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The midday sun broke through the dense canopy above, speckling the foliage beneath with tiny stars. The only sound was that of heavy ox’s hooves hammering into the dirt path. A man with skin like worn parchment, wispy grey hair and adorned in old, tattered clothing sat on the wagon attached to the ox. He let out a low chuckle that shook his frame and turned to look towards the back of his wagon. Another man sat in there, his armor reflected the light poking between the gaps in the leaves. Next to him lay a longsword, sheathed in black leather and embellished with a gold sigil.
As the wagon rolled past the tree line a small town appeared over the horizon, the wagon carried on into the town, passing houses boarded up with planks until it reached the town square. People were all over the place, bartering, selling, and buying goods of all types, a group of kids hid in an alleyway huddled together, scheming. A man barters three heads of lettuce and four carrots for a cut of lamb. Another individual advertises mushrooms as one of the kids creeps behind him to steal some copper from his stall.
The wagon stills, “well here’s your stop” the elderly man states in a low, gravely voice. The weight of the back of the wagon is lifted as the younger gentleman hops off of it, digging in a small pouch, he takes out a few gold coins, walks up to the senior and drops the coins into his hand before grabbing his sword and starting toward the horse stables nearby
He makes his way towards a taller woman dressed in ornate armor. She doesn't turn around but instead seems to sense his presence and states, “I didn’t believe them when they said you’d be here so fast.” She whirls around on her heel before meeting his eyes, she surveys the man, before letting a simper cross her features. “My, my are you a sight for sore eyes,”
The man refrained from rolling his eyes and instead, let out a sigh, “let’s just get on with this.” His face wore a look of austere as he made eye contact with the woman.
“Right.” The woman led the man towards a mare with a pelt like the midnight sky, she brushed the horse as she began to explain, “Two towns so far have been pillaged by the mad king's army. His troops are set to arrive at this town in approximately 8 days. We set up an encampment south from here since that is where the troops will be coming from. Until then we have to prepare. You understand why you were called here, yes?” The man answered her with a nod before she continued, “Good, get on we have to go to base.”
They mount their steeds and leave the town, heading south toward a large encampment.
Two steeds valiantly march into the dirty, narrow streets of the basecamp until they come to a stop in front of a large tent. Two squires come to take the reins of both horses, tying them to nearby posts so they cannot run away. The two warriors, after dismounting the steeds, stride into the large tent. Lanterns illuminate their surroundings, allowing them to make out the 3 generals surrounding a table displaying a map and decorated in painted wooden chips.
The general facing them looks up from the table, meeting the lady warrior’s gaze, “Ah, Brienne! It seems you’ve retrieved our visitor.” The warrior recognizes him as Lord Baelon Emrys. The general standing next to him, bearing the sigil of House Emrys, eyed the man with suspicion as he walked beside Lady Brienne.
Lady Brienne dips her head in a small bow before asking, “Have we got a plan yet? Or have you all just been moping around?”
Lord Baelon chuckles before gesturing towards the table in front of them, “The mad kings army should be arriving in 8 days. Preparation for the battle should take five, so we have time.” the third general explains. “We should start preparing as soon as possible.”
Over the course of five days the army prepares for battle, sharpening swords, reinforcing shields, and tending to horses. Slowly, they move the injured back towards the town, so they may be safer during the fight.
By the end of the fifth day a scout sounds the alarm. “ARMY APPROACHING! READY FOR BATTLE!” All soldiers from ages 10-30 take arms and put on whatever armor they can find. Most of the footsoldiers have only metal hats and pikes. The knight emerges from Lord Emrys’s tent before mounting a horse and joining the men on the battlefield.
As the mad king's army approaches, waving flags marked with a sigil depicting a dragon with two heads spewing fire from its maw. They stop just in front of the rebellion's army. Each side holds their breath until the generals give the order.
“NOCK!” The archers on each side place their arrows on their string and await further instruction.
“DRAW!” They draw their strings and aim their bows high into the air.
“LOOSE!” The sky is filled with arrows as they descend upon each army, some hit shields, others hit people.
“CHARGE!” Both sides let out a war cry before smashing into each other. The battlefield was full of the clanging of metal and the screams of boys as the battle carried on.
The knight runs up to his opponent and tackles him before ripping off the other man's helmet, unsheathing his blade from his ornate sheath, and plunging the blade into the man's throat. He feels a pair of arms wrap around his abdomen before getting thrown violently into another warrior. Quickly, he rises, reaching for his sword that is shoved deep into the muddy ground. He is then punched, with full force, by his attacker and he staggers back, regaining his balance. He meets his attackers eyes, he fights for breath, as if he was drowning, and with a gasping wail, he barrels into his attacker. Though they do not fall. Instead his opponent beats his fists on the knights back until the battle stops.
Everyone, enemy and ally, stop to turn to the sky. Before they heard it, they felt it, an unsettling vibration that was felt deep inside the bones of the men. The sky, thick with clouds, releases a mix of sounds, like a thousand dying sows and thunder, a growl overlaid with a screech.
The heavens split open with a thunderous bellow as the black dragon emerged from the blanket of clouds, its colossal wings slicing through the mist like lightning across the sky. Its scales shimmered with an eerie translucence, catching the flickering light and refracting it into ghostly hues that seemed woven from shadow and starlight. Eyes like molten gold scanned the battlefield below, where both armies stood frozen in awe and terror. The dragon's breath began to churn in its chest. With a guttural snarl that echoed across the valley, it opened its maw wide, unleashing a torrent of fire in a relentless deluge of flame.
The inferno swept across the ranks, devouring steel and flesh alike, turning banners to ash and cries to silence. The river of fire carved a path of destruction, reshaping the land in its wake. The dragons translucent scales now glowed with the reflected blaze below, a spectral the gods of vengeance cloaked in smoke and fury.
Below, a body stirred. Slowly, the knight pushed the charred remains off of him. He attempted to rise, but was met with a jolt of pain around his entire being. He examined himself, the metal plates of his armor melted into his skin, he was covered in blood and ash from head to toe. His helmet was ripped off of his head by his opponent right before the demon had spit its torrent of flames upon the armies. The knight, before closing his eyes, let out a wheezing breath that rattled his frame.
After what seemed like an eternity, the man pried his eyes open again. His vision was that of a blur, only being able to see light and shadow. There was a loud ringing in his ears as he worked up the energy to stand. Once on his feet he looked around, his vision clearing just enough to make out the outlines of his surroundings. He turned slowly, and caught sight of the dragon, eating the remains of the soldiers.
His eyes widened at the sight, finally letting go of that silent austere that he was wearing before. I don’t want to die. The thought rang in his head, quiet at first, but then louder and more demanding. His breath was just gasping at this point, the feeling of terror that the sight had bestowed him had worsened it.
I won't. He decided, with strain evident on his features. He turned around swiftly, a flare of pain stopped him for a moment before he began.
The first step was one of desperation. His foot was charred and bloody as he took it. His expression, a mixture of determination and raw terror. His lungs grasped desperately for air, it entered with a wheeze and exited with a groan. His posture was hunched over, he appeared as a zombie, walking through a field of corpses.
The second step was one of determination. “Death shall not claim me-” he began to mutter before being cut off by a gravely cough that shook his entire being, nearly causing him to collapse. He took another wheezing breath, tasting the iron and ash on his tongue.
The third step was one of doubt. Doubt that he will ever survive this, doubt that anyone will help him in time. He lifted his head to look at the dragon once more, it was still grazing the dead.
The fourth step was one of dread. He had accidentally stepped on the skull of a charred husk. The sound of the skull shattering reverberated throughout the deafening silence. The demon's eyes turned to look at him across the desolate valley. Its golden eyes met the knight's gaze before it began to tread towards him.
The last step was one of welcome. He had stepped towards the beast, looking death in the eyes as it barreled towards him. It opened its maw, breath churning in its throat. The last expression the man will ever wear was one of acceptance, as the blinding light enveloped his entire body.