Thanks to Nina for pointing me to it and Petra for the readthrough.

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who shall gather
by afrai

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She will remember this later, when her mother is dead and her father a blind wreck of a man, scarred by war and darkness. The glitter of armour, the smell of the horses strong in her nostrils. It is so quiet.

She knows something is wrong but she doesn't know what it is. Her mother has given her a flower to throw at the men's feet, but she forgets to let go of it when the men ride by, shining and unfamiliar. She shrinks back against her mother's skirt, afraid, but her mother puts her hands on her shoulders, steadying her (nothing to fear), so that when her father passes he sees her trusting brown eyes uplifted to him.

When he is old, he will tell her that the memory of her eyes was with him throughout the battle, that they were the last thing he remembers seeing. He will never know that she did not recognise him that day, a stranger as he was in his armour. She will not remember what he looked like when he was young and brave and certain he was about to die.

This she will remember when she is old: the flower still in her hand, the petals crushed by her grip. Her fingers smell of green. She drops the blossom on the ground, but the men have passed.

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