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The world was nothing but dark. Memories were fleeting, broken pieces that did not quite fit together. A castle, a woman’s face, a dragon, a child and many more. What happened, he pondered and could find no answer come to him. After all, how could he recall, if he had no body. Or did he? He certainly could not feel anything at the moment. All he could do was think and yet he knew that it would lead him nowhere. Then suddenly, there somewhere within the darkness, he saw something. A speck of light so small he almost did not conceive it. He wished to get closer, but he had no body to maneuver. He watched it instead while wondering what it might be.

He noticed then that the light was getting brighter, expanding little by little. Either that or it was merely getting closer. Warmth radiated through his entire being. Albeit the lack of a physical form he felt it, pleasant and soothing. Soon he began to hear something. No, not just something, it was a voice. A woman’s voice.

Not yet, Henry.

Henry, yes, that was his name. He remembered now.

You have to get up. You have to.

That voice was so familiar, yet he could not place it. The light was all encompassing now; all he could see or feel.

Get up!

Henry awoke gasping for air. His entire body hurt and all his limps felt as if made from stone. Breath came to him barely as his eyes stared up at a stone ceiling. Memories came flooding back to him slowly as his eyes focused on the stonework above him and his breathing became even. Yet still his vision seemed narrow, limited by something. His mouth was incredibly dry as well, like he hadn’t quenched his thirst in days. What happened? He tried to ask himself as his eyes looked across the ceiling. He could smell the coopery scent of blood, although it was faint, as well as steel and the lingering scent of dragons. He was in the dragon quarters, beneath Dragonstone castle.

The battle! He sat up straight in an instant as it finally came to him, causing pain to pound through his head. When his hand moved up to feel his head he realized that he was still wearing his armor. Even his helmet was still on, he thought, as he lifted his visor. That explained the complications with breathing and limited vision. It didn’t explain what happened though. His vision still felt hazy and his head hurt terribly. He was hit, he remembered. His hand came up to feel a dent in his helmet, right where the Warhammer had struck him. Then if he was still alive, why was he in his armor? Had they won or…

When his eyes at last looked around the room he immediately wished he had not done so.

Apparently he was laying upon a blanket laid out on the ground of the hallway in the dragon quarters. A large space where dragons had plenty of room to lounge and rest. Now it was also their grave. He saw them there, all of them. The dragons that had died within their feasting hall. He remembered the thrice cursed poison that killed them, how they chocked and died in terrible pain. He saw that many were missing teeth and claws already. Trophies no doubt, for the Briinaboriens who killed them. They were all simply laid out there with utter disrespect. Like animals ready to be slaughtered.

He was frozen, staring at them. He still recalled their names. Not that he knew any of them well like he knew Cyrvanyx. Some relieve came to him when he noticed then that he was not among the corpses. Arylaryl was also missing, it would seem. That must mean that they escaped, he thought. Perhaps William and Elise were-

He was interrupted as he set his hand down and felt something beside him. A rounded steel surface, which turned out to be breastplate engraved with the golden dragon like his own. Within that breastplate The Old Grandmaster Maldwyn yet lay, dead, Henry knew. He saw his lifeless eyes threw the visor. He felt as if he were about to vomit. He turned away from his brother in arms only to be greeted with yet another body still fully armored. They were all around him. The Invaders simply threw them down here to rot.

He got on all fours and heaved. If there was anything left within his stomach he might have indeed vomited, then and there. His breathing picked up as he realized, truly realized what is going on. They thought him dead like the others and so they threw him together with the other high ranking knights. He was not dead though. Which meant he was now stuck inside Dragonstone castle, no doubt still occupied by Halvard or at the very least garrisoned by a few men.

“Fuck…” He grunted through grit teeth. Grief, anger, fear, frustration, so many blasted emotions coursed through him. He was shaking heavily and felt the heavy weight of his pain upon himself far more so than the armor. “Why… why gods…” He felt tears well within his eyes. He just hoped his family was safe and yet at the same time it seemed such a selfish thought. All his brothers were gone. He did see Gareth among the dead at least. There was a vain hope that maybe he escaped with Cyrvanyx, Arylaryl and his family. That was the best case scenario now. Most likely they were just kept somewhere else for some reason. The rest of the order’s dead must be somewhere too after all.

Then he heard voices. Henry froze and would not move as he recognized the Nordic tongue. Despite the different dialect they spoke on the Briinabor isles he still understood them well enough, as the Norse language was one of the few he was made to learn while growing up at home. He got up in spite of his aching body and went to hide behind one of the pillars holding the ceiling up. He did his best to calm himself in the meantime as the voices got closer, coming down the ramp leading into the dragon quarters.

“I am merely saying to be careful. If the captain catches you, I won’t protect you. You know he will uphold Halvard’s ever bark and order.”

“Yes, yes I know. It is just a little trophy, many others got to take something after the battle!”

“Before Halvard gave the order not to.”

The two voices sounded both young and their steps sounded light. No clinking of mail or clanking of plates. They must be lightly armored. Henry may have no weapons, but he bore full plate armor, Dragonsteel plate armor at that. His whole body was his weapon and his shield.

“Well ok, correct.” He heard the man coming for a trophy sigh “It is not like I am taking any of the fancy armor from the dead dragon fuckers. Just a tooth from one of the beasts, that is all.”

Henry’s fists tightened. The utter disrespect with which he was talking about his dead brothers and friends. He would show that man a beast.

“Just one tooth, that is it?”

They were right around the pillar, soon they would turn. It was time.

“Yes, I swear it. No one will even-“

Henry cut him short as swift as an arrow he twisted around the pillar and delivered a deadly punch into the nose of the man who was talking. He looked tall and lanky and unlucky for him didn’t seem to be wearing his helmet. He heard his nose crack. Before the other man finished drawing an axe, wide eyed and screaming in utter shock, Henry grabbed his right arm and twisted it so he would have to let go, which he promptly did. With all his strength he threw that one into the pillar, hearing a resounding crack as his head met the stonework. The one whose nose he just broke had drawn an axe and came for him. He tried to get him in the leg, behind the knee. Fool thought he didn’t know his own armor’s weakness. In one swift motion Henry took a dagger from the other man, currently sinking to his knees with a groan and came at the axe wielding fool.

He parried the axe aside with his arm, the axe sliding off his steel clasped forearm. In the same move he advanced upon the man. He tried to bring his axe back up, but Henry had already grappled his axe while he drove the dagger he held into the man’s exposed throat. Wide eyed he glared at them and Henry glared right back, righteous fury from those golden eyes burned into the young man for the rest of his short life.

He withdrew the blade and turned around while the man he just stabbed fell to his knees, grasping at his throat and gurgling as he would choke on his own blood. The other man tried to rise but Henry was already there. All the pain he felt did not exists for all he cared. This one he did not kill right away though and instead grabbed him by the throat and held him against the pillar, keeping the dagger pointed right at the side of neck. He moved his other hand to cover the man’s mouth instead as he opened it to yell.

“One word.” Henry growled, in perfectly fluent Nordic, almost losing himself to his own rage. “And you die slowly.” The man stared at him wide-eyed and shaking. He was young, Henry could tell by the looks as well. Early twenties perhaps he guessed. Light blonde hair and a short beard as well as blue eyes, made him look the classic Northman. “Now, answer me slowly and clearly. No yelling. Clear?” The young man nodded.

“How much time passed since you took the castle?” Henry asked and slowly, very slowly, removed his hand from his mouth, keeping it close just in case.

It took a moment for the Briinaborien to respond as he stammered in fear, his eyes going to his dying friend from time to time. “O-one day. It’s afternoon now. Battle w-w-was one day ago.”

“Where is Dragonsbane?” Henry asked before giving him room to breathe, the dagger’s tip now touching the man’s neck.

“Away!” He answered through grit teeth, his eyes closed. “He left this morning, with the wounded! Left a few behind as garrison. H-he said there was no time to waste and more castles to take before winter comes.”

Henry nodded. That was good, a garrison was a far better option than still having the whole host camping outside the gates. Halvard must have really wanted to move on. Only giving his men one night of rest before immediately moving on. It was all the better for him now. “Someone escaped.” Henry said, a statement rather a question. “There should be more dead dragons, two must have escaped. Was someone with them?”

“N-no! I mean yes two dragons escaped but I have no idea if someone was with them. I swear it! By the gods I swear!”

Henry glared at him for a moment, thinking his words over. Surely it was hard to tell if there were people upon a fleeing dragon’s back. Perhaps they truly did not see. “How many are you in the garrison?”

The man hesitated a bit this time, but his defiance was quickly forgotten when Henry pricked his skin a bit with the dagger. “Ah, ok! Ok… we are 20 in total… I-I mean 19… “He said as he glanced towards the now dead man on the floor.

Again Henry nodded. A very manageable number to take down, especially if they fought with the same skill as these green boys. No doubt Halvard left behind young and old alike to just hold the castle. How could he expect the last knight of the dragon to rise from the dead. He got everything he could get from this one. “I must correct your count.” He said grimly. “It is 18 men.”

The Briinaborien looked confused for just a second. Right before his eyes went wide as the dagger was jabbed into his throat twice over just to be sure. As the man began to gurgle he stabbed him right where his heart should be. The sharp dagger thrust right through the gambeson he was wearing and found its mark. The man’s eyes soon fell shut. Henry had at least enough mercy in him to grant him a quick death.

He held the dagger in his hand and gazed around the place. The moment his eyes found his dead comrades again he turned around immediately. He took one deep breath and steadied his grip on the small blade. He switched it into his left hand and took an axe from one of the dead men and walked up to make the rest of the garrison feel the wrath of the order they thought to destroy. With every step he took he prayed he would not find his wife and son among the corpses.

The doors that led into the entrance hall opened with a soft creak, reverberating throughout the empty room. It felt so dead now where before it was seldom ever quiet. The carpet on the floor was burned and the stonework was singed. Dragon fire from the last stand they made within the main hall most likely. Henry tried to steel himself for the sights he might see upon entering the main hall, taking slow and measured step towards it, keeping his eyes on the broken door. Before he even reached it he could see tables and chairs all over the place and dried blood all over the floor. The stench of death and decay was ever present and voices soon came into hearing range. It sounded like they were lifting something heavy.

Once Henry came closer to the hall he could see what they were lifting. His blood ran cold and his grip tightened. They were piling up bodies upon bodies. The bodies of both Briinaboriens and order members alike. There were two men just dragging more bodies to the already quite big pile. He felt the sweat build up beneath his helmet and felt the heat of his breath after he lowered his visor. He slowly surveyed the corpses for any familiar face, but saw only a few men he recognized from around the castle. His squire must be in there somewhere as well. Poor lad. Luckily he did not see a hint of his wife or son, not even of Gareth. To get a closer look he would have to get rid of those men first.

With determination in his gait he quickened his approach, soon noticed by the two men as they were about to lift another body. Both dropped the body and drew weapons, one a sword and the other an axe, but none of them a shield at the ready. Poor bastards weren’t ready for a fight, as told by their shocked expression as well. They said something to him but he could not care less. Like the other they were only lightly armored and so they would die easy. He came at them with dagger and axe, with all the might and the fury of his dead brothers-in-arms. They were no match for him and were dealt with quickly. One last a hand before he lost his head and the other had his throat cut by the dagger in his left hand. Swift and deadly, but he cared little for them as he walked past them towards the corpse pile. He lifted his visor, the stench almost overpowering as he walked around it, hoping, praying not to find his family there.

His heart stopped when he saw Elise.

Her eyes were open as she lay there at the edge of the pile, her lower body underneath a member of the order. Her beautiful face, the face he loved so dearly, was now a ghostly pale. The eyes that once looked at him with such love and affection were now dead and lifeless. This can’t be real, can it?

Henry dropped his weapons as he stared as his wife’s lifeless body. No, no gods please. He prayed within his mind. It seemed almost fake to him, like at any moment she was going to get up and tell him its alight. She did not get up, no matter how long he stared. He had no idea how long he just was like that, staring her. At some point he must have fallen to his knees since a loud clank rang through the hall. The sound barely registered however. It was all too much.

When the tears finally came, they came in a merciless wave of sobs and cries. He finally tore his eyes away from her as he could hardly breathe. Tears ran down his face and fell to the ground, body shaking with bitter sorrow. This can’t be real! It can’t be! But it was. That realization made him cry all the harder. He screamed his anguish out, anger mixing with his grief as he beat his armored fist upon the ground.

He heard armored footsteps, sounding so very far away as he lost himself to his sorrow. He wished to safe her, hold her, and yet he also wanted to not look at her for it would remind her that she was gone. Had he been not so brash in the frontline he could have been there to safe her. A distant part of him thought about his son and that maybe at least he was saved. A voice came into hearing, but it still sounded distant. It was Nordic, he heard that much. It got closer.

“Get up, slow!” Finally, the voice was in focus, old and gruff. Henry turned his head, eyes still unfocused and teary. After some blinking he saw the man who spoke to him. In his hands he bore a greatsword as big as his own body. It was the grandmaster’s sword, he recognized it right away on the pattern on the blade. Only dragonsteel looked like that. He was armored in a mix of mail and plate, bearing a chest plate and mail protection on his limps. A half helmet was resting on his face, leaving his face exposed, a brown beard mixed with grey spilling out. It was what lay under his beard that made Henry freeze again.

He was wearing the dragon medallion. The one he gave his son.

“Are you deaf! Stand up or I’ll kill you for good this time!” He was slowly advancing on Henry. He could see the fear in his eyes as he was doing so. The old Briinaborien knew how capable a knight like Henry must be.

His sorrow was quickly replaced by anger, by hate as his gaze turned from the medallion to the man’s face. “What…” Henry growled through grit teeth as he got up, with his weapons once more in hand. “have you done to my son?”

“What?” The old man responded in Albien. “I have no clue what you are on about, you mad man. Just drop your weapons and-“

Henry charged. The old man was fast and obviously experienced, but so was Henry. He slashed at the man’s face which was swiftly parried by the greatsword, which he held in a spear like grip. He tried to keep Henry at distance with a number of stabs but Henry did not falter and advanced, trusting in his armor as a glancing stab struck his helmet. Once he was on him the greatsword became almost useless. Henry slashed at him with axe, barely being parried by the hilt of the greatsword. Then he stabbed him as well, this time striking true, in the groin where no armor was present. The old man gave a cry of pain, but his suffering would not last as Henry swiftly buried the axe into his unarmored face, silencing him for good.

Anger flowed through relentlessly. How dare this man bear the medallion of his family! Has he taken it off William? He could not know and neither could he ask the man now. He seemed confused when he asked about his son however. Henry could only hope that it meant William lost the medallion while escaping and the bastard just claimed it as a trophy. Just like the greatsword.

Henry dropped the axe and the sheathed the dagger at his belt where an empty sheath for his old weapon still remained. The greatsword he held up felt good in his hands, light for sword of such size and with a handle long enough to be used as a spear should enemies get a little too close. It was an excellent weapon to choose to kill the remaining garrison, he thought. The man he had just killed seemed like the commander here. The rest will be easy. Before he left he gently took the medallion from the dead man and fastened it around his own neck, stuffing it beneath his breastplate. His son was alive, he had to be. He thought as he felt the silver dragon upon his chest.

So he marched out, greatsword in hand. Once he was done he will bury his wife and burn the dead. First though, he must kill them all.

With every step he took his grief turned into anger, fury so hot it was nearly blinding by the time he reached the doors that lead outside. He pulled them open, breathing in the fresh air of the outside. Except it was not quite fresh and instead tainted with the smell of burning flesh. There was yet another pile of death in the inner courtyard, burning up at the moment. There were several men out and about. His count called 13, which means two more were left somewhere else.

Some of them already saw him and were grabbing weapons, barking orders at each other. The shock and surprise in each of their faces would have amused him under different circumstances. Now all he felt was rage. He lowered his visor and with a thundering war cry charged forward. Only two men he saw wore mail shirts while the others yet again had only gambesons. Half of them did not seem to wear their helmets either.

The first two he came towards tried to stab his eye slit with their spears but failed miserably. He bashed their spears aside and decapitated both with one savage strike, taking only the upper half of one of them off with the odd angle. The rest tried to surround him but he would not let them. He was quick on his feet and his hands the greatsword may as well have been two blades at once. He twirled around them, parrying their strikes and cutting them apart. One mace caught him in the back but he barely cared, simply spun around and caught the man in the arm he held up in a vain defense attempt, sword going straight through his mail, cutting the arm off at the elbow. The rest of the strike went on into his neck. He could see the value the grandmaster had in the Dragonsteel greatsword now.

An arrow glanced off his helmet, a sword off his shoulder and yet another spear strike failed to hit him in the back of the leg. They knew they had to get him where the armor was not present, but as fast as he was they simply could not. Merely a few seconds it took before their number had been cut in half, just like the last man he parried and cleaved entwine at the waist. He saw their resolve weaken. When another arrow hit him in the side, his armor taking the blow and now him, he saw where it came from. Two archers were in the outer courtyard taking desperate shots at him, even endangering their allies in the process. Good, that is the rest of the garrison right there.

When another three men fell to his unrelenting strikes, taking one man’s head and slicing another’s torso from his left shoulder to his right collarbone one man tried to surrender. He was cut down the moment he dropped his weapon and lifted his hands in submission. The remaining men tried to run. He would not allow it. The first had one of his legs removed before he got very far and then was stabbed in the back. The other was running for his life towards the archers in the outer courtyard.

“Get the horses! We have to-“

He got cut off when the greatsword was thrown like a spear through his back, coming out of his belly. He fell to the ground, screaming, and Henry was already running to get his sword back so he could run after the archers. Both of them had dropped their bows and ran. You will all die! Henry yanked the sword out of the man’s back and then brought the blade down upon his head, finally silencing his screams. He ran on as quickly as he could then to catch up with the remaining two.

When he passed the inner gatehouse he could already hear horses neighing, no doubt unnerved by the urgency of the archers trying to escape. He swiftly ran there, feeling the dampness within his helmet from his own sweat as he could feel himself getting winded. His rage still persisted. They were on their way out of the stables before he could get there however. The horses seemed to have been saddled already as they bolted outside. He readied his blade. They tried to ride past him and he would stop them. He ran as fast as he could and slashed with his blade at one who got close to him, cutting into the leg of the horse. The horse cried out in pain and tumble to the ground, the archer getting flung a little further away. The other one however, got away.

The drawbridge was already lowered and the gates wide open so once he got past Henry he galloped as fast as the horse would carry him out of the castle. Henry glared after him. He wanted to follow him. It would perhaps be the smart thing to do as he might get reinforcements from not so far away. The thing was, he would leave the castle until the dead rested. They would not get their hands in the dragons to make them into armor. Elise would not rot away on some corpse pile…

The mental image of her dead eyes came back to him and for just a moment his fury wavered into deep sorrow. Until he heard a whimper and saw the archer trying to get up, his foot twisted and broken. They would pay! He marched towards the man, lying there broken and whimpering. He held up his hand in defeat, begging for his life. None of the words registered. They would all pay!

He swung the great blade down. The first blow already killed him but he kept going. As rage was not fulfilled and neither was his desire for revenge, for justice! He just kept going as he made the archer’s head into a mashed pile upon the soil. Only when his vision got blurry did his blows slow down. He was breathing heavy into his visor, but the vision was not affected by his exhaustion. Again, tears ran down his cheeks. With no one left to let his anger out on he threw the greatsword on the ground and ripped his helmet off. He stared into the heavens, feeling the wind upon his skin, and screamed his pain out once more, this time into the open skies. Perhaps the gods would hear him. If they did, would they even care?

He kneeled there next to the ruined archers body and cried bitterly for a good while as all the grief caught up to him when he had no more rage to spare. Never before had he felt such deep pain within his heart. Not when his father died and not when his mother decided to join him. Not when his cousin, a dear friend, died in the siege of Attesatia. Nothing could compare to this. He did not feel whole anymore, as if a piece of his very soul had been taken from him.

In that moment, the world stopped making sense.

After he had no more tears to shed he remained kneeled for a bit longer until he could finally will his body to move again. He took a deep breath of air and stared into the open sky once more. From under his breastplate he pulled the dragon medallion. The small golden gem seemed to stare into him, mirroring his own gaze. “You’re out there Will.” He whispered to himself. “I know you are. You have to be. Cyr may have failed to safe your mother but… he would never let you die, I know that.” He would cry again then and there if he had any tears left.

He left the medallion hanging on the outside this time as he went back to the keep, dragging the greatsword behind his own body. He did not know how much time he had left she had to be swift. First he got Elise’s body out of that pile and brought her into the courtyard. Before he would give her the funeral she deserved he would take care of the other bodies. First he looked through the supply room and saw that there was still some left. Most of the food had been taken, but some of what was there he took into a bag he found in the same room. Some ale was there as well, weak enough to serve as drink when no water could be found. Right away he used a few heavy swigs to quench his mighty thirst. What he was really after though were the oil supplies. There was enough to coat the dead dragons and the rest of the corpses.

Whether they would all truly burn to ash he could not tell, but it was better to at least try before he left. He did it to the dragons first, covering them all in oil from within a wooden barrel, leaving a trail to the bodies of his brothers. He was aware how much money all that oil would be worth to Briinabor if they kept it so even if they did not burn totally it would be worth the effort. He took a moment of silence as he lit the oil in the dragon quarters, feeling a wave of sadness overcome him once more as flames filled the room in which he not so long ago celebrated with Cyrvanyx. “May you find peace in the eternal sky and fly together with Arthen for eternity.” He said for the dragons. “And may you rest peaceful and find joy with our ancestors in Avalania, brothers.” He said to the knights.

No words were left to be said to all the other bodies he burned both within the main hall and the courtyard. Many of them were former enemies while many others were former friends. Now they were all one and the same, lifeless corpses. As they all burned and as the inside of the keep was filled with smoke, Henry as last got to his wife. He covered her body with some cloth and broke apart some of the now empty oil barrels for fire wood. The small pyre should suffice, he hoped.

When he stood there, air already filled with the stench of death and burning bodies, before his wife’s funeral pyre, he could not stop a few more tears to flow. “Elise…” He said her name, addressing her directly. Despite all that happened, he still believed in the gods. He believed she would go to the lands beyond the living and wait there for him to join her. “I… I…” he cleared his throat. Collect yourself damnit! He cursed himself in silence. “Words fail me, my love.” At last he managed to get something out, choking back further tears. “W-without you the world has just lost another bright light. You were taken from me far too early, my love… and yet I hope you can rest easy knowing that our son is alive.” He spoke with utter conviction. He did not truly know, but he believed. If his son was among the pile somewhere he did not even wish to consider. He was alive, he had to be! “I just know it. The gods would not be so cruel as to take you both.”

He opened his mouth a few times and then chuckled in spite of everything. “I was never great with speeches and you knew that. Your brother would have given a far better one than I ever could.” His smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a stern glare of determined conviction. “I swear to you that your death will not go unanswered! Briinabor will not win this war! Our home will stand strong and all the death they have brought to our people, the order and our family will be repaid in blood! Blood for blood, my love, blood for blood. I swear it!” He took another couple deep breaths as he held his torch up high. “I will see you in Avalania. Rest easy, Elise.” And with that he threw the torch onto her pyre. The cloth and wood took the flame right away due to the oil coating it. Henry remained there, leaning onto the greatsword as he watched the flames dance across the body of the woman he loved so dearly.

The flames kept on burning but Henry could not remain until Elise became ash. The future was more important than customs. As he was watching the pyre he understood that he must be alive for a reason. He should be dead, but he was not. The gods have allowed him a second chance for a reason. Never was Henry’s belief in destiny stronger. He was meant to avenge Elise, avenge his order.

He was meant to slay Halvard Dragonsbane.

With conviction burning in his broken heart he took a horse from the stables, strapped his supplies and the greatsword to the saddle, and made his way west. He was going home, to Caer Morgraig.