A Whisper of Night

19.3 || ASTNORDEN 💫

"She may have let them burn; she may have let them die;

But there's still a heart of gold in our good queen.

Only with tears in her eyes she threw down fire.

Time and time again, they'll sing of the Red Ravine."

"Would you like me to ask them to stop singing, your Majesty?"

Astna turned to her right. Ellac was sitting atop his horse, still shivering slightly. Although someone - she suspected Alskande - had thrown a cloak over his shoulders, his hair was still matted to his head, his thin frame quivering beneath the cold morning air.

"No," she said, "but thank you." It was very likely that none of her men would take Ellac seriously anyways, with him dripping and shaking. "It helps their moral."

Red Ravine. Sometime along the road up to Old Skeynheld, her forces had started singing of the cliffs. Although she wasn't sure about some of the lyrics - especially those about tears in her eyes - she would much rather have the song portray her as a merciful queen, rather than a brutal one.

The skies were paling, all the vibrancy of night draining into a forlorn gray. Swollen clouds loomed above them where none had been only a few hours previously. It's going to rain, Astna thought grimly. At least it was clear last night...otherwise we may have lost that battle.

Last night. Astna swallowed a lump in her throat. Everything had seemed so much more gruesome that morning, under the light of day. The ravine had been much bigger - and the number of fatalities much higher - than what anyone had expected. The battle had extended out of the ravine and up the road to Old Skeynheld. Lady West had estimated at least ten-thousand dead, Lord Nurtanden twenty-thousand. Astna had sat back and watched while her men had cleared away the piles of bodies - she couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if she'd used fire earlier, if she hadn't sent entire flanks of her army to their deaths.

It was my fault, she thought numbly. If I had the sense to use fire...if I hadn't been so caught up in my version of right and wrong....

...if she had used fire earlier, perhaps a few thousand men could've been spared. Or maybe not - once the flames had started, they'd devoured the ravine indiscriminately, tearing through enemy and friend alike.

And Astna had no excuse for not using fire, other than her petty refusal to fight like the Lion Queen.

Still, if there was one good side to this, it was the singing. Astna had a feeling that this battle would be immortalized, due in no small part to the sheer numbers of the dead and her "heart of gold." It was surprising, however, that her men did not sing of her previous victories.

The closer a fight brings a man to death, the more likely he is to sing about it. Who had told her that? Her parents? Her lords? A figment of her own imagination?

"Old Skeynheld ahead!"

Astna looked up.

The road began to steepen. Astna's fingers tightened around the reins of her horse as they headed up the hill - the poor beast was probably exhausted. But so am I, and all my men. We will have to rest, for a day if not more. But that night, they would have to march out again - the capital wouldn't be able to shelter them.

The capital. In the old times - in her parents' times - she would now be the ruler of the entire kingdom of Skeynheld. But before the remaining cities of Stovasen surrendered, she would have to keep her throne and take her land by blood. And then there was the province of Norrayn, guarded viciously by Lady Aeslyn....