Under a swift sunrise
Feb. 22nd, 2009 02:24 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
It is time.
The grass is damp under my feet, and behind me rises a pale gold sun. I have crossed the river, away from the carnival, to this spot. I can hear the water rushing by, and the breeze in the trees along the river bank, and part of me wonders if this will be my last morning. I am glad that the sun is shining. It seems like a sad thing to die in the rain.
The rapiers have been entrusted to Mab's care. I sent her and Lucien a note of the time and place of the duel after I had word from Lysander. Mab will, I know, ensure that everything is done properly. And I think that, should I fall, she will take care of Lysander. Make no mistake - I will not have him take Hermia, and if I can't stop him, I am certain that someone else will. Had he not challenged me to a duel, then perhaps matters would have been settled in a different way. But duel or no duel, he would have had to die.
I think the people in this town don't quite understand why Lysander is a threat. I think some of them think he could just be run out of town. But I understand something of the culture he grew up in, from what Hermia has told me and from what I've seen of other places that shared similar sentiments toward women, and he would come back. He would come back with others to support him, I think, and who knows what would happen then? No; he needs to die here in Excolo, and never be able to take word back to Athens. The most important thing I can ever do is make sure Hermia is safe.
And then there is my honour. I know many people see that as a selfish reason, a product of pride, a stupid bullish insistence on doing things in an archaic way, and that if I die today, it's a poor thing to have died for. But without honour, what am I? I have done many bad things in my life, but I have, I think, kept to my own notion of honour where it matters. Honour isn't just reputation; it's a man's soul, and I'd as soon lose my honour as sell my soul to the Tower.
I have no idea what happens to my soul when I die. But I do know that if I die, I want things to be as easy for Hermia as possible, so I have spent the last few days quietly making sure everything is in order. I have made a will; a copy is with Toby Hutchinson at the council. He asked why I suddenly made one, and I made up some excuse or other. I've left everything to Hermia, except for some cash gifts for my staff. And my small collection of children's books are to go to Fiona. I think she would like them.
Hermia and I spent the night together last night; I didn't go back to work after I fetched the glasses from the tavern. We were very quiet. I think the way we made love is the way people do when one of the pair is about to go to war. Her fingers clung to my shoulders as if she would stop me from falling. Oh, my dearest and best, if there is anything that will save me, it is you. But then, in that regard I am already saved, and if this ends now - well. Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
[OPEN to the relevant parties.]