1/3/2023 0 Comments Simon the sorcerer sealed![]() ![]() ![]() The angle and padding of Ned Stark’s armor prevented the blade from plunging deeper than an inch but the shock of the wound dropped the rock from Stark’s grip. As Ned Stark raised his arm to strike him, Ser Arthur ripped his dagger from his swordbelt and plunged the blade into Stark’s armpit. Ser Arthur’s plate armor limited his mobility and Stark’s padded armor and chainmail softened the blows to the body.Īrthur’s helm was ripped loose and Stark scrambled to grab a piece of brick that fell from the tower. They battered each other with fist and grappled for the upper hand. The dagger slid away but Ned Stark still fought with an animalistic ferocity. The action weakened Stark’s grip on the dagger and Ser Arthur followed with a fist. Stark’s gauntleted fist slamming into Ser Arthur’s helm dazed him and the knight answered with a headbutt of his own. Ser Arthur caught Stark’s wrist and slammed the hand down onto the hard-packed dirt. Stark pulled the dagger from Ser Arthur’s hand, but the next thrust was useless against the plate armor. He bucked his hips, throwing Ned Stark from onto him. The blade bit into Ser Arthur’s gauntlet but the knight barely felt the pain. Ser Arthur twisted away as Ned Stark pulled his dagger from his belt. A choking cloud of dust rose in the air as they grappled. Dawn and the longsword skid across the dirt as the two men rolled. By instinct, he turned, and his helm caught the blade of dagger meant for the back of his neck.Ī shocked gasp left the short man’s throat as Dawn opened his belly. Before he could swing for the killing blow, Ser Arthur heard the slightest shuffle of sand behind him. His right hand shot forward to grip the pommel of Ned Stark’s sword and then with a twist, Ser Arthur ripped the blade from Ned Stark’s grip. Their blades clenched, and Ser Arthur abandoned his two-grip. The young lord showed no signs of fleeing even as he was forced closer and closer to the pale red stone of the Tower of Joy. Stark was skilled, but Ser Arthur had fought many better. Dawn slipped through the Stark’s guard once again, but this time the Northmen’s gambeson gave him enough time to slip away before his blood could be spilled.ĭust kicked up from Stark’s shambling feet stung Ser Arthur’s eyes and he had to step over a white armored body to pursue Stark’s backpedal. It was thinner and lighter than any sword of its size had any right to be and with the blade in hand Ser Arthur never felt better a warrior than he did now. The pale white surface of Dawn’s blade was marred by blood and yet Ser Arthur never thought the sword looked more beautiful. Lyanna’s screams continued, providing a backdrop to the clash of steel. The weight behind the swing staggered Ned Stark and the Northman barely recovered enough to block the blow meant for his hip. Ser Arthur saw Ned Stark flinch at his sister’s wail and he charged. In the brief recess, they could clearly hear Lady Lyanna’s screams. Ser Arthur’s eyes narrowed as the Northman clutched his longsword with two hands. Ned Stark’s shield fell heavily to the dirt, the reinforced wood was made a ruin from Dawn’s fierce bite. Blood splattered on the ground as Dawn bit through leather and chainmail. As his companions fell one by one that confidence had been replaced by fear. ![]() In the beginning, there had been confidence in the Northman’s eyes. Yet with each swing of his greatsword, Ser Arthur drove Ned Stark backward. His shoulders ached from the ferocity of the morning’s swordplay and each step he took reminded Ser Arthur of the landed blow from one of the Northmen’s Morningstar. Dawn sang as it bit into the sword of his final opponent. Ser Arthur had avenged his Lord Commander and the spearman laid headless on the ground along with three of his companions. Ser Gerold was breathing his final breaths, the spear in his side made each breath a wet wheeze. Ser Oswell had taken a sword through the throat, not before he took two men to the grave with him. Where there had been three of them now there was just one. Around Ser Arthur, men lay dead or dying. ![]() The air was hot, stale and carried the scent of blood. King Aemon Targaryen, the son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark is born with traditional Targaryen features and raised in Essos by the last surviving member of his Grandfather's Kingsguard, Ser Arthur Dayne. An age of wonder and terror will soon be upon us, an age for gods and heroes. I'm reposting the first 7 chapters here in hopes of feedback. I had posted this story in Creative Writing Archives, unaware that that comments are discouraged in those thread types. ![]()
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