Ch. 1: The Storm
An arrow fluttered past his head as he collapsed, clutching his abdomen. His eyes flittered nervously from the hot sand to his crimson-blotted chainmail as he gasped for air and used one hand to prop himself up. He did his best to ignore the searing pain and slowly placed his hand on the felt hilt of a sheathed sword, his grip slackening as he realized the nature of his fate. As quixotic and strong a warrior as the king of Arendelle knew and claimed himself to be, even he couldn't lie to himself and brush off the gaping gash in his abdomen and twin arrows in his shoulder as mere 'flesh wounds'. He squeezed his eyes shut and placed his hands on his helmet, unceremoniously ripping the ornament from his head and throwing it off with apathy.
"A necessary boost in morale" he laughed bitterly as he attempted to balance himself.
Although he had already anticipated his fate when his scouts in neutral waters had reported the presence of some two hundred armored ships sailing towards Arendelle shores, this knowledge did nothing to alleviate the ghastly pain and desperation that enveloped him. He had always known that if Arendelle were to even have the slightest chance against the enormous invading army of Carnath, absolutely every resource at his disposal would have to be poured into making sure that the fight was contained at the enormous city walls—the king's presence and the boost in morale associated with that presence perhaps the most valuable of those resources.
Even still, he inwardly mourned—mourned for his soldiers, mourned for the families that they would leave behind, but most of all, mourned for his young daughter just a few clicks west on the other side of the Great Arendelle Wall.
"Anna." He murmured.
If the Carnathite army managed to dismantle the stronghold and usurp the city, neither woman nor child would be spared. The new monarch would undoubtedly make a show of his power and slaughter hundreds if not thousands to instill fear into his new subjects and make his claim to the throne known throughout the seven kingdoms. Although the capital would surely be pillaged and its inhabitants slaughtered and raped, he couldn't bear to imagine the punishment that would await the daughter and sole bloodline to the previous king. He seized and shuddered as the image of his daughter's pale head on a spike flitted across his thoughts. If she paid the iron price, it would be because he had failed his kingdom.
"Your grace!" a loud shout boomed from nearby.
King Agdar turned his head slowly towards the source of the noise and blinked drowsily, attempting to clear the dust and tears that had collected in his eyes. He recognized the speaker as Ser Dracus, the commander of the Kingsguard and his most trusted advisor and friend. His golden and highly decorated armor shone brightly and beautifully in the mid-day sun as he clambered towards the king, brandishing his Valyrian steel to the few and unlucky Carnathite soldiers that stood between himself and his king.
Dracus quickly grabbed onto the king's arm and attempted to hoist him up, ignoring the protest and groans that emanated from the king's blood-filled mouth. Dracus grimaced at the sight of the two arrows lodged in the king's shoulder.
"I will not let you die here your grace. Come! I will get you behind the walls but we must move quickly!" Dracus shouted, attempting to drag the king across the battlefield.
"It's too late" whispered the king as he removed his hand from his torso. Dracus gazed upon the king's crumpled armor and the crimson fluid that flowed from a deep axe wound on his torso. He let his previously firm grip slacken as he moved to release the king's arm.
As he stumbled, the king glanced around the battlefield, eying the chaotic fighting with a sense of numbness. The battlefield was rife with the clashing of sword metal and the ever so pervasive smell of blood saturated the air. Squeezing his eyes shut once again, he summoned all of his remaining might and stood to his full, impressive height and unsheathed his sword in an aggressive yet fluid motion.
He shot a glance at Dracus and a bloodied smile crossed his lips.
"You made me a promise once my old friend," the king breathed out lowly as he moved to place his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You told me that you would never abandon my cause or leave my side. I propose we end this battle. What say you now?"
"I say let there be wine in heaven, my king," Dracus responded with hardly a moment's hesitation. "You are the best man I have ever known Agdar. A far better man than I. It has been an honor serving you your grace."
"It is an honor that I have ever been able to call you a friend," the king said. Then suddenly, with a thrust of his arm and a bellow that resonated like thunder incarnate, Agdar yelled out:
"For Arendelle!"
His cry was met with triumphant cheers among his scattered troops as he and Ser Dracus charged headlong into the sea of black-clad Carnathites and fulfilled their duties as king and king's guard.
