Author Games: A Knight's Valor

Group One: Rhaegar, John Tommson, Taran Gassett

Beautiful, it was beautiful, at least, that's what Rhaegar thought. The clouds were a pristine white and the sky a dazzling blue. The grass was green and soft under foot and gentle breezes ruffled both his hair and the branches of the trees. Everything was perfect, it seemed. At least, until a scream was heard and blood spattered the ground.

A body rolled over and over, still gushing blood from the slit in its throat. The rough cloth that covered the body was torn and spattered with the same red liquid that now seemed to coat Rhaegar's hands. He looked down in shock as he flexed his hands, watching the blood drip off. Then, he turned and looked at the body lying on the ground, its limbs still twitching, and felt bile rise in his throat.

"My God," he whispered as he staggered forward, noticing the cuts on his arms, one which dripped blood into his left eye. What the hell is happening?

The knight reached the dead body and rolled it over. The face staring up at him was an unfamiliar one, but something about it...Something he recognized. His head spun and he reached up to clasp at it. This only resulted in him smearing blood over his face. Rhaegar tried to spit out the metallic taste in his face but he could not. It lingered on his tongue and tickled the inside of his throat. The stench of death was in the air and it made his stomach turn.

The women's lifeless eyes seemed to stare almost accusingly at him and the knight felt a wave of shame and repulsion sweep over him. And he didn't know why. I've killed like this before, so why do I feel this way? The man wondered for a moment before sighing and turning away.

But then he looked up to see someone running over the fields toward him. Green eyes and dark brown hair with a tanned complexion...No, no!

The man looked back over his shoulder at the dead body, horror now filling his very soul. Who is this woman that I feel like this? He already knew.

"Mother?!"

Rhaegar sat up in his bed, a shout trembling on his lip, his body bathed in sweat and quivering with fear. Who am I? A monster?

The horrors never seemed to end. While John and Taran awoke to a normal, almost boring morning, he was faced with that. John awoke to the morning with a smile, eager to face the day. Taran awoke to a sore back and a sadness that wouldn't end, yet still he smiled and dressed for the day. Soon enough, all three were called together in groups.

And soon the sun's rays beat down unrelentingly on a man's head. He could it burning at his skin. Sweat trickled down his body and the ropes twisted into his flesh. Dimly, over the thudding in his head he heard the shouts and calls of two men talking to one another below. "My God, this will take years," He muttered before closing his eyes in weariness. The night before had left him almost as weak as a kitten, both mentally and physically.

Below, both John and Taran were waiting for the king to declare that the game had begun. A black cloth had been tied over John's face, disguising the boy and keeping John from seeing the wall before him.

To end their prolonged wait, a trumpet sounded with three sharp notes. Booming out before all was the sound of the king saying, " Begin!"

Taran immediately grabbed hold of John's arm, a small smile on his face. "Reach up to the left," he said quietly. The other boy followed his instructions, reaching up to find a smooth stone within his grasp. He felt around it, but it was hard to grasp because of the flawless texture. Without his sight, the usually confident boy was unsure and his movements were shaky. "Don't be worried," Taran told him, amusement prominent in his voice. "I'll get you up there safely."

"I trust you," John said. "I'm not worried."

Despite his words, there was a tremble in his hands as he reached up further, waiting for instruction as to where the next would be. Though his feet remained on the ground it was fairly clear that he didn't want to be doing this. He seemed almost timid.