Albion's Days They Leave Us Wanting

My dearest Elaine of Garlot I hope this letter finds you well. The days here in Carmarthenshire are growing tiresome without you hear but from what I’ve been told your wedding was a truly charming affair worthy of your kind and charming heart. Father tells me that once the war between Wales and England ends I may be promoted to visit. Things here have been tense with more soldiers than ever. There are whispers of warships in the area and attacks on the other forts and castles. The re-fortifications are going wall and should be done within the fortnight. The rain is relentless and the mystics say it's a bad omen of death on the horizon. I fret they may be true, I have yet to see the sun this week and the rain is dark and full of ash but there are no reports of fires. Mother says there’s something important she needs to tell me. I suspect she has found me a hand she wishes to take in marriage. I’ve told her what I desire in a man but she only says I’m unreasonable and that the chivalric age is over but your husband sounds like a lovely man any woman would be lucky to find and many of the knights I’ve met are the kindest souls I’ve met. I fail to see how a man who cherishes me, does not demand what I can not do and does not treat me as a thing. I seek your guidance in many things that trouble me, I hope you- Mary stopped in her letter writing as the sound of an explosion racked through castle Carreg Cennen shortly followed by the fall of rocks. An accident in munitions? Tentatively she walked to the window that faced the courtyard only to instead see men running towards the main gate. What is happening? Before she could leave to investigate the high horn thundered. War, the castle was on under attack. Her father had told her what to do if the castle was ever under attack but in this moment all she could do was stare at the gates. She could hear her heartbeat as her breath became strangled. Panic. A deep panic was setting into her as she gripped the stone sill watching helplessly as time slowed to a crawl and the wood of the gate bent, cracked, and broke. Men in all black with swords of strange horrid twisted metal that moved like still red steel through all it came in contact with; men, sword, armor, everything. Her legs refused to move and there was nothing she could do to make them, she was paralyzed with terror. The prison her body had become only moved when one of the invading archers shot a flaming arrow past her to her family banner on the wall setting it ablaze. Unable to think her body move of its own accord sending her to the banner, grasping it, and throwing it onto the fur rug in a primal need to put it out. Rushing now in a frenzy she grabbed a pillow off her bed and hit the fire again and again and again. She had no idea how long she hit it but by the time Sir Brynmor can fro her the fire was gone and she was hysterically crying while holding what was left of the red and green banner. The older kind-eyed knight reached down for her and brought her to her feet quickly, fearing her injured only to find the burned banner in her tight grasp. The coat of arms had been lost but most of Ddraig Goch, was still seen with the fine embroidery and her house's colors. “My Lady we must go now” Through sobs, she managed to find enough of her voice to speak again, albeit raspy and strangled “they’ve breached the gates” “We’re not taking the gates, come” it’s not a request as soon as he turns one hand reaches back for her hand and pulls until the momentum of fear leads her to truly follow. They manage to get down one flight before they are given true resistance. The invaders having moved with brutish speed had cut their way to the fifth floor where the bulk of the remaining resistance waited. The sickening, deafening clash of steel on steel filled the halls as Sir Brynmor drove her further in with sword and shield he made a path as all the other knights who still lived gave their lives to secure her escape. She had her face pressed firmly against Sir Brynmor’s plate mail but she could still hear the sound of sword cracking bone and the smell of blood and fire and death. A hand grabs her pulling her back into the fray startling a shriek out of her. One of the invaders had her pressed firmly against her with a dagger to her neck. She didn’t know when the tears started again but as he dragged her back into the servants' barracks she came back to herself. The banner fell to the floor as she grasped uselessly to the arm holding her. Sir Brynmor, bless his heart, tried to get her back but the army descended on him and those who remained. The far corner of the barracks lead to another hall with a door at the other end. She knew that he was leading her there, she could feel his body shift to look back towards it. The fire in the room grounded her as he dragged her further back to an unknown likely horrific fate. Death or a fate unknown? The question was pointless she already knew what she had to do. As the man’s hand shifted to grab her shoulder and force her against him… meaning the knife was no longer against her throat and was now a passive danger. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. His grip on the dagger was loose and rather trapped in between her and his hand. She waited until he turned his head back to the door to pull his hand away and grab the dagger. With the implement now in hand she turned in his tightening grip, realizing what she was doing too late. The hand on her wrist started to bruise but stat didn’t stop the blade from reaching its mark piercing his throat and getting stuck in between two vertebrae. The arterial spray soaked her once she finally managed to pull the now broken blade from him, blood running down her face as the life left him. The now lifeless body fell against her wetting her gown and slippers. With her now safe the knights gave one last hurrah, pushing themselves to fend them off enough for Sir Brynmor to reach her, dragging her to the door at the other end of the barracks. The entire castle was in chaos. The few knights, mystics, and guards left were giving their all to take as many with them as they could but the majority of the castle was engulfed in blood, fire, or broken stone. Loud explosions rang through the halls as balls of steel and fire barreled through the walls. Whoever was attacking no longer cared for hostages or their own, splattering the halls with those unlucky enough to be in the way. The balls came every five minutes exactly and could only go through three walls before crashing through the floor. He lead her sneaking from one hall to the other through the castle as quietly as possible to avoid detection. The castle was crawling with the invaders trashing every room and thing they came across. Like rats or vultures, they picked everything apart for anything worth anything, pawing at the bits left of the dead; pulling off armor, turning out pockets, drowning themselves in wine, and even kneeling on the ground to pluck pearls out of the blood of a mutilated and still bleeding Lady. Mary had to tear her eyes away lest she linger and recognize the person she loved dying on the ground. Gods I’m going to be sick. These are not men, they're beasts. They reached the staircase that leads all the way to the dungeons at last when the unthinkable happened. Mary couldn’t even process what happened until she heard the screaming of the invader at the other end of the hall. Sir Brynmor had been struck with a ball that had blasted through the thick stone walls and if she stopped to ground herself more than she’d know pieces of him were in her hair and his blood had joined the dead invader when it splattered upon her. Run. She didn’t have to look back to know that she was being perused. The blood in her slippers had left a short-lived trail but the life of her favorite chambermaid running down the last four stairs made up for that. The stones at the bottom of the steps were disturbingly warm against her arms. Her perusers heard her fall and slowed to revel in plummet giving her time to look into the glossed eyes of the pore Angharad slain upon the steps, head upon the last step, lolled and slacked in a colorless image that she already knows will never leave her. Stuttering to her feet she abandoned all cares, snatching the dagger off the ground she grabbed her now completely blood socked gown in both hands and summoned all the adrenalin in her to run to the castle doors. Her slippers were never meant for running and as such, we left in her wake. Every hand that reached for her, every sword that was swung at her and every brick that threatened to hit her missed as she made her way to the doors that laid broken and blasted upon the floor. When she reached the courtyard hope filled her for the first time since the sedge began, the mystics were still alive and giving their all to keep back the bulk of the army. “Lady Marylyn!” She turned her head to the castle warlock, rougher looking but still very much standing and forming a barricade at the fallen left wall “Where are your parents?” He screamed the question as one of the others ushered her into the middle of the huddled mystics. As the shock lessened the words set in. They don’t know where her parents are. What?! She looked over to the tower their room was located. She could see nothing but that hardly mattered when the White dragon from the east flew in. The White Dragon was known to be bound but no one she knew was aware who only that its flame burned hot enough to melt stone and turn a body to ash with just one breath. It was the bad omen, no other could compare. It wasn’t a maybe it was a promise. They were all doomed. They were right, death is here. The great beast flew over them with a breath of pure black flame that she could feel even though the shield the mystics had constructed. The light of the magic over their heads flickered and wained. It was strained. She wasn’t one of them but even she knew the spell was failing. If the White dragon attacked one more time they would be reduced to nothing. It landed on what remained of the forward wall before rearing up for their destruction. The beast's head snapped forward but clamped its mouth before the flame was summoned in its throat. Its master was intervening, dragons are great and dangerous creatures but they do not stop a kill unless commanded by something or someone stronger, darker. The beast weaved its head up to her parents' tower and released a hotter flame than the last, one that lit the grass on the far end of the courtyard, turned the tower's stone to molten rock, and reducing her parents to nothing in an unimaginably painful death. Mary’s legs gave out in unimaginable grief as a wail ripped its way out of her body. Her body was wracked with uncontrollable sobs as she cried her eyes dry. The White dragon’s destruction was interrupted abruptly by the roar of a greater dragon muted all. The flames of the castle that lit the sky showed their salvation instead of further destruction. Ddraig Goch, protector of all west of midlands, the great Welsh dragon.