asked of you is a sacrifice beyond any you've ever known. Are you ready for this?"

A resounding, "Aye, my Lord!"

"We will march to their camps!"

"Aye!"

"We will slaughter, we will be merciless, we will be victorious!"

The cheers are deafening.

"We will avenge my father! We will avenge our soldiers! We will avenge the women we have lost!"

Roars: they rattle my bones.

"We will return home with more land-"

The soldiers are cheering, wildly pumping their swords in the air.

"-more swords, more horses-"

Shouting: it sharply pierces the early morning sky.

"-and we will never face this demon again!"

I cup my hands over my ears, staring up at the love of my heart as his horse proudly paces in front of the masses.

"Are you with me, men?"

"AYE!"

"Are you ready, my lads? Are we strong?"

"AYE!"

"Are we brutal?"

"AYE!"

Harry turns his horse; the steed is pulling against the reins, eager to gallop.

With one glance over his shoulder, Harry meets my eyes directly, unblinking.

I hear his words as if he's spoken them:

I love you.
I shall return to you.

I have fire for a heart; dust for bones. My blood has gone still in my veins.

And then, while holding my eyes, he grips his sword and thrusts it into the air.

He  is saying: I will survive this.

I have never seen this man before. Tears stream like a summer storm down my face.

Turning, he tears out of the gates with a roar, down the long bridge, over the melted snow, and into the field.

A mass of black follows him; the hooves are thunderous. Dust rises like a wave from the ground into the sky.

For as long as I can, I hold onto the sight of him out front, and then as he is swallowed into the protective middle of the bobbing, dusty masses. I am sure that is him, I think, watching his form grow smaller and smaller.

There, that is him, I still see him.

He is in that area, just there, in the middle.

He is somewhere in that mass, protected.

He is in that part there, that group which has not yet disappeared around the bend...

I push up onto my toes, madly searching.

I can no longer see any of them anymore.

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