It was like the gates of hell opened as the battle broke out. Swords flashed, metal screeched and rang. The air filled with grunts and bellows and screams. It was blazing hot. Sweat fell from Peter’s face in fat drops and soaked his shirt under his armour. This battle was one of many that would determine whether their castle stayed free or whether it was taken over by the enemy nation. He knew that there were bigger issues than him.
But he most wanted to stay by Alfred’s side.
Peter was a ranged attacker. Alfred was a swordsman, but Peter could support him from a distance.
Peter set an arrow on the string and drew it back. He loosed, and the arrow arced through the air to plunge into an enemy’s shoulder.
Over the roar of battle he could barely hear Alfred’s shout. “Peter, behind you!”
He spun at the warning. An enemy horseman appeared behind him, sword raised and shining in the sunlight. It would have made a beautiful painting, but Peter’s stomach dropped as the sword rushed down.
Alfred.
Then the swordsman was toppling over sideways off his horse, the blade falling from his lifeless hand. An arrow protruded from his throat underneath his visor.
There was no time to process or wonder which of his comrades saved him. Another enemy was galloping toward him. Peter nocked another arrow.
He would not die today.
For Alfred.
And he let the arrow fly.
Looking for other stories with LGBTQA+ characters? Check out Poltergeist, With You, or Jarrod the Dragonslayer.