Daeron's 500: The Silent March

         When Law returned to his own quarters, he found that he could not sleep.  Instead he paced restlessly, thinking about what Daëron had said.  Now that he had the time and had fully realized that he had been spared his doom, the words of his sire were becoming more coherent.
         The little town that had grown around Weynör ages ago had taken considerable damage in the past few days and many had died under the ceaseless barrage.  Most of the peasantfolk had been escorted to safety, but there was still their homes to think of.  Already the great Belltower that once stood above the gate of Beöl's Wall had been struck by a fiery missile.  That warning bell had hung over the wall for over seven hundred years, and now...
         Law sat down on his bed and gazed out the window into the blackness of night.  He thought of his own men, his host of five hundred mounted knights: The Guardians of the North, they were called.  Strong, proud, and brave they were, and on the morrow they all would go to their graves, or worse.  The Red Knights far outnumbered them and they were sure to take no pity on the fallen.  They would show no respect to the dead.
         Law wished that he could be with them at the end, wanted desperately to lead them in this glorious sacrifice.  He did not care even were his body to be defiled in the aftermath for the unknown purposes of the cursed Alchemists.  For the war machines had to be silenced, but Law was to remain behind.  He hated it, but he would never dare to question Daëron's wisdom.
         And so he lay back in his bed, his desire relenting to a higher will.  He closed his eyes for a moment and, strangely, his mind instantly was whisked away into some deep chamber beyond sleep.

         ***

         Law found himself standing on a plateau, thin and towering over a vast desolate wasteland.  The sky was red and dark with black thunderclouds fast approaching.  A bolt of chain lightning struck the ground and a great fire rose up, burning the whole of the land.
         A man who looked very much like Farron, greatest of all the Guardians, appeared next to Law and said, "Be not afraid, Lawrence of Tith, for I am with you brother."

         ***

         Then Law found that he was not standing on a plateau, but rather floated in a haze.  When the fog cleared he stood in a rolling field.  Everywhere his eyes could see there lay soldiers bearing countless banners and colors, choking the land with death.
         He saw two men approach each other atop a mound of the fallen and embrace.  Their mouths opened and their faces were filled with victory but no words could Law hear.  Behind the two men Law saw their armies standing still in the distance, glistening in the radiant copper sun.

         ***

         Again Law realized that he was elsewhere and now was enveloped in darkness.  He turned about, this way and that, to no avail, then lost his bearings.
         A light appeared, and as it dispelled the darkness, Law saw strange and large creatures slugging over the walls and ceiling of this tunnel he stood in.  From the light, four figures approached, not seeing Law, and passed him by.
         Law followed them aways and watched in reverent silence.  Three wore white robes and Law could discern nothing else about them.  The fourth was stern and upright, wearing a soldier's armament, and he seemed downcast somehow and Law wondered who he knew him to be.  The four did not speak.
         The tunnel ended in a doorway or portal of some sort which Law had never seen.  There were odd arcane markings all over the wall in which it recessed.  The three in white beckoned wordlessly and the fourth nodded assent.  The man entered the portal and Law felt a strong urge to follow.
         A lone mournful horn sounded, muted as if by stone or great distance.

         ***

         Law awoke with a start to find it still dark.  It must be early in the morning or shortly past midnight, he figured.
         The lone horn sounded again, far away, and Law hung his head.  Daëron is leaving.
         He dressed quietly and descended the few flights of stairs to the ground entrance of Weynör's western tower.  Outside it was unnaturally cold and Law wondered at the weather.
         The paths between the town buildings were deserted as Law walked toward the Wall.  Everyone must be there.  And Daëron would not have summoned me for this farewell.  Law could hear the sound of the horses trotting slowly in the processional as he approached Beöl's Wall.
         The way of the march was lined on both sides by the foot soldiers that would remain behind; knights and sworn swords yet to be titled.  Here and there stood a lone peasant that had refused to leave their home in the face of war.  Their bravery gave hope to Law's heart but in his mind he was still uncertain.  After these five hundred Guardians depart, we are left with maybe a thousand and a half fighting men.  That against several thousand manticore riders?
         Law stood next to and old woman in tattered cloths holding a basketful of winterflowers.  She was tossing them one by one under the hooves of the passing destriers.  Law took one of the flowers and held it to his nose.  Nostalgia and a bittersweet smell filled him.  The tangy aroma created a tingle in his throat as he inhaled and his mouth watered for a moment.
         Watching his men pass him by, Law beheld the valor and honor of each knight and his heart welled in his chest, trying in vain to burn its way out and join them.  They, each of them, held their heads high and looked neither to the left nor the right.  But Law saw that their mouths turned down and their eyes were hollow as they passed.  They have no doubts as to where they ride.  They hold no hope to return.  The old woman began to sob softly.
         A wet drop touched Law on the forehead and he looked up to see a flurry of white.  A light snow began, the first of the year and uncommonly early.  The white fluff slowly amassed on the heads and shoulders of the stoic onlookers, but, somehow, seemed to not touch the marching knights.  The old woman turned to leave, unable to control herself any longer.
         Just then Law noticed that there had been no fiery barrage for the duration of Daëron's march.  It was so quiet and peaceful, a strange twist of fate that the siege would lull for this event.
         The last knight rode by and then everyone turned to leave, having paid their respects with finality.  Law remained there, staring at the trodden earth, churned up in twin lines before him.  He lowered his hand to his side and let the flower fall from his fingers, unheeded, to rest on the snow.