Young Writers Society

When the final stand did begin, there was no special event to mark it. The Gorlacs simply broke through the gates, and the remaining soldiers grimly formed up and defended. 

They were slowly pushed back towards the command tower, men falling with every step. Fallin simply stood and watched it all. There was nothing he could do. No strategy, no amount of skill could get them out of this. The sun was starting to set, and the parallel was not lost on Fallin. His eyes flicked to young Jakos, who stood mutely, staring towards the fighting. Fallin reached out and placed a firm hand on the youth's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, soldier."

Jakos turned a questioning look towards Fallin.

"Sorry for what, sir?"

"That there's no way out of this. That I couldn't find a way out of this."

Jakos looked surprised. "Sir, with all due respect, this isn't your fault. We started this battle knowing some of us would die. We couldn't have imagined the truth, but we're here now, and we'll stand with you till our last breath."

Fallin smiled. The youths words gave him courage, even in the face of death. Even though Cal-din's walls were crumbling around him, and men died below him, he was emboldened.

"Well then," he said, turning back towards the battle. "Let's show these Gorlacs that Namor doesn't give up without a fight."

And they gave a fight. They fought till all that was left was a hundred or so fighting soldiers, clustered in a ring around the base of the command tower. Fallin continued to watch grimly from above, giving orders when necessary, but there wasn't much he could do. A deep sadness filled him as he saw soldier after soldier cut down, and he felt a great weight on his shoulders.

A sudden horn blast shocked him out of his reverie, and he looked up, searching for the source of the noise.

That was no Gorlac horn.

To his disbelief, a huge army of cavalry was silhouetted in the setting sun. With a great yell and more trumpet blasts, they charged towards the ranks of Gorlacs. Fallin recognized the yellow banner of Snowbourne, and his mouth dropped open. Both the Gorlacs and the Namorians below stopped fighting, watching with surprise as the armored cavalry crashed through the enemy ranks.

Fallin couldn't believe his eyes. Snowbourne was the nearest kingdom to the north. They must have decided to send aid, and none too soon. Their mighty cavalry was more than a match for the exposed Gorlacs, and the enemy was quickly routed. Soon after, they came charging up the streets of Cal-din, trapping the remaining Gorlacs between them and the Namorians, the yellow banners of salvation flapping in the breeze.

One day later, the sun rose brightly on a peaceful Cal-din. To the Namorians, it was the most glorious sunrise ever. They had never expected to see a sunrise again, and that made this one particularly special.

Fallin stood with the general from Snowbourne, Skan Firl. They were overseeing the cleaning up of the bodies. It was gruesome work, but once they were done, there would be a memorial service for the seven thousand dead. Even though his heart was heavy with death, Fallin rejoiced for the ones that had come out alive.

After the battle was over, a joyful messenger had run up to him, and had told him that some of the women and children, along with some of the craftsmen, had managed to escape the massacre in the caves. This had significantly boosted the moral of the remaining troops, along with Fallin himself.

"We cannot thank you enough." he said, turning to Firl. "If your calvary hadn't arrived..."

"Speak not of what might've happened." Firl said. His voice was rich, and could be heard all across the fortress if he had wished.

"It would not have been good for the world if Cal-din had fallen."

"No, it would not." Fallin agreed.

Until Ashe had recovered, he was the commanding officer for Cal-din. He hoped that he never had to take that role again. He did not envy Ashe the postion.

Jakos was helping rebuild the barracks. He worked silenty, doing what he could with his good arm. He felt numb, empty. His mind was filled with the horrible things he had seen, and he didn't think they were going away anytime soon. He felt... older, somehow. It seemed much longer ago than three days that he had been an untried boy. 

As he carried a plank of wood over to one of the buildings, he noticed a woman holding a baby in her arms, standing and just... staring. She didn't seem to be seeing anything, her eyes were blank and haunted.

She almost looked like his own mother, and it was a moment before Jakos remembered that his mother and sister were safe back in the capital. Even so, a feeling of pity started to stir in Jakos' numb heart. He tried to shove it down, telling himself that he didn't care, but he did.

With a sigh he put down the plank and slowly walked over to the woman.

"Ma'am, are you well? Do you need help?"

The woman started, glancing at Jakos. "I... I don't know." She whispered. "Our home was destroyed, and I'm not sure where to go?"

Jakos considered. "Where's your husband?"

He regretted asking as soon as he said it. Her eyes filled and she clutched her baby tight against her chest.

Idiot, Jakos thought. She wouldn't be standing here alone if her husband was alive.

"What's your name?" He asked softly.

"Moria." She whispered, voice shaking. "My husband, Nihlem, they tell me that he died near the beginning of the battle."

"Well, Moria," Jakos said awkwardly. "I'll help you find a place to stay until your home is rebuilt."

"Thank you." She said shakily. Together they walked towards the remains of the residential area, and within a few hours, Jakos had found both a place to stay and a full meal for Moria and her son. Jakos knew that he should be getting back to rebuilding the barracks, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave the two of them. So he stayed, watching the baby while Moria slept.

Looking down at the tiny sleeping face, Jakos' numb heart finally began to feel again.

Ashe sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hand.

Seven thousand dead.

And one of those...

Oh gods.

Trena.

The image of Trena's dead face danced across his vision. A tear traced it's way down his cheek. He automatically reached up to wipe it away, and there was an awkward moment when he remembered that he no longer had a hand to do that with.

He couldn't hold it in any longer. Silent sobs racked his body, and tears ran freely down his face.

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that, but eventually the sobs ceased.

The pain didn't.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Captain Fallin.

Fallin made a gentle salute, then asked: "May I sit down?"

Ashe nodded mutely, and Fallin lowered himself down next to him. They sat for a moment in silence, neither one looking at the other.

"How are you feeling?"

Ashe let out a short, broken laugh. "What do you think?" He asked bitterly. "I am missing my hand and the lower half of my leg. My mentor of fifteen years is dead, and I'm now responsible for the remains of a massacre."

"True. It doesn't look good. But," Fallin said, placing his hand back on Ashe's shoulder. "No one expects you to be strong so soon. Take time to heal, and to mourn. Gods know that we all need a break. General Firl and I can handle Cal-din for now."

Ashe wasn't sure what to say. He knew Fallin was right, but he didn't want to fail Trena by shirking from his duties. He should be strong, giving orders, so that his men saw that they had a leader.

But his body and his mind both felt exhausted at the sheer thought of doing so.

"I shouldn't be in here hiding, ." He whispered. "I should be out there, leading."

Fallin looked at him sadly. "Yes, you should."

Ashe glanced at him in surprise. "But you just said-"

"Let me finish." Fallin took a deep breath, then continued. "Yes, you should be out there, showing the men that you are still strong after a tragedy like this.

"But," he said, looking Ashe in the eye. "You aren't."

"What?" Ashe was surprised, to say the least. This was not the sort of pep talk he had expected.

"You aren't as strong as you were. This battle broke you, in more ways than one. So right now, you aren't strong enough to lead these men the way they should be led. But, with time, and a lot of patience, maybe you'll heal enough to be enough."

Ashe was quiet. Fallin was right. He tended to do that.

"It's not a given." Fallin continued. "Plenty of men here today will never be the same people they were three days ago. I know I will never be." He stood up, preparing to leave. But before he did that, he turned and looked at Ashe straight in the eyes.

"Take as much time as you need." He emphasized. "This is not something anyone comes back from in a few days. Most never do. No one expects you to so soon."

He picked up his helmet from where he had placed it nearby.

"I'll be seeing you, Ashe. Rest."

Ashe closed his eyes, emotions a tumult within him. But Fallin's words stood out to him in the chaos, and he realized that the pain was already beginning to lessen.