Siera's Last Battle - January 22, 1996

[Panther]

As written by Siera Red

Killing Gunnar?s horse had not been an act of cruelty so much as one of practicality... though there was rage mixed in there as well.

When she rose again, Bane in her hand once more, wrath had subsided to some more dire emotion--but one that was not untouched by eerie calm. She drove down for his knee, pivoting at the last instant to re-route the swing. A feral yell sounded in her ears. She did not recognize it as her own.

He caught the blow and lunged to return it in kind. She collapsed and rolled away, the movement sending searing pain through her side. Struggling for breath was vain--one of her lungs would take none. Gunnar, however, was too busy wheezing on his own to pursue her in the following instant.

She readied for him nonetheless, her eye swollen shut. The trickle down her cheek had subsided, but there was blood... Gods, there was blood: the hand that grasped her sword was bloody. Blood ran in small rivulets from the hole in her armor. Blood smattered her face, her hair, the ground beneath her feet... and it drummed in her ears with a rushing like a horde of a thousand horses...

Gunnar moved in, cutting high, and she grunted with the effort of catching the blow and sweeping out in the next beat for his knee. Somewhere in the distance a horn told her of Morah?s retreat and loss of ground. They were being routed from the rear.

"The rear! Gods damn all!" She yelled, but did not know if her officers heard her. She hardly had a voice. She hardly had breath.
Above her the sky was tainted scarlet as great, heavy clouds rolled out toward the east. Tomorrow it would be clear. Tomorrow...

She lunged and he twisted up and away again, hurling back at her, aiming for her chest. Blocking the blow this time was a study in pure and simple anguish. She caught it, fighting back the black tendrils of what would have been a merciful faint as their swords locked. Gunnar?s face confronted her from a mere foot away, but she did not let him speak.

"In the morn..." she labored, spent, "your men. Will be gone." It was neither command nor request. Nor was it a bargain with Gunnar, but a covenant with Lady War herself. Her men could not withstand this. Nor could she. As it was, she had managed the words with a voice so hoarse it was hardly more than a whisper through the din. Every instant had become the most basic of struggles-for balance, for her grip, for simple breath.

"They will... because you will be dead," he stated. The triumph was already in his eyes.

Her sword arm remained locked, her weight pressed against the blade as she repeated: "They will be gone."

Gunnar thrust. The dagger in his other hand plunged deep within mortal flesh. Her head fell back as her body embraced the blade-and it was cold-her mouth opened in a soundless cry of pain.

"They will be gone, Red," he confirmed in a whisper so near she could feel it against her cheek.

The blade jerked free and Gunnar stepped back.

The drums were suddenly deafening.

She dropped her sword and stumbled, grabbing blindly for Bastion.

[Panther]

[size=18]In Memory of Siera Redwin[/size]
1996-MAR-04

(this posting takes place after the following thread)

The dancing flames weave a bit of a hypnotic spell over him as he sits at the hearth. Taking a sip of ale from the wooden cup.. his mind wanders.. travels back... remembering the time she was here, drinking with him. "Siera." He nearly says the name aloud... or maybe he did... there is no one in the caverns to hear if he did.

It's almost impossible to believe she is gone. He had met more people than he can remember since coming to RhyDin, but Siera was one of the first. And although her recent campaigns had kept her away from RhyDin, she had still been in his thoughts. Even more so since learning of her death. This.. woman.. who refused to admit to being a lady. But he knew otherwise, and liked to remind her at times.. usually by slipping up on her and giving her a passionate kiss.. despite the threat to his personal safety.

He knew he was never in any real danger... just as she knew, in spite of his actions, that he held great respect for her, and no small amount of love, though not in the passionate sense that one would think from those public kisses. No.. it was different, deeper than that.. it was such a love that led him to ask her to be the god-mother of his children. He still remembers the look in her eyes when they were born, and how she held infant Majellan while his twin sister, Myrielle, was being born. The look of awe, at having such a thing in her arms.. the love and caring for the infant child.. and the slightest hint of regret at never having had a child of her own. He had quietly hoped that it was something she may experience when he heard the surprising news of her marriage... but now...

Now there was just the emptiness. He felt it when she died.. or stopped feeling it would be more accurate. Her presence.. he hadn't really noticed her presence in his... his heart, his inner being, until it was gone. An absence he was feeling all to much lately.

His thoughts drifted over the past, his past, and Siera's presence in it. The times in the dueling ring, where almost as often as not he could claim victory over the baroness. How she would let him use her sword, Bane, during some of those duels when he had no blade of his own.. and how he still feels he was set up as in most of those cases she would beat him using just a dagger while he wielded her blade. The times spent sharing an ale while talking, including the night she visited him here.. curious about his dwelling and other things. Remembering her chuckle when they talked of his feline senses.. particularly that of scents.. and how to her amusement he told her that her scent was similar to that of a salty leather.

That chuckle.. the wry smile of hers... the dry humor she found in things... those were things he would remember... remember more than things like dueling victories, conquests, and the like. Things that would, in spirit at least, keep her always alive within him.

He takes another sip of ale, eyes still locked on the fire before him, a slight smile on his face.