The smell on the air was acrid, with the taste lingering in the back of my throat.
I would speak, but my men are gone. My children, dead. My wife.. I prey had a quick end.
I led this defense and suffered the fate they said I would. All I can do now is die with my sword in hand. A glimmer catches my eye to my immediate left, an old gem.. shattered in the fight sometime.
With it, I scratch my last words into a stone.
My joints ache, after days of battle. I can smell my wounds. Arid in the air.
The puddles in front of me begin to shake, as the ground rumbles. It sounds like elephants in a stampede, coming to flatten me down. It grows stronger, and yet the images in my head fly in front of my eyes faster than an arrow. The first time I held a sword with my father. The smile he had when I first sparred against him. The first sword that he had crafted for me. The rumbling is getting closer. The first time I bested my father in single combat. How proud he was of me. The first time I saw who would be my wife, the first time kissed and the taste of honey on her lips.
The death of my father. The arrows I pulled out of his throat and chest. The sobbing of my mother over his body. The first time the armorer fitted me for plate. The feel of my gauntlets gripping my sword, and how I thought I could conquer the world.
The puddles are shaking violently.
The first time I saw my son. The last time I saw my son. The last time I saw my wife.
A warrior is meant to be brave. A husband is meant to be strong and loving. A father is meant to be forgiving. A king is meant to be brave, strong, loving, and forgiving.
The sound is here.
I long to meet them in battle.