For a moment he felt hope. When she repeated the number of men, he felt happy satisfaction that the embattled woman would drop her worries and her hate and take this gift. The warmth radiating from the fireplace filled him, and he prayed that she too would simply accept the aid proffered and use it to wash away what ailed her.
Poor woman, he thought when she asked details of the army. He realized that despite his hopes to make her troubles vanish instantly with the invocation of Bohemian arms, there was war ongoing that consumed the lives of some involved and the spirits of all associated. His intent would end that, hopefully, but for now it only added, not alleviated, to her troubles. Hope, then. That was what he possessed, and what he had brought her. Yes, a few more worries now would bring this all to an end. Hopefully, he repeated in his mind. He decided hope was the center of it all. It gave men courage to resist, the will to risk their lives, and the impetus to continue living. “Yes, yes of course, I would come if asked,” he hastily responded, realizing that he had not responded to her remarks. “They are infantry mostly. That is typically the style of our men,” he added absentmindedly.
Gratitude. There was something too. It wasn’t as important, though. She certainly had reason to hate him and the rest of his ilk, and so he understood if she bridled at the thought of being grateful to Bohemia. Slavomir didn’t care. He was trying to help regardless of what she thought of the efforts. Ladislav had asked him, and he was willing anyway to aid the poor sovereign. Unlike many of his peers, chivalry was not part of his motivation. Anna’s sex did not push him to assist her. The obligation he felt to help was instead from compassion with a tinge of pity. Afterwards, he wouldn’t mind if she threw him out without a second thought, as he had feared would happen upon his very entrance. He would have helped, and that would be enough.
“The cost is borne by others,” he said simply to her scorn. Whether Ladislav had an ulterior motive or not, he knew not. He had heard nothing to indicate self-interest in this, and he personally did not harbor any plan to indebt her to Bohemia, both figuratively and literally. Not content with letting her vitriol bubble over, he said more. “I have communicated with my liege extensively—” and this was true; he had received a voluminous letter from Praha detailing precisely the intentions of the Crown and what meanings to convey— “and never did he ask that I request the support of Your Majesty in any matter besides the current conflict. I have specific instructions to avoid any such insinuation.” He decided just to end there. It was difficult to convince someone of a third’s intentions. The circumstances and the history made it impossible. He sighed. He could ramble for hours and not a thing would change.
He listened to her continue, and as she declared her resolution to remain firm in her hate, he was saddened. She still bore the heavy wounds inflicted years ago, he thought in a striking mix of metaphors. Tragic that her sadness continued, he mused, but he would still do what he could to help.
Poor woman, he thought when she asked details of the army. He realized that despite his hopes to make her troubles vanish instantly with the invocation of Bohemian arms, there was war ongoing that consumed the lives of some involved and the spirits of all associated. His intent would end that, hopefully, but for now it only added, not alleviated, to her troubles. Hope, then. That was what he possessed, and what he had brought her. Yes, a few more worries now would bring this all to an end. Hopefully, he repeated in his mind. He decided hope was the center of it all. It gave men courage to resist, the will to risk their lives, and the impetus to continue living. “Yes, yes of course, I would come if asked,” he hastily responded, realizing that he had not responded to her remarks. “They are infantry mostly. That is typically the style of our men,” he added absentmindedly.
Gratitude. There was something too. It wasn’t as important, though. She certainly had reason to hate him and the rest of his ilk, and so he understood if she bridled at the thought of being grateful to Bohemia. Slavomir didn’t care. He was trying to help regardless of what she thought of the efforts. Ladislav had asked him, and he was willing anyway to aid the poor sovereign. Unlike many of his peers, chivalry was not part of his motivation. Anna’s sex did not push him to assist her. The obligation he felt to help was instead from compassion with a tinge of pity. Afterwards, he wouldn’t mind if she threw him out without a second thought, as he had feared would happen upon his very entrance. He would have helped, and that would be enough.
“The cost is borne by others,” he said simply to her scorn. Whether Ladislav had an ulterior motive or not, he knew not. He had heard nothing to indicate self-interest in this, and he personally did not harbor any plan to indebt her to Bohemia, both figuratively and literally. Not content with letting her vitriol bubble over, he said more. “I have communicated with my liege extensively—” and this was true; he had received a voluminous letter from Praha detailing precisely the intentions of the Crown and what meanings to convey— “and never did he ask that I request the support of Your Majesty in any matter besides the current conflict. I have specific instructions to avoid any such insinuation.” He decided just to end there. It was difficult to convince someone of a third’s intentions. The circumstances and the history made it impossible. He sighed. He could ramble for hours and not a thing would change.
He listened to her continue, and as she declared her resolution to remain firm in her hate, he was saddened. She still bore the heavy wounds inflicted years ago, he thought in a striking mix of metaphors. Tragic that her sadness continued, he mused, but he would still do what he could to help.
