For His Queen [A Short Story]

For HIs Queen

When the sun first began setting and the sky turned from its brilliant shades of colors to the cold, black sky, there was a rush that began to seep through Jorah Mormont's veins. He could feel its cold touch through his skin as his breath became visible in the dark of night. He could feel the heaviness of Heartsbane, a sword not his own, hanging from his sheath. A sword he was not accustomed to, but a sword he respected. A sword given to him to remember his father whose heart he shattered. But as the darkness enveloped the castle and all of its inhabitants, he drove these thoughts away and focused on his goal. His only goal. To fight for his queen.

To the left of his horse, he saw the loyal Dothraki and Unsullied who he had fought besides countless times. To the right, there were soldiers from various houses, a few he grew suspicious of. When he looked behind, he saw his young cousin willing to fight alongside the trained and aged soldiers. When he looked forward, he saw only the barren landscape covered with a thick layer of snow. In the distance, he could see his queen with the Westeros' last dragons and the man who she chose to fight besides. The man she had chosen over him.

When the Red Woman lit the weaponry of the Dothraki, Jorah could only imagine the look of pride on Daenerys's face. He too felt a pride and the rush returned. The horses grew restless as the ocean of dead men grew closer, closer. With a shout, he raised the sword he was given and muttered a prayer under his breath, though Jorah was far from a religious man. But as they rode closer to the ocean, he noticed the flames flicker before extinguishing completely, leaving only he and his anxious stead among a few others. The ocean had burned out the flame in only a matter of seconds. A sudden gust of fear filled him as he pivoted his horse and retreated to the waiting army. As he rode, Jorah locked eyes with his cousin whom he respected for her courage, but preceded to look down, seeing her clear expression of distraught and betrayal.

Then they collided. The living against the dead, swords against swords, flesh against bones. An unmistakable sound resonated through the air: screams of anguish, the snap of bones, the reverberation of metal on metal, the war cries echoing until their owners fell to the bloodied ground as the others did. The Unsullied scowled as their shields did little to shelter them from the ruthless creatures. For a split second, panic filled Jorah as he recounted their last encounter with the dead. It was a similar environment, a similar setting. He fought alongside familiar people but there were more. More ready to die to protect a kingdom they once fought against. Blood of those standing besides him splattered onto his clothing. And yet, the rush continued and he stabbed and sliced through the long parted enemy soldiers mercilessly. The dead had done enough to hurt him, it was only right he paid them in full. But their efforts scarcely impaired the army. When Jorah incapacitated a dozen, two dozen took their places. The battle could be as endless as the winter, but he was determined to terminate them all.

The only moment the world paused was with the familiar shriek of the dragons flying above. If anything, the massive winged creatures were the most dangerous and most important factor of the battle. If anything, their presence gave their army the advantage. From his position, which he had yet to leave, he could hear several panicked shouts.

"They've broken through the trench!"