Game of Thrones: A Tale of a Coward

A Wedding at The Twins - Luciara VIII

Almost there. The Twins, not so far now. Luciara keeps reenacting himself reuniting with his family in his head during most of the journey. So much so that they took a wrong turn at some point and are a little behind reaching the King in the North. Lucia realised that he must concentrate more on the journey, instead concentrating on the journey's end.

Luciara was so eager to reach the Twins, he forced his army to venture during the night. When he tired of their complaints, Lucia decided to allow them to rest. Lucia's army set up a small camp on some ground, far from the road, and surrounded by trees. They had opened a barrel of Lucia's favourite ale that their late bartender friend had originally taken from Winterfell.

As many men and women as possible took a cup of the ale, in celebration of King Robb and the great fights to come. 'Although, fights are not great... I'll still allow my people to be gleeful before their innocence is torn apart,' Lucia told himself.

Luciara found himself settling with Androw, Ser Duncan, the twins, Kyra and Jon (as those six being the ones Lucia knows best, and vice versa). "Here's to the King in the North!" Jon bellowed to them, proud. They repeated.
"To cowardice and survival... and better days," Androw said, eyeing Lucia.
"Here, here." Luciara raises his cup, then takes a heavy swallow.
"To my family, to Rosemary, to Mirk... to us all," Lucia says. "I, the largest coward that is known, one of the few to not believe in the gods, do hereby proclaim our little army an independent party... to follow no king when the fighting is done. To hold no allegiance to any Lord or land. To be free. Free to be cowards. Free to be... farmers. To live," Lucia announces to his army.

Once they set off again, the night remains as dark as it was when they had their ale. They near the Twins. The army can see the great towers enlarging as they near. They hear the raucous shouts of men, see the fires burning.

Androw walks over to Lucia, concerned. "Something feels wrong. Maybe we should leave the army here," he suggests.
"No. I want to see smile of Robb stretch across his face when he sees me and my army. But, if things are wrong here, I mean, this Walder Frey's castle... we should leave the twins and Kyra. To have them be safe," Lucia replies.
"And have everyone else be killed. Like you murdered Mirk."
"Don't let that be you..." Lucia threatens his friend.

Luciara informs the twins to stay and be safe, much to their discontent. "But it's a beautiful castle!" Seramund pleads.
"We can help you fight if you're in trouble," Saulmund volunteers.
"I can't let you do that. We're not Wildlings. Okay?"
"Is this because we're Wildlings?" Saulmund asks.
"No. Of course not. Don't let someone judge you because of where you came from," Lucia advises them. "Take care of them, Kyra."
"I'll do what I can," she promises.
"Shall I protect them also, my Lord?" Ser Duncan question.
"No. You'll protect me personally, just in case," Lucia commands.
"As you wish, my Lord."

Luciara leads his army towards the Twins, hearing the clashing of swords and the inhuman screams of men. Ser Duncan is to his side, while Androw lingers behind; Jon is closer to Lucia than what Androw is.

A horse stampedes its way past them, dragging a dead Stark soldier, with his leg stuck on a rope around the horse, behind it. Blood covers the horse so much, it was difficult for Lucia to tell what colour the horse actually was. Luciara unsheathes his sword, causing Ser Duncan to follow suit and the rest arming themselves with what ever they can use.

Lucia's army storms past him, whilst some retreat and cower in fear. Before Lucia finds someone to attack, he witnesses Jon get slain by a Bolton soldier. 'I assume the Boltons are the enemy,' Luciara guesses. "Attack and kill every Bolton soldier you can find!" Lucia exclaims his command to his army. Ser Duncan avenges Jon by thrusting his longsword through the Bolton's chest and kicking his body off it.

A handful of Bolton soldiers come flooding around the corner of burning camp tents on horses, fire of longsword in hand on each. Lucia rushes to hide in between some burning tents to avoid their wrath; however, many from his army manage to be cut down by the Boltons. They then turn past the next corner, with the sigil of the flayed man high up above them, following them and being the last thing the Stark soldiers see.

Before he becomes alight himself, Lucia moves from the now mostly ashes of what was a tent. A couple of Bolton soldiers charge toward Lucia, whilst he is only protected by a couple of his own men. One of the Bolton men slays one, causing Lucia to pick a fight with him, allowing the other two to have a duel.

The Bolton man raises his sword, prepared to strike down Lucia. He moves to the left once ducking the blow. Lucia swings his longsword round to his right, catching the man on his left, hitting armour, causing little damage. 'Fuck!' Lucia moves forward towards and pushes Mirk's dagger into the man's neck. Blood sprayed over the knife and Lucia's face.

When the man had fallen, he saw the corpse of his other man and his blood dripping down the other Bolton man's sword. Looking around to see where Androw or Ser Duncan had gone, Lucia  had not expected the Bolton man to thrust his longsword into Lucia's abdomen.

Lucia felt a shooting pain all through his body, feeling the cold steel inside him. Lucia screamed, dying, crying. The Bolton soldier removed his sword before twisting it inside Lucia, allowing Lucia to feel each turn.

Once the sword was removed, Luciara Stark threw his sword up and towards the Bolton man's neck, causing the both of them to fall to the ground. The soldier reached for his dagger, pulled it out and stabbed Lucia in his chest, missing his heart. Lucia screamed again, yet punched the man in the face with his bloody fist. Lucia pulled the dagger out of him, then plunging it into the man's face repeatedly. Both eyes, gone. Nose, disfigured. Mouth and cheeks, torn apart. The helmet drowned in all the blood of the Bolton man.

Luciara crawled over to a rack where weapons once rested, and leaned against it. Lucia could not help the blood escaping him. He felt his remaining minutes crush down on him. And then he had his final one.

Androw had found Lucia bleeding out. He rushed towards his dying friend. "Looks like you... made it, then," Lucia said, coughing up blood. "You were always a better fighter. And drinker."
"Making jests to the end, eh?" Androw remarked.
"What else would I do? Before my death..."
"I'll get Kyra," Androw said.
"Don't. I'm done for. I don't deserve to live... you know it. Just take care of Rosemary, our child and the twins for me."
"I will. For the old you. Not for this war general Lucia," Androw promised.
"Good. Let them find me, Androw. Make someone happy," Lucia ordered. "I never got to see Robb or Catelyn before they died. I'd have liked to go with 'em. Dying... with my family," Lucia murmurs.
"You really fucked up in the end," Androw told him. He smiled at his friend one last time.

"Hey!" Androw called out, above the few the screams that remained. "This 'ere's the body of Luciara Stark!"

Luciara heard nothing more after that, nor saw anything after his friend left him and the fires that burned around him. The last thing that Luciara Stark heard or saw was the days he spent in the tavern. With Androw, Mirk, Ortin and the bartender. Seeing Rosemary. Her laugh and smile. Thinking of the days he could have had with their child. Then of times with Ned, Cat, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon. Even times when he had conversations with Jon or Theon. His family and friends... all the people he left behind, and to be with them again made Lucia contented.