Chapter 21: The Last Struggle
Uther led his small convoy towards the last settlement they had stayed at during the last time they were at the Mountains.
Behind him rode 250 men. Each as brave as his Lord. Each as selfless as a true Knight. Each one as skilled and as experienced as the next. All of those showed as they mowed down men upon men of Tribesmen that tried to hinder their progress.
They won and won and won, with no end in sight of the ever flowing waves of savages. And even though their enemies attacked with untold ferocity, all them Knights could see the fear within their enemies eyes.
They could tell their impending doom. That their way of life is soon about to come to an end. These thoughts drove the savage tribesmen into a frenzied madness. One driven by fear. And from their weakness, the Knights drew strength.
With time and effort Uther soon reached their destination. The location from which they last parted.
From there Uther led them following a trail his allies left behind through the carvings on the trees. Arthas' touchmark seared into a tree every hour of march.
Just a few days from their location, Uther and the men stood stunned at what they saw. A village filled with corpses. Flesh and blood marred the ground while the rotting stench polluted the air. The houses burned and toppled with pieces of stone, iron and steel weapons indicating the harsh battle that once graced it.
A short look around and they were met with a large stack of coins from bronze to gold, and another stack of weapons and armor, from iron to steel and even silver and golden ones, each as badly made as the next.
Knowing that their allies must have been forced to leave it all behind. They of course took the loot and then continued the march.
Another day away and there they found a gravesight. At the head of each grave showed a banner of House Redfort and Royce, depicting who's Knights they belonged to. Knights who had fallen under their sworn service. Uther and the men paid their respects and then continued the march.
A march that grew darker and heavier as more and more of their kin were found dead.
After a whole two weeks, passing through camps and villages, Uther got his first semblance of hope. Running towards him with incredible speed and flexibility is Tristan, carrying his bow at hand.
"Ser Uther! A battle sir! Less than half a day away from us!"
Uther's eyes widened and his hands clenched around his Warhammer.
"Mordred!"
"Ser!"
"Take Gawain, Percival, Bedivere and Tristan and reinforce them at once. Your in command!"
"Aye! Mount up! We ride forward!" Shouted Mordred.
Uther watched as Arthas' prodigies rode off hoping that they would make it in time.
~~~ Break ~~~
The clanging sounds of steel. Blood spilling to the dirt and flesh hitting the ground. This is what surrounded him. The sounds of death and the field of battle. A sound, the air, and the very dirt he had grown accustomed to as more and more battles passed on by.
He had survived quarrels between Lords that led to the death of their commonfolk. He had survived the raids of the Ironborns on the Western Coast and most of all is the thick of battle during the War of the Nine Penny Kings. But for the first time in his life, Tylos had actually felt proud as to why he still stand with sword at hand.
The waves of savages had grown more ferocious as more of his brothers in arms were felled one by one. But despite their windfall, they remained ever rooted into a frenzied battle as no man amongs them would ever fall without taking tens of them down. Though greatly out umbered, their arms remained far better and their skill even more so. But their advantages were slowly being drained with each passing second as fatigue, wounds and the feeling of strength left his arms with each swing and every passing second could be felt as it continues to take root into his mind and body. And despite their efforts, fears, despair, hope and the death of his brothers-in-arms, their chances of surviving remained the same.
Within his heart and those beside him, his life remained... irrelevant.
That thought alone sparked resolve in his heart.
"FIGHT! FIGHT!!!!!"
Hearing his young voice, echoing across the field of red and cutting through the noise of the shimmering chaos was enough to rekindle that spark into a newly lighted flame of determination.
Looking behind him, he saw the single hut that housed more than two hundred souls. More than two hundred lives, ruined by these savages and are now threatened of being subjected to the same fate once more. He could only imagine their fear, the feeling of powerlessness... the despair as their fate remained not by their own hands but his.
'I am not going to ask you die for honor. Not for riches nor for glory and gold. But so long as you fight for what is good, then I will stand. Fighting alongside you.' whispered words of their leader.
All of this together was enough. Enough to give him strength. Enough to give him a renewed sense of purpose. A rekindled resolve, blazing within him.
A fire that was tested, when he saw his insurmountable leader fall on his back. And for the first time since he has known him... he saw him bleed.
~~~ Break ~~~
Sneaking in as close she could, Mordred soon saw the edge of the Tribesmen army just beyond the bushes they had hidden in. Even from a far she could still hear the clanging steel, the fight was obviously far from finished. Hearing the grunts and screams a short distance away sent her blood boiling.
Just as she was about to rise to full height. She was held back by someone. She turned and snarled at the perpetrator only to meet face to face with a stoic looking Gawain.
His eyes shining with determination and his face frozen into a grim scowl that matched his firm hand that clasp her shoulder holding her in place.
Gawain spoke. "We can't save them if you continue with what you are about to do."
"I can't just sit by and watch all this happen!" Mordred whispered harshly.
"We won't. Believe me when I say I also want to smash against this army and wipe them all out. But our priority isn't killing them. It is to reinforce the forces within until Ser Uther arrives. Besides, there is at least a thousand of them. We'll die if we do it your way."
"Tsk!" Though hesitant, Mordred knew he was right. "So what do you propose."
"We strike at their weakest. Find the chip in the army or the thinnest section and break them apart from there." Gawain then turned to Tristan. "Take them out from afar while providing support."
Tristan nodded.
"The rest of us will stick together."
"Should we not join in on the others instead? Fight side by side with them." asked Percival.
"No." Mordred answers. "Of we do that we would all be surrounded and most likely overwhelmed. This way their attention will be divided at the very least, provide some relief to our allies within." Mordred turned to Gawain. "But if they continued focusing on the attack against our allies then we push through and fight right on beside them."
"I see, so we lead them off, pick them apart from the outside one man at a time?" asked Percival
"With our small numbers, it would be the best we could use. Luckily for us, this area is nearly an open field." answered Gawain.
"But don't be led astray." interrupted Mordred. "Too deep into the woods and we'd be done for."
"Alright, in short fight and kill as many as you can here, don't get surrounded and if they try to overwhelm us, we run and pick them off. Rinse and repeat." said Tristan.
Looking around, Mordred saw all of them nod at his words. Finally making the decisions they begun scouring the army. It took some time but Tristan spotted the chink.
"I found it. Their left flank. Around the same number two hundred at the very least but poorly armed and fur clothed no armors. No scouts."
"...fodders..." whispered Bedivere.
"Aye."
"It doesn't matter." said Mordred. "We've waited long enough. We'll take the plunge."
~~~ Break ~~~
Beòrn has led his tribes against the Andals just like his father and his father before him. A conflict that had endured the test of time.
He wielded knowledge of the mountains, passed down from one son to another. And with it they continued to defy the teachings of new gods.
But now it all begins crumbling down. Just as they were finally succeeding in their endeavors. Just when they had learned to shape metal and steel. Just when they began winning. It all began to be undone and surprisingly, it was all due to one woman.
Beòrn watch a short distance away as one young woman continuously kill his people one after another. With no remorse, no mercy and no hesitation at all. Her eyes blazing with fury as frightening as the winter storms. Her sword though battered and beaten remained undaunting against their own. And as much blood as spilled against her, Beòrn knew that she isn't injured yet. That was until a hit smashed against her.
His eye widened as the girl was thrown on her back after being hit by an iron club at the head.
He could hear his heart beat as they stood stunned. A lul in the battle as silence engulfed them. It was a lucky strike, one no one truly expected. He then felt it, like a bolt of lightning coursing through him. With renewed urgency, fear, panic and glee bursting through his skin, he shouted.
"KILL HER! KILL HER NOW!!!"
They all felt it, the ever growing urgency to act. And so they rushed forward, only to be deterred by the men behind the child.
Beòrn watched as the Andals' champion was dragged to the comfines of the hut. He watched as the Valemen shouted and raged against the panic and mad attempt of hisTribesmen.
Chaos, pure chaos. Steel swinging left and right. Shields bashed against and to. Furs were cut as clothes were torn. Armors were broken and smashed. And the blood and flesh continue to flood the field.
And while the Knights grew tired with every moment, fear continued to rise through the Tribesmen. Each one of them contrasting with the other.
One side wanted their leader dead. The other refuse.
But just as the chaos begun enveloping them all, a battle was erupting right behind the enemy lines as a small group had decided to join the frey.
~~~ Break ~~~
Mordred was snarling at her enemies as she cleaved through them with absolute brutally. Limbs was all she took and left them there, barely alive and in great pain.
Her fellow brothers and sister were not so different. They never thought they would see their teacher in such a way. Remembering his frail form. Signs of starvation, lack of sleep piled with bruises and a few injuries. It was a sight they hated seeing. And they couldn't help but blame Gulltown, they couldn't help but blame the Lord of the town and it's people and most of all is that they couldn't help but blame themselves for not arriving sooner.
Feeling overwhelmed, they decided to pour all of their worries, fears, anger and hate towards their enemies.
Her training kicked in and she suddenly dodged to a roll. Now behind her stood someone of importance for sure. His axe is well made, a far cry from the weapons the Tribesmen used and his armor is definitely of Vale make with a few engravings of first men letters here and there.
Mordred noticed that the man was about to speak but she couldn't care less. So she rushed him. Her sword poised for an upward swing.
He dodged as he stepped back but rolled to the side as the sword suddenly came down.
Mordred stepped into the man and with a punch, she landed a right hook at his jaw. She then held her sword once more and swung at his neck.
He dropped down to the dirt and rolled away from his opponent. Forcing a step back, he kept a small distance watching his opponent.
Beòrn had seen her before, one of the few who stood out the most. Her skill and weapons made for a deadly combination. Allowing her to cut through his people with little effort. He doesn't deny that he had dreamed of claiming her for himself, but the woman was too strong willed to be broken. And sadly, he doesn't have the time to indulge himself. Not during such dangerous times. So he had decided that she had to die. But facing her in combat now made him question his sanity.
Beòrn dodged and blocked as many attacks as he could as Mordred came at him with great ferocity. He could tell from her strikes that she didn't care if he parried or guarded, there is only death and that was all he would get from her.
Seeing the the doubt in one of his men's eyes as they watched him, prompted him in the offense. Using his much larger size against her with his axe hefted with both hands he retaliated using brute force and speed.
But Mordred was skilled, too skilled to the point that his attacks were parried and dodged with minimal effort. Each exchange slithered underneath Beòrn's skin as his people now showed worry for him. He was losing and the woman was showing no sign of ever relenting.
Mordred is now showing her brutality as more and more tribesmen showed fear at her very presence the more she cut and injured their precious leader. She is angry and their leader was a good way to relieve herself of that anger.
For all his efforts at retaliating, Beòrn can't help but be afraid of the woman before him as her smile grew as grim and as dark as the blood moon.
Her eyes were shaking, both regarding and discarding him. Her smile is feral, as if a predator smiling down at her prey. And her beauty, darkened in red, accompanied by the symphony of suffering around him painted the grim of the night. Where lone men were prey to the beast of the woods, and as his eyes scattered to the people surrounding him, it felt proper. As none of them looked to be want be near him.
He saw in their eyes fear, fear he had seen, fear he had felt and fear he had lived. As if rooted to the ground, watching as a bear munched down at their friends or families.
This thoughts plagued his mind making his movements slowed and his breath labored as his eyes showed him the truth behind the reality he was facing. It wasn't long before he made a mistake.
Beòrn swung down his axe towards her head hoping to end it. But as his axe planted to the dirt, he paused where he stood as blood suddenly pooled from his throat out his mouth. Shakily, he looked down only to see the length of a silvery blade planted to his chest. His knees grew weak pulling him down. And with a painful thug he felt his body slide off of the sword as he was kicked off of it. He looked to his opponents eyes and saw nothing there. No guilt, no pity, no nothing but the mere satisfaction of the hunt. Succumbing to his fears he then closed his eyes waiting for his death....
....but nothing came....
He heard their screams as his eyes shut open. She had cleaved one of his people by her waist and then another and then another.
Painfully he asks. "...w-where is y-uou honor?"
"Honor is for those who deserve it. And that person isn't you savage." Mordred answered mockingly before returning to the fight and he watched as more and more of his people die not far away from him.
Hatred filled him with the vision of Mordred cutting down his people with a smile in her face. A vision that would haunt him to the after life and he died with it just like his father and his father before him.
~~~ Break ~~~
Watching their warchief die in front of them shattered their resolve. Their fear then overcame them as dread and desperation engulfed their very veins. Their sole desire is to survive and they knew they wouldn't if they stayed...so they ran.
It was a complete route as Uther and his men arrived just in time and smashed against the retreating Tribesmen. Their arrival completely scattered the remaining forces as they ran from the Knights of The Vale.
Meanwhile amidst the chaos of the battlefield. Mordred and the others surrounded their teacher as he is being treated for his injury.
"How is he?" asked Gawain.
"Minor injuries Ser. All except that blow to the head. He will scar but he should be fine. I just couldn't tell how long it would take for him to wake."
"How certain are you of his condition?"
"As certain as any midwife out there. I have treated many men under the maesters guidance in Runestone Ser. I assure you, I know what I am talking about."
"...thank you..." Gawain responded genuinely.
Her words indeed put their hearts at ease as the squires all sighed in relief. Moments after, Uther entered the hut. Causing a few people to bow their heads thinking the man a Lord.
Uther knelt beside Arthas.
"...oh my lord... what have they done to you."
Arthas is indeed far from what he remembers. Aside from his near useless armor, and badly beaten sword, Arthas is also showing signs of malnourishment. A thin and signs of skeletal form due to clear lack of food adding to his near hollow cheeks. There are dark bags underneath his eyes, proof of lack of sleep and his once golden blonde hair and his vibrant yet white silky skin has nearly faded and started loosing it's color as his skin began to dry, more so than he would have liked.
All in all, he was a far cry from the heroic beauty he is remembered as.
It was then that Mordred spoke. "We will be going back down. All of us."
"...he would not like that lass..." retorted Uther.
"It doesn't matter! He comes above all else! We must secure him back to the nearest town. Ironoaks or Redfort would be our best choice."
"No we will not be doing any of that." Firmly denied Uther.
"I was appointed as their leader!"
"As one of them Lass! And yes! I know! But you aren't thinking, merely reacting!" Uther took a deep breath and continued. "Many men died to give the Vale this chance. Many of them made that sacrifice. Not for him! We may have done so for him but not them. We cannot spit on that sacrifice simply because we are afraid." his last words got a reaction from the squires. "Aye. I fear for him too. But I know that if we do not push on, his heart will break and forever regret his decision. We can't undo their sacrifice nor should we allow it to be."
Silence engulfed the people as the rescuees bowed in despair and heartbreak. Their hopes of finally going home seemingly undone before their very eyes. And yet no one spoke against it.
It had been weeks since they were rescued. Weeks had past since they watched as men after men gave their lives for their safety. Even giving up their food and water at times, alongside being mostly denied their sleep. So much blood, sweat, and tears. So much sacrifice has been done for them. And now that the very champion that had fought at the very heart of the battle had fallen, they could only hold their tounge in silence out of respect and gratitude that drowned out any form of fear or desperation they may have felt.
Uther saw all of this from their expressions and he can't help but feel for them. But he can't allow such dishonor. It would ruin Arthas. Not just in reputation but also from within. Uther understood Arthas' honor the most as if the boy had lived his life in an ever growing conflict. There is his fear and hesitation to lead but a grim determination to succeed. The signs of an experienced warrior. He is just like him, so he knew he was right about the boy.
With his decision made he turned to Gawain. The one most trusted by Arthas' in the field. The boy seeing Uther's gaze could only nod solemnly towards Uther, ignoring the pleading looks of Mordred and the others.
Suddenly someone entered the hut in a rush and was met with swords at his neck. The poor young knight stood rooted as blade upon blades had their tips trained at his face, neck, chest, heart and worst off is the spear at his groin. He gulped in fear.
"*sigh* You shouldn't be rushing aimlessly towards armed men boy." Uther reprimanded unto which the boy bobbed his head repeatedly prompting the weapons down."Well then? What is it?"
"A-an out rider Ser Uther. Said they have come to take command of our forces."
With one last sigh of dejection, Uther stepped outside to aid with the men and the survivors. Just as Gawain and Mordred was about to follow, he held his hand up and shook his head. He simply gave them a soft smile and nodded towards his lord and then he left them there. Knowing that the children around him, needed time to be with the one they secretly called father.
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Swordbringer AN: Sorry, my little bro got sick, then I got sick then the rest of the family got sick. It was painful as much as it was a nightmare and then....I come back and my OSHI WAS FIRED!!! LIKE WHAT THE FUCK!? To any fellow simp out there, please support Selen Tatsuki! And subscribe to Dokibird. Thank You!
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