Hi everyone. This is my first attempt at fanfiction; I am hoping to do a series of fifty or so scenes from multiple viewpoints, taking place throughout the course of the Scanran War, mostly in the timeline of Lady Knight. I haven't had a chance to read much of the content of this site, so I would love any input or suggestions that you would be willing to give, especially as to how this may be improved. Let me know if this is an overdone or clichéd topic; I'd rather not spend the time writing all of these just to find out it's been done a hundred times before.
Thanks for your interest, happy reading.
Aurorax
1. Chill
His breath swirled heavy in the chill dawn air, adding another layer of fog to the delicate frost adorning the window. It distorted the view, allowing the mass of soldiers, knights, and horses milling about the Great Road North to fade into a tapestry of color and light. For a moment, just a moment, he allowed himself to continue gazing down on the meaningless blur of shapes.
It was so much easier this way, the individual flowing and fading into the larger whole. In that fleeting instant, King Jonathan saw an army, strong and proud on the field below, and for the first time in weeks he was at peace. This was his kingdom, everything he had worked for, the glory of the past and the hope of the future.
He closed his eyes with a sigh, breaking the spell. To be able to look at them, the men and women whom he had ordered into the unknown- he owed them that at least. Forcing himself to focus, he picked out individuals from among the crowd.
There was Alanna, helm in hand as the first rays of sun valiantly broke through the clouds to set her hair alight in flame; there was Raoul, visible above the heads of his men, effortlessly commanding the attention of the group; there was his eldest son, a conflict between seizing the freedom to fight alongside his people and his duty to the country and the fiancé he was leaving raging beneath his steady gaze.
Upon Raoul's signal, the soldiers began to move as one body, their sights set towards the north, towards war. They would not all return; that much was clear. It was not the first time that Jon had sent men to their deaths, nor would it be the last. It was a responsibility that he had accepted with his crown.
Soon the first reports would come, his commanders detailing in steady hands the number of arrow wounds, lost limbs, casualties, and enemy troops, finding shelter in the certainty of numbers and facts. Maybe it kept the faces of the dead men from their dreams; he wasn't sure.
And so Jon remained at the window, vowing instead to remember, to see the life behind each name on a list. Someone had to. They could not be forgotten.
As the creaking of leather and hollow clap of hooves on the frozen expanse of ground faded into a mere echo on the wind, the King kept his eyes stubbornly focused straight ahead, watching his army move determinedly towards their destiny one step at a time. He had meant to watch them until they had disappeared completely beyond the bluffs, but a sudden flash of sun obscured his vision.
Everywhere rays of light exploded into prismatic rainbows of color, dancing across the images before him until he felt as if he no longer looked upon the Mortal Realms. There was a beauty to the scene, but it was a cold beauty, the beams doing nothing to remove the chill from the air. It seemed to have seeped into his very bones, this frigid March dawn, and he felt himself shudder involuntarily.
Turning away at last, Jon draped a heavy cloak over his shoulders before setting off in search of his advisors and a mug of something warm.
Over the palace, the Stormwings circled, their hundreds of eyes fixed northward. The war had begun.