The Helmet

Dusting, polishing and cleaning up the manor, she arrived to the mantle on top of the fireplace. A pristine and dented helmet sat here, glistening on the summer day. The cold steel brought bitter memories to her as she cradled it in her arms. While tears came down her face, she held on to the memories of he who once wore it with pride. She remembered the first time she held his helmet. It was a warm, spring day. The pleasant smell of flowers wafted into the bedroom. He was arming for war in the side room, fitting his armor and testing his weapons. "We'll be back before winter," he said. "With Durendal at my side the thieves gang will be no match." The sound of his horse's hooves still clattered in her ears. His shining form riding off to war, [i]Pro Deo et Patria[/i]. This was the last time she would see him. For 3 years she waited for her knight to return. No word came from the front lines. Her heart was drifting into cold agony as despair clutched it. Finally, a messenger arrived. 6 of them. The sound of more cold steel on the hardwood echoed in the bitter memories. 6 of his fellow knights of Renown had come to bring the sad news. One presented her with a gift, the last trace of his existence. They couldn't speak of what had happened, but she knew foul play was afoot. This was no mere thieves gang. "Was Durendal recovered?" she asked through the tears. "No, my lady. Only his helmet was found." The figures left giving her their sincere condolences, but nothing would bring him back. She put the helmet back on the mantle and tried to continue her normal duties, but broke down and fell onto the bed. There she cried herself to sleep as the helmet shined. [spoiler]https://youtu.be/MrFCa8wZSUU[/spoiler] [spoiler]That's the inspiration for this short story. Someone else bears Durendal now. [/spoiler]