[RPG] Ariana and Morthwyl ~ Defending All They Love

[Timothy Collett]

The battle rages far into the night.  The walls are high, but the  
defenders are few: Svunnetland's supposed ally Zonasa gave no warning  
that an army 1000 men strong was advancing through their lands to  
attack Palnasos, and the city was still weak after being retaken from  
the fiend of chaos who had sought to steal it.

Now, with just a few hundred against far, far too many, the battle's  
conclusion seems foregone.  Ariana screams at her archers through the  
wind and rain, trying to urge them to fire faster, more accurately...

Many are struck down scaling the walls, but it matters little.  There  
are many more to take their place.  Ariana turns to Morthwyl in a  
brief lull and says, over the gusts, "This is hopeless, Morthwyl!   
How can we defeat so many?"

"We must try," he replies, and turns to toss another scaling ladder  
from the battlement.  As he does so, he is silhouetted against a  
brief glimpse of the moon, and an archer more alert than most chooses  
that moment to fire.  The arrow embeds itself in Morthwyl's armour  
above his left hip, not going deep, but leaving a gash that impedes  
his fighting and leaves him more vulnerable.

"Morthwyl!" cries Ariana, reaching out to him.

"I'll be fine," he says, though he grimaces as he pulls the arrow  
free from his armour.  "Keep firing!"

Ariana turns back to the New Dawn and yells at them once more to fire  
faster.  Minutes later, the last of their arrows spent and the enemy  
swarming up the walls, they draw their short blades and try to fight  
them off hand-to-hand.  For a short while, it seems as if they might  
actually throw back a unit of men, but then the attackers make a  
concerted push, and they are through, running past the wounded and  
onto the city walls.  Looking around her, Ariana sees that not one  
archer from her unit remains standing.  She pulls the nearest wounded  
man further from the wall, and turns to Morthwyl and his Lancers.   
They are not doing well, either.

"We should fall back," Ariana yells.  "We can't last much longer here!"

"We can!  We must!"

Her eyes blazing, Ariana takes a short sword from a fallen soldier to  
replace hers, which broke in the last wave, and goes to fight beside  
Morthwyl before the rising tide of attackers can separate them.  They  
fight side by side, desperately pushing every soldier they can off  
the wall, Ariana doing her best to guard Morthwyl's wounded side.   
Little by little, though, they are forced to give up ground, as more  
and more of Morthwyl's unit fall to Nighthelm blades and arrows.  At  
last, there are just three men left, who arrange themselves around  
the two, hoping to protect them, buy them time to escape into the  
city.  "Your Grace, my Lady, you should go!  We will keep them from  
following!"

Morthwyl grimaces against the pain of his wound, but says, "No, we  
will fight to the end!"

As he speaks, a Nighthelm warrior reaches the top of the wall and  
kills Morthwyl's man in front of him, momentarily--and fatally-- 
distracted by his commander's words and his pain.  Before Morthwyl  
can get his tired and battered body to move enough to defend himself,  
the man thrusts his blade into his side.

"MORTHWYL!" Ariana cries out in grief and rage.  She leaps over his  
body, and with a sudden burst of strength and speed she slices off  
the man's arm, still holding the sword, and then buries her short  
sword in his throat and kicks his body over the wall onto the hapless  
attackers just behind him.  That buys her enough time to carefully  
pull the sword from Morthwyl's side and bandage the wound with  
material ripped from her own surcoat.  He has passed out from the  
pain and blood loss, but Ariana can tell he is still alive.  A single  
glance at his two remaining men, a brief nod scattering unshed tears,  
and with a feral roar, they leap at the attackers mounting the wall,  
as Ariana carefully lifts Morthwyl's body and flees into the city  
toward the healers.

--

"The only thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart."
  ~ Miles Naismith Vorkosigan

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