This Is Joey (Reader x Captain Nicholls) WAR HORSE

 WE ARE AT WAR WITH GERMANY.

The bold letters were slapped on posters which hung all over the barns and doors at the market in Devon, and as you walked, basket on your arm, all you could think was James!

 James Nicholls was a gentleman that had struck your fancy, and you his when you met at the Devon Horse Auction. You hoped to marry him, but now, you felt your heart fall to the ground, breaking into a thousand tiny pieces, just like the thousands of boys who were signing up for the War. You dropped your empty basket, lifting your light skirt and sprinting towards the road to your home, which bordered the estate of the Nicholls’s. James would have to come down this road to get to the town to sign up, and you planned on begging him not to go. You were running as fast as you could and you prayed that James would not be going, you prayed he would stay here in Devon.

 Your prayers went unanswered as you saw him heading down the road on foot that led down to the town. You kept running until you caught him and he looked slightly startled when you almost tackled him.

 “You can’t go!” You say. James takes his leather-gloved hand and brushes a strand of (h/c) hair out of your eyes. Your (e/c) eyes shine with tears that are threatening to fall. The Captain smiles kindly down at you and takes your chin in gentle fingers, blue eyes bright and eager, and blonde hair, which lay combed over to the right and flat on his head shining in the sun.

 “(Name),” He says, “I must go. It is my duty to my country.” He tries to sound convincing, but you know him too well. You can fully hear the sadness in his voice.

 “There are plenty of boys lining up in troves to volunteer!”

 “(Name).” James states. You sigh, shaking your head, “I promise, I will try my best to return.” He whispers.

 “Please, don’t go.” You plead with him, gripping the collar of his uniform. He takes your hand and holds it over his heart for a moment before removing it from his chest, pressing a chaste kiss against your knuckles, and placing it back at your side.

 He walks past you, and gets all of ten steps away before he turns around again and takes the distance he’s crossed in five long strides. He grabs your shoulders and presses his thin lips against yours, holding you possessively.

 “If a gent from Devon can ask you something,” He states. You nod, “Wait for me.” He asks, but he says it as a statement.

 “As long as it takes,” You whisper, placing a hand against his cheek.

 “And if I die-,”

 “You promised me that you would return.” You cut him off.

 “If I die,” He restates, “You will find a good man and marry him, and be happy.” You have your orders from your Captain, but you can’t bear to watch him go. He pulls you against his chest, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I must go down to the Markets to find a decent horse to take with me,” He says quietly, “Would you follow me down?” You nod sadly, holding his arm and walking along with him as he goes to sign his name away to the War with Germany. You know in your heart that he wishes to return, that they all do, but that not all of them can. In a perfect world, James Nicholls would return from the War as a celebrated Officer with many awards for his bravery, and he would ask you to marry him, but alas, the world isn’t so perfect as many would like, and you find it tearing you away from the Man you knew you loved.

 “You dropped your basket, Miss (Last Name).” Said a woman with kind eyes and frazzled curly hair. You nod to her appreciatively and take your basket. You do not follow your Captain nearly as closely as he may have liked, but it already felt like he was gone, and you were watching a shadow of the Man you had fallen for. He walked along the lines of horses until Ted Naracott, a farmer that your Father knew, with a military background and an alcohol problem, stepped up to James with a splendid bay with four white socks. At that moment, you had hope that your Captain would return to you. If a horse such as that could be had, so could hope. Your Captain and Naracott went back and forth over price as you distanced yourself from the men, watching until the price of thirty Guineas was reached. They shook on it.

 Just then, you saw Albert, the Naracott boy, running in to town as if the devil were on his heels. He begged your Captain not to take him, but James was steadfast. He promised the boy, as he had promised you, that he would return, and then he promised to bring back his horse. If anything, this sparked more hope. Your Captain had yet another reason to return to Devon.

 James approached you one last time, the splendid horses’ rope in his hands, and you stroked the colt’s nose.

 “This is Joey.” James whispers in your ear. You nod.

 “Take care of him, Joey. And all the best to you both. Return to Devon… please.” You whisper in the Horses’ silky ear. He snorts quietly, pushing his head into your chest. James takes his free hand and places it under your chin, pulling you in for one last kiss, before he turns on his heel and hands Joey’s rope to a waiting soldier. The Captain climbs into a car, lounging in the seat, and departs. Your heart follows him down the streets of Devon and out into the countryside where War and Battles and turmoil await your Captain and his Horse.

Weeks Later

 You and Albert had become friends since Captain Nicholls and Joey left Devon. You were a few years older than the boy, but you both awaited news about the Captain, and Albert’s horse.

 One day, Albert came to you in town as you were browsing over some fruits, and thrust a leather sketchbook into your hands. You opened it, finding a sketch of Joey.

 “Is this from James?” You ask, looking at Albert’s saddened face, and nausea passes through you as you see a letter beside the drawings. You read it.

 Captain James Nicholls was killed in action.

Killed in Action.

 You would never see him again. You look to Albert, who has taken the leather book back and looks as if he might cry.

 “I bet Joey is still alive.” You offer, “When James got him, I asked Joey to come home safe.” Albert doesn’t look as if your words help him. He looks at the drawing of Joey.

 “Captain Nicholls was killed in action.” Albert whispers. His voice is hollow and empty, broken and aching like the moment his Father sold Joey. “It said killed in action…”

THE END OF THE WAR

 The Devon Boys were returning home. You knew you would not see your Captain amongst the tired, War-hardened faces of the returning boys, but there was joy in the camaraderie. You watch as the Boys break off to see their families, and you wait for a certain one to appear.

 First you see the smart ears that you so remember whispering to when you asked him to bring your Captain home. Then you see the cross-like Star in the center of his forehead, and the perfectly even white socks. And then, there is Albert. His hair is mussed up, his skin is dirty and he looks so tired, but it’s him. He leads Joey to you and you smile at seeing the horse. The sight of him brings tears to your eyes as you remember your Captain showing him to you. You can almost hear his voice in your ear.

 “This is Joey,” it says.