The life of a Royal Bastard, Alistair

 

Snow falls.

The world white.

Swords drawn.

White marred by red, red droplets falling to earth with the snow. The droplets came to earth from our swords, axes, teeth and claws. Redcliff would live up to her namesake when we were through. We now took our stand in the town square and as the onslaught became apparent to our favor, the blood rush kicked in. Lelianna grinned from ear to ear as she came behind a mercenary, taking his head in her left hand as to a lover’s caress, sliding her blade across his throat with her right. The blood arched from the wound, and rained across the back of a wolf that was tearing into the chest of a fallen enemy. The wolf gnashed and separated the rib cage, renting the heart from the chest. The blood that only a moment ago was pumped by that very heart drained over the wolf’s throat and over Morrigan’s sparsely covered breasts as she morphed back to human form. She ripped the heart from her clenched teeth, and swallowed a large bite of her vanquished foe. Morrigan’s laugh that followed froze our enemies with its eerie cadence, but fueled our own frenzy. Rose fought beside me, a blur in her quickness of foot. She only paused a second upon Morrigan’s laugh resounding over the battle, looking towards me. With communication only through eye contact, I knew to take her hand and spin her in an arch around me. With her father’s blade outstretched, she severed two unholy reanimate corpses along my flank from their legs. The undead that fought along in the battle were so far progressed in their return to dust, that many returned to such upon impact.

Blood had splattered along Rose’s hair, her cheeks, droplets welling on her lower lip making her seductively hypnotizing. The spatter that converged and ran along her throat, naturally running for the valley between her breasts, only amplified the effect. Red is the Rose washed in the blood of the vanquished. My shield made contact with the skull of an animated skeleton. The frenzy in all of our blood added to Rose’s personal effect on me left me with no restraint. My shield became my tool for onslaught, as I continued to bash the skeleton to dust. I heard faintly the village soldier’s crieds of joy as they exclaimed we had won the battle. Looking up, I saw my companions’ smiles through all the gore that blanketed them. What my eyes were drawn to was the Rose that was rooted in the middle of the battlefield of the courtyard.

There stood a red, crimson Rose, with two sparkling dew drops contrasting the red where one might think eyes, soft curling end of petals which could be mistaken for lips and long extended thorns dripping in blood from the points, which could be misconstrued as swords. I walked with purpose towards the Rose, taking the blooming bud in both my hands and brought my lips to the curling petals edge. Those edges were so warm and soft, moving in rhythm to mine, tasting the hint of iron from blood. The kiss was gentle. I broke the kiss and looked upon Rose, seeing the flower in her and her in the flower. As we stood there, our foreheads leaning upon one another, hands interlocked, the snow started to coat our heads and shoulders. The snow had never let up during the fight, and now began to accomplish its mission that before was for naught. The snow blanketed the world around us, and what had made Redcliff red was cleansed in white.

The world was red.

Swords are sheathed.

The ground is death.

My hands holds life.

Snow falls.

The world is white.